Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The authors claim no ownership of the characters within, nor received any compensation for this work.
"Hand me the cushion, would you?" The words were a little mumbled as Cye talked around the straight pins pressed between his lips. Aya handed him the bright red beanbag, looking over the project with mild fascination.
"Thank you," Cye said, storing the pins in their proper place. "I'm almost finished with the hemming for Omi. After that I'll see what I can do about the things you arrived in." The mess of their mission clothes lay in the laundry room, the very mention of which made Cye frown. "I'll do what I can but I'm not sure I can salvage the jackets. Sea water is terribly hard on leather."
"Anything would help, Cye-chan," Aya said, handing him the scissors. "Left to our own devices, we would have to purchase completely new gear and there are certain logistic difficulties with that at the moment." Despite the danger to his favorite mission coat, Aya seemed fascinated with Cye's sewing abilities. "How did you learn to do this? You seem to have a great deal of practice."
"Yes, 'Cye-chan', tell us," Yohji sneered from his chair in the corner. He was wearing a newly altered pair of pants himself and alternately working on his watch and glowering at the redheads across the room. After the scene on the dock this morning, he wasn't letting Aya out of his sight and certainly not leaving him alone with that kid he claimed to be in love with.
"Don't call me that," Cye said absently, turning another seam down before placing tiny, exact stitches. He smiled warmly over at Aya without missing a stitch. "My mum and my sister taught me. Someone has to keep the fellows in mends. It's just dreadful when they try to do it themselves. You would think that someone as competent as Sage would be able to manage, but the last time he tried he ended up with more darn than sock."
Yohji seethed inside as he watched them. The scene was so... so... domestic it made him sick. The Aya he knew wouldn't be hanging on this kid's every word. The Aya he knew would never sit there so calmly, handing the kid things without being asked like some old married couple, helping him with sewing of all the damn things. And the Aya he knew sure as hell wouldn't be giving the kid those sultry looks every time he thought no one was looking.
Resentment and a very green emotion that Yohji refused to name bloomed inside him, growing hard and fast. The final straw was the boy looking up and giving him a very amused smirk. Giving him an amused, infuriating smirk that said he knew exactly what Yohji was thinking. A look that said he knew, didn't care and wasn't intimidated in the least by a paid killer's glower.
That tore it. Yohji was frustrated, pissed and spoiling for a fight. He knew the kid was off limits; Aya rounding on him this morning was proof of that. But Aya himself, now, that was another thing entirely. Aya was a perfectly good target to take all that frustration out on. All he needed was a trigger, and the perfect trigger was sitting right over there with pins in his mouth.
"Well isn't that cute," Yohji snapped, sinking further into his plush, comfortable chair and leveling a sullen, distrustful glare at Cye. "Why don't you just knit a little apron and tie Aya to it by the strings? Or just cut to the chase and put him in a dress right now."
That did the trick, all right. Almost faster than he could see, Aya was on his feet, tossing the blighted pincushion away and launching himself at Yohji. And Yohji was ready for it, on his feet when Aya grabbed his shirt, narrowing that ice-cold, furious violet glare at him. Now that was more like it, Yohji thought in the brief second before Aya launched his attack. This was more like the Aya he knew.
"You don't know what you're talking about!" Aya snarled, yanking Yohji eye-to-eye with him by the fistfuls of shirt that he held. "I won't let you speak that way to Cye, you asshole! We could all be dead right now if it weren't for him!" It didn't matter that the redhead was half a head shorter than him, and it never had. Aya wasn't afraid to rough up someone larger, tougher, or more heavily armed. Yohji didn't think Aya was afraid of anything.
It wasn't easy to keep his cool; his cool had blown out the window long before even stepping into this weird place. Yohji grasped Aya's wrists in his larger hands, trying to grapple him away. Nearly matched in strength, all Yohji managed to do was keep Aya from shaking his brain around in his skull. "If it wasn't for -him-," Yohji pointed out through clenched teeth, "we'd still have -you-. As it is, you haven't been part of the team for months now, and you damn well know it."
"That matters coming from you, who abandons the team for some woman you don't even know?"
"You're changing the subject!"
"Not if the subject is who abandons whom for pointless reasons!"
"So you're saying this is pointless!"
"I never said that!"
"You're just afraid that your sweet little boyfriend is going to sap out all your strength, all your bravery, and turn you into some whimpering spineless houseboy!" But even as Yohji spat the words out, he knew it wasn't true. That wasn't what Aya was afraid of.
That was what Yohji himself was afraid of.
True to form, Aya wasn't going to take a verbal fight for very long. He let go of Yohji's shirt and clenched his hand into a fist, drawing it back so fast that Yohji barely had time to get his defenses up. However, as it happened, he didn't need them.
"That will be quite enough," announced the prissy little British tart, who now stood at Aya's side, clasping his wrist in a grip that even Aya didn't seem able to break. Those gemstone-hard, gemstone-cold amethyst eyes that had been focused on Yohji in rage now turned to the smaller, younger boy, softening. Actually looking sorry. Yohji had only seen such a look on Aya's face once -- two days ago, in the crumbling temple, when he stunned them all by telling young Sakura his real name. Smiling for her in this confused, strained way that none of them had ever seen before.
Yohji was suddenly struck by the fact -- struck like a stinging hand across the face -- that this Cye person had probably seen that smile and more, many more times than Yohji could ever dream of.
Caught up in these momentary thoughts, Yohji didn't have the wherewithal to jerk away when Cye grabbed his wrist as well. When he did try to pull his hand free, he found himself caught in a steely grip that wouldn't give, no matter how hard he pulled. Yanked along by the lithe young man's peculiar strength, he and Aya were both led summarily from the room and shoved out the front door into the cool evening.
"Cool off," Cye declared, slamming the door on them. Yohji heard the distinct click of a deadbolt lock.
Silence hung between him, Aya, and the front door for several long seconds. Then he heard Aya murmur, "At least he did not drop us in the lake."
*****
Kento waited outside the room, peeking in through the cracked-open door until Cye had stopped muttering to himself. The redhead had stomped back in, reclaiming his chair and the pants he'd been working on with a vengeance. The job was finished rather savagely, the needle jabbing through fabric like an attack. Kento had winced as he caught a few of the choice comments about the guys that Cye just shoved out the door. When Cye unbent enough to swear like that, it was a far better idea to just seek cover.
The storm seemed to die down once the hemming was finished, though, and Kento thought it was probably safe. He still stuck his head in cautiously, smiling at his friend. "Hey, I was passing through and wondered if you were done with the kid's stuff? I've got him settled, didn't think it was a good idea to have him up and around yet."
"You mean after you heard the shouting and decide to investigate, of course." Cye's blue-green eyes glinted dangerously for a moment, at odds with the calm tone. "I suppose Omi wanted to come in and break it up?"
"Uhh... well, yeah," Kento mumbled, trying to think of how to get away from the glare. Cye always knew when someone was lying, of course. Torrent's virtue of Trust always seemed to clue him in. "I told him you had it under control." To his relief, Cye relaxed, his expression softening as he grinned.
"Heavens yes," he said, folding the pants neatly and handing them over. "Honestly, grown men and they're worse than we were at fourteen. They'll cool off before long and pretend as though nothing ever happened."
"Man, were we ever that bad?" Kento returned the grin, thinking back to he days when the Ronins had first met.
Cye thought about that for a moment, lips still curved in a smirk. "We had the benefit of teenaged hormones and not nearly the amount of angst that these boys bear, I think. Sage and I will get them all sorted out before we send them off. Now come here and give me a kiss before you head off to the boy."
The other boy claimed the kiss and gladly, before pulling back and ruffling Cye's hair. "Shouldn't think of him like that. He's not a kid any more than we are. It's an act and you know it."
"Oh, I know," Cye said, reaching for another piece of mending. "I suppose it's how he tries to hang onto his own bit of sanity. They're such lost things, aren't they?" He looked up, smiling again and breaking the momentarily somber mood. "Now run along, he's probably squirming to know what happened."
Kento chuckled and with a last ruffle, made his way out. It only took him a minute to get to the quiet bedroom where he'd left Omi. The blond was lying on his stomach on a futon, watching television with strict orders to stay off his bruised back. He'd tried to get up when the shouting started and was quite upset when he'd found his muscles were too stiff for him to get off the futon.
"Hey there," Kento said, dropping the bundle on the futon and settling down. "Everything's all set. Cye tossed them both outside to cool down, surprised them out of the pissing contest they were having, I bet. Do they do that a lot?"
Omi relaxed a little when he heard that Cye had things under control, but Kento suspected he wasn't going to let the troublemakers off so easily. "All the time. You'd never know they were best friends, as much as they fight."
Kento rolled his eyes, shifting around a bit. "Dude, how do you put up with it? It'd drive me nuts having them always going at it like that. Yet another reason you can be glad you're here, I guess. Between Cye and Sage they'll get their heads out of their butts before too long and just do it."
Big blue eyes got even larger as Omi stared at Kento in surprise. "Why would they want Yohji-kun and Aya-kun to fight??"
Kento blinked down at him, just as confused. "Fight? Who said anything about fight? They're pretty much desperate to fuck."
The kid did a great fish impression, Kento thought, watching his mouth open and shut with great rapidity. Cye would be impressed. He didn't have any idea what was so shocking though, Ryo of all people had picked up on it at breakfast. It must have really been a surprise, as a strangled "What??" was the only thing Omi seemed capable of saying.
"Oh, come on," the Ronin said. "You guys had to have seen something. Yohji might as well have had 'I'm insanely jealous and want to fuck Aya through the floor' printed on his face at breakfast."
Omi was nearly sputtering now, flushed a deep crimson. "But Yohji-kun likes girls! And... and why would Sage and Cye want to do that? Cye and Aya-kun are together, right?"
Kento shrugged. Any qualms he'd had about multiple partners had vanished years ago. "You already know we all sleep together, so Cye wouldn't mind sharing. As for why, well, it'd probably do something about all the fighting. Give them something to do with all that testosterone other than waste it being bitchy." He peered over at the blond in concern, the kid couldn't be upset about them being guys, could he? He seemed pretty okay with Aya and Cye being involved.
"But... but..."
"Hey, if it bothers you, just tell Cye, okay? I know you have to work with those guys. He just thinks it'll be good for them, getting rid of repression, open up with confessions and all that stuff. It's no good if it messes up your team though." Too bad, Kento thought... he had a few ideas he'd have to give up on if Omi was too bothered by the whole idea.
"It doesn't bother me," Omi said, trying to pull some shred of dignity together. "I just don't see Yohji-kun and Aya-kun ever... you know."
"Yeah right," Kento's grin was getting dangerously close to a leer. "You said Yohji dates girls so he probably gets some stress relief. I guarantee Aya didn't. If we hadn't run into you guys that night, I'd put money on Aya cracking by now and them screwing like bunnies in every storeroom you have." He chuckled as Omi buried his face in his hands, stifling a muffled groan. The kid was such a cherry. He supposed he ought to have a little mercy on Omi, what with him being banged up and all. "How's the back?"
Omi shrugged, wincing as he did. "About like it looks, I guess. I've had worse."
Kento did not like the look on the blonde's face at all. He'd seen it too many times with his friends, echoes of pain that no one that age should have to deal with. The Ronins at least had the luxury of an enemy who wasn't human and clearly evil. These guys had to go against real people. Kill real people. They were up against the dregs of humanity, judging from what Cye had said, but real human beings none the less. "Well... if you want, I've got something that might help? Sage gets this great stuff for aches, we must have gone through it by the bucket when we were fighting. It doesn't smell as bad as that crap you get in the store either."
"I don't want to put you to any trouble..." he began, though Kento could see the shadow still hadn't left his eyes. Kento wasn't anywhere near as sensitive as Sage or Cye, but he could manage to pick up the amount of pain that Omi was experiencing.
"It's no trouble at all," he said firmly. "Besides, if you're moving around better, maybe that Yohji guy will get the bug out of his butt. Settle in and I'll go get it."
He was back a few moments later, a fist-sized pottery jar in hand. Omi had found a few more pillows and was sprawled face down, bare to the waist. Kento was a little surprised at the position. The kid was pretty trusting, all things considered. Uncapping the jar, he settled down over the boy's legs before Omi had a chance to protest.
"I'm not about to get a crick in my neck doing this. Settle down." He leaned down, spreading the spicy-sharp smelling stuff over mottled yellow-green bruises. He was good at this, he knew. Strong, broad hands dug at tense knots, though gentle enough to not make the bruises worse. There was too much tension there, no matter how relaxed the kid looked.
And there he was, thinking like he'd just told Cye not to. Omi was still fairly short and slender but that just hid the cabled muscles of arms and back. Kento would have known he was an archer just from that. He filed that thought away for a moment, wouldn't do to let Rowan know too much about that, they had their own blond to play with. It was probably a good thing too that Cye had filled them in on this other team, including approximate ages. Otherwise he'd really feeling like a dirty old man about now.
*****
A late-season chill still hung in the air, and neither Aya nor Yohji had been afforded the luxury of jackets when they'd been forced outdoors. In silent agreement, they had avoided the cooler air near the lake, and wandered sulkily across the wide lawn. Bright sunshine made their unfriendly silence feel strange, but Aya was reluctant to be the first one to break it.
Rounding the side of the large house, they came upon a small garden in the back, planted mostly with herbs and bushes. Memories flashed in Aya's mind, of a larger, more colorful, more orderly garden that had looked something like this. For a moment, he closed his eyes, recalling snatches of bright, bold color and deep perfumed fragrances. Had it been so vibrant then, or were his memories enhancing the place where he and Cye had shared so much?
"Hey! You coming or what?"
Aya snapped his head up at Yohji's irritable call, and found his surly teammate several yards ahead of him already, waiting for him in the shadow of an ancient-looking weeping willow. Aya moved quickly to catch up, but Yohji was distractible, and had already ducked under the willow's umbrella by the time he was within speaking distance.
Yohji took hold of one of the long fronds, pulling it back toward the trunk. Aya remembered playing such boredom games as a boy, and was hardly surprised when Yohji let the frond go, just to watch the branch bob.
But he was surprised when Yohji spoke. "I never thought you'd end up with someone like that," he sighed, leaning against the willow. His fidgety fingers fluttered toward his pockets, in search of cigarettes that weren't there, Aya supposed. No wonder Yohji was in such a bad mood; he hadn't had a smoke in over twenty-four hours.
When Yohji didn't elaborate, Aya knew it was expected of him to respond. Delaying for a few seconds, he leaned up against the trunk of the broad tree beside his friend. "I never did either," he said finally. "I never thought I would end up with anyone at all."
"Didn't you ever want to?"
"No. Not... really. It seemed impossible, and..."
"... we had so many things to do. Missions to handle. Besides, who could..."
"... understand what we have to do?"
Yohji was looking at him; Aya could feel the other man's gaze on his cheek. What was so unusual, he wondered. They finished each other's sentences all the time. Why did his cheeks feel warm and his stomach feel uncomfortable?
"What do you see in that guy?" Yohji's voice was strained and raspy. Cigarettes and weariness, Aya told himself.
Out over the lake, the sun was setting. A hill rising in the distance slowly swallowed the flame-bright colors that the sunset painted on the sky. Aya watched it as the silence grew. There was no way he could explain it to Yohji. Yohji, who knew him as the unshakable, unmovable, determinedly cold Abyssinian; who knew him as a staunch, reliable, perfectionist co-worker and friend. Yohji had never seen the parts of Aya that had made Aya fall in love with Cye.
Suddenly Aya knew that was how he could explain it. "It's not what I see in him," he said quietly. "It's what he sees in me."
Leaving it at that, Aya turned and headed back to the house. The back door hung slightly ajar now, shining a thin strip of warmer light to welcome the wayward boys back inside.