Usual notes so you know what’s going on:

*this* is emphasis, or what you usually see in italics.

/ /this/ / is thoughts and memories. Anything going on in someone’s head. Got it?

 

########

 

legroom

(sequel to “living in close quarters”)

 

Their prolonged road trip was getting very old very fast, Youji thought as he puffed irately on a cigarette. Despite the biting cold and icy wind, Ken and Omi had been merciless in kicking him out of the trailer, in banishing him outside if he really *had* to smoke. They were sick and tired of living in what felt like a chimney. They were sick of his second hand smoke. They were sick of the drapes and the carpet and the furniture and their clothes smelling of stale tobacco. They were sick of telling him to put the damn thing out. And just ‘cause *he* wanted to die early of cancer...

Not that kicking him out here would rid them of the smell already firmly rooted *inside*. Not that he expected to live long enough to actually *develop* cancer. To be quite honest, he didn’t really think *they* would live long enough to develop it either.

But here he was anyway, leaning against the trailer, smoking, the cold of the metal siding seeping through his clothes, just as the cold of the wind did. Through the layers of his coat and shirt and sweater. Even wrapped in soft, fur lined leather his fingers were chilled, almost numb as he flicked ash off the end of his cigarette. And his ears were cold, too. Even with Omi’s ridiculous ski hat pulled low over them, the ends of his hair sticking out around the edge of it and tickling his neck. Here he was, freezing his ass for just for one precious hit of tar and nicotine, smoking and waiting for Aya to come home.

Heh. He’d been living in that damned trailer for far, far too long if he was thinking of it as home now. Long enough to warp his brain. How could that tin box be home, when the memory of the abandoned flower shop was still fresh in his mind? Of course, he hadn’t thought that the Koneko could be home, either, until he was cleaning out the flower cooler and the back room with Ken. Until he was sweeping up for the last time with Omi, locking the shop up for one last time with Aya and handing the key to Momoe-san with the other three at his back. Until he’d said goodbye to the kindly old lady and his apartment and dumped his clothes and magazines in the trailer.

Compared to *this* it had been nice in Tokyo. It had been pleasant, sniping over shop duties and who’d killed which plant and mussed Aya’s flower arrangements. It had been nice trying to help Omi with his homework when it was obvious the kid was way, way, way ahead of all of them. It had been fun getting in his way, getting between him and advanced algebra. Algebra. Ick. Maybe Omi’d be more well-adjusted if he’d let himself ignore *some* duties. No kid needed to be indoors on a sunny day doing algebra, of all things.

But then, they’d all been proud of Omi’s brilliance. They still were. Omi’s smarts gave him a chance in the real world. A chance the rest of them had long lost. The way Youji saw it, if Omi could make it, then all this was worth it. If only they could keep him alive long enough to give him the opportunity. And this dumb move had made that chance even more of a gamble.

Not that Omi wasn’t doing his work. He was. With as much, or more diligence as he had while in school in Tokyo. It was just that the old sparkle in his eyes was strained. He didn’t joke around as much anymore. He didn’t bounce on his way in and on his way out. He listened to sad music and sat Aya-like in the armchair with his arms wrapped around his knees, brooding or thinking, or being depressed. He was getting even more emotionally vulnerable than he had been before. It was like he was regressing or something. He was a kid and kids needed something solid to hang on to. Pulling the team out of Tokyo had pulled the proverbial rug out from under Omi’s feet.

And do that to a kid, take away all their lifelines and security and set them drifting... Well, that’s what had been done to Aya and just look how well balanced *he’d* turned out. Youji could see Omi going down that same path and he didn’t like it one bit. Something would have to be done, and done soon. The kid needed a diversion that *wasn’t* school work.

And Ken: Ken hadn-t ever been one for emotional equilibrium, even back in Tokyo. But *now*-- Now it was like some little trigger-happy gnome was firmly implanted in his head, throwing a little switch in Ken’s brain. The one marked ‘homicidal tendencies’.

It was scary. One minute it was just Ken, eating cornflakes and making a mess and Aya getting snippy about it. And then it was an argument. And then, click, Ken was out for blood. Maybe not *their* blood, and he’d never hurt any of them--at least he hadn’t yet--but one could see the shift. One could tell that Aya saw it, because idiotically stubborn or not, he’d back down and ignore Ken instead of continuing to rile him. And you could tell that Omi saw it because he was getting a little cowed when Ken was around. Well, maybe not *cowed* exactly. Cautious. Like he knew anything might trip the switch and he didn’t want to be the one who caused it.

Ken needed a distraction, too. Something like the kids back in Tokyo. They had been *his* lifeline. They had been what had kept him going. Ken had to feel needed. More. He had to feel *wanted*, even if it was just by a bunch of kids as soccer-mad as he himself was. And all the bitching lately probably hadn’t done too good a job of convincing Ken he *was* wanted around the others. In fact, all *any* of them had been doing lately had been extolling the virtues of a world in which at least one of the others were dead or absent so the others could have that much more space.

And Aya seemed to be losing what little color he’d had in the first place. He was so pale now that sometimes Youji could almost believe he was looking at a ghost, a disembodied spirit. So pale it sometimes seemed he was ethereal, that one should be able to see *through* him.

Heck, he might as well *be* a ghost, for all that he participated in the affairs of the living. He was getting so withdrawn that Youji couldn’t help *but* worry. The way he worried about the rest of them. *More* than he worried about the rest of them. Because he didn’t know what to do for Aya. Omi he could at least talk to. Ken one could distract once in a while and he’d be normal for a few days before you had to throw him off-track again. Aya just threw up walls and pretended no one else existed. Or pretended *he* didn’t. Youji wasn’t sure which it was.

And so he worried. Incessantly. Even when he got stone drunk to forget about it and Aya, and all the trouble he’d caused with that one comment.

And yeah, he could have made it all better in a number of ways. Made it all go away. He could have taken it back on the spot, made some *other* comment that would trivialize the first one, and maybe Aya wouldn’t have noticed it. But he hadn’t wanted to do that. He’d wanted to see how Aya would react. If he’d get mad, or dismiss it, or give Youji that familiar you-are-an-idiot look and ignore him, or if maybe, maybe, he’d accept the offer. And even when Aya had reacted badly and done none of the above, he could have laughed. Told him calm down, I’m just kidding and jeez, what a stick in the mud *you* are. But he hadn’t wanted to do *that* either. He wanted Aya to know that he’d meant what he’d said and that it was okay if Aya felt the same. And okay if he didn’t.

But Aya didn’t seem to see any of this. Aya just seemed to see Youji was a moron who needed more alone time than he was getting and maybe a date or twelve to wear down his libido. Aya didn’t seem to see that Youji could love him without his paying a price.

Youji could understand that. All of Aya’s previous loves had demanded pain in return. His family, dead. His love for his sister, paid for with his soul and with blood and any chance he might have still had after the ‘accident’ at living a normal life. *That* love he was *still* paying for, in worry and un-met hopes and regrets and guilt. And maybe whatever had come between that old life and the one he led with Weiss; maybe that had been just as painful, because he never, never spoke of it. So yeah, Youji could understand his reluctance. It wasn’t like *he* didn’t know what love cost. What losing it could do to someone.

Youji flicked his cigarette again, sending scarlet ashes to swirl briefly in the wind before they died to gray. Between Asuka’s death and this moment, he had probably spent enough on alcohol to save one or two failing economies. He knew what it was like to hurt. To not trust oneself, or anyone else. But he’d also known what it was like *to* trust. And he wanted that again. Wanted it badly enough to get up and ignore the bruises.

Sighing, he raised green eyes from the asphalt where they had been gazing. Honestly, he felt like a hobo of some kind, checking the sky for any indication of the night’s coming weather. They had a heater in the trailer, but the last time they’d used it it had killed the battery, and Aya had bitched the entire day about having to walk as far as he had to find someone who was willing to help them jump start the damned engine.

So Youji was thankful that there was a thick cloud cover tonight, to hold the day’s warmth close to the ground--though fat lot of good *that* was doing. It was thick enough to obscure the sky, and even parked outside the city as they were now, Youji could see no stars. The snow made up for it, though, swirling motes illuminated by the light leaking out the trailer’s curtained windows, reflecting it back at him, burning a bright white against all that soft, velvet backdrop of the night.

Just where *was* Aya anyway?

At least when he was being moody at home . . . er. . . in the *trailer*, Youji could keep an eye on him. Could at least reassure himself that Aya was okay. Well, *physically* okay, at least. Youji was highly doubting that *any* of them could be described as ‘okay’ at this point. Not honestly, anyway. But *now* Aya was doing a hell of a lot more of his sulking as he wandered alone all over Kyoto. And that was a bad thing, because not only did it mean he could be getting into all sorts of trouble with the people out for their blood, it also meant that Youji couldn’t even watch him from a distance, and really, why *hadn’t* he kept his mouth shut?

Of course, it was probably the watching that Aya was trying to avoid, now that he knew what Youji was thinking. In fact, his avoidance of Youji had become decidedly determined ever since that night. And the only good thing that came of it as far as Youji was concerned was that Aya slipped out of the line for the bathroom as soon as he caught sight of Youji approaching.

But damn, if he’d only leave the full-alert off for a few minutes, then Youji would have enough time to apologize. And Youji’d give a lot for that chance. He’d be willing to give up the couch and *his* place in line, and the right to tell Ken to shut up every ten minutes. And maybe even his days off. Maybe even hot showers, though he didn’t know how the others would feel about that, seeing as he sure as hell wasn’t going to take *cold* ones--Not in the middle of winter, anyway. And he’d do it for more reasons than just wanting everything to be okay between them again--even if it meant going back to the uneasy tension they’d had before. Just so long as Aya stopped avoiding him like he had the plague or leprosy or maybe both.

Not that it was all *that* easy to avoid *anyone* in the blasted tin can of a trailer they were living in. Not that *any* of them could help *but* get in the way of at least one other person at any given moment. Even Aya, tucked morosely away in *his* corner, couldn’t help but be underfoot occasionally.

Searching the darkness for any sign of Aya’s slender form, Youji smiled a little. Dividing the trailer had been the only way, in the end. You didn’t move Ken’s stuff when it was in *his* quarter, and one didn’t talk to Aya when he was in his. One didn’t look over Omi’s shoulder at whatever he was doing on his laptop when he was in his own territory and one didn’t touch Youji’s poster girls when he tacked them up on *his* wall. Of course, cross the unmarked boundaries and one was fair game.

Outside his area, you could bug Aya until he was red in the face, or mess with Omi’s laptop till it bleeped a long, continuous bleep and flashed error messages all over the place, nearly giving Omi a coronary on the spot. You could put Ken’s sweaty soccer socks outside so they froze hard as rock. Unwrap Youji’s cigarettes, replace the tobacco with tealeaves and roll them neatly back up. He suspected Ken of that one, even if he’d looked as decidedly innocent as everyone else had. Or maybe they’d *all* had a part in it. Maybe they were trying to tell him something.

The idea of territory had sprung up of its own accord. A concept that had sort of taken hold without anyone actually planning it. Because there had to be a way to get away from the others when you really, really had to, and it was too cold, or too wet, or you were too sick or hurt to go outside. Odd though, how *he* wasn’t allowed to smoke *anywhere* inside the trailer when Omi was almost always busy pinging away on his computer and wasn’t *that* just as annoying?

It was getting late. Later than usual. Usually Aya would be back by now, looking sad and strained and wary, giving Youji that considering look that was part apprehension and part dismay and part downright confusion. Sometimes Youji thought it might be part attraction, too. Sometimes he thought that the look on Aya’s face when he looked at him was very similar to the look he’d had on his face at the hospital, at Aya-chan’s side. Like he was looking at something far, far out of reach. Like he wanted something that could never be.

But then again, that was probably just Youji’s ego, telling him that maybe, maybe Aya was running from him because he thought he couldn’t have him. And really, how likely was it that Aya wanted him as badly as he wanted Aya-chan to wake up?

/ /Not very. Not very likely at all./ /

It was getting late and he was getting cold and he couldn’t really feel his fingers, though his toes had started to ache with cold. He should go in. He should give up on Aya for tonight. If he wasn’t back by morning, *then* he would panic. *Then* he would take Kyoto apart brick by brick, if he had to.

But for now, at least he had dibs on the couch.

 

~#~

 

Waking wasn’t nearly as pleasant as Youji had hoped it would be. Waking *this* morning involved being rolled to the floor without any regard for pain and possible injuries. Without any regard at all, save that of Ken hell-bent on finishing whatever strange task he had set himself on.

"Dammit." Youji grumbled, reaching for his blanket and pulling it off the couch and over himself, curling up on the floor as Ken pulled the cushions free and tossed them across the room.

"Get *up*, you lazy sack of bones!" Ken kicked him. Not hard enough to damage, but hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to make him curl up even tighter and huddle deeper into the blanket. "Don’t sleep *there*! At least move over where we’ve already searched."

"You’re not gonna find Aya under the couch, now lemme ‘lone."

"Aya? What the fuck are you talking about?"

Youji blinked. Gave up. Sleep was gone anyway, the remnants of what he had been sure was a *nice* dream completely fled. "I dunno. What are *you* talking about?"

"If you’re not gonna get out of the way, Youji, I’m going to--"

"Going to?" Youji yawned at him, shivered. Reached to the side and pulled Omi’s ski cap back on.

"Youji-kun, I was looking for that!"

"I’m trying to save you the disgrace of being seen in it." Youji shot back, turning his head to where Omi was crouched by the counters, rifling through a pile of *stuff*, much the same way Ken was shoving his arm into the cracks of the couch.

Omi sighed, shook his head in what looked like exasperation as Youji stubbornly crossed his arms over his chest and pulled his best pouting-Omi face. "How much have you got, Ken-kun?"

"Ummm . . . two bottle caps, half an oreo, a chopstick..." Ken tossed the items to Youji’s blanket and kept groping behind the cushions. " Something that looks like a cheeto . . . ."

"Eww."

"Actually, it’s probably cleaner in the couch than anywhere else in here." Ken returned, still eyeing the thing like it might attack. Youji had to admit that was probably true. He didn’t want to think about the hygiene of a place this small. Especially a place this small that housed a sports freak, a teenager and an alcoholic compulsive smoker. No wonder Aya disappeared all the time.

"*Another* chopstick . . . and . . . what the hell is *this*? On second thought, I don’t want to know. Socks, or *one* sock, white. And enough yen to buy a single french fry. You?" Omi pulled a face.

"Same. Throw in a dead cockroach or two."

"Damn it."

"Just what are you two doing, anyway?" Youji finally asked, getting up, leaving his blankets in a heap on the floor.

"Looking for change." Omi chirped, cheerful for once. Man, if *that* made him happy, he needed a life more than Youji had guessed.

"Change?"

Ken nodded. "Jesus, Youji, we need to go into town and do some laundry. Look at this place! It’s like living in a hamper, for God’s sake. The place is a fucking health hazard."

"And it smells like the insides of Ken-kun’s sneakers." Omi added, wrinkling his nose. Uh-huh. So the place was a stinky mess. *That* was true. *That* he could accept. But was this really *Ken* complaining about messiness? Wisely, Youji refrained from voicing that thought.

"Fine, but if you’re going into town, could you pick up some groceries? We’re in sad shape if Ken’s contemplating eating cheetos from the couch."

"Sure." Omi nodded, looked at him expectantly.

"What?" Youji. A touch suspicious.

"If you want us to get anything, we’re gonna need money, Youji-kun."

"And change to work the washing machines."

"Damn it! Fine, but you’re doing *my* clothes, too."

"Okay, okay. Just hand it over." Ken grinned. Ken looked like he’d won the lottery--or, with Ken’s brain the way it was now, like he’d just eaten someone alive-- a huge grin plastered across his face.

Youji reached for his pants, mentally scribbling out a shopping list. More beer and cigarettes were definitely at the top of it, along with instant noodles and anything microwaveable that *wasn’t* a TV dinner. Cloth rustled as he searched for his wallet. Flipped it open. "Shit. I haven’t got any. It’s not like we’ve been anywhere near a bank." They couldn’t risk opening accounts that were probably being watched. Manx brought them monthly installments of cash, but that usually went in a fit of splurging. There’d be a week of smokes and beer and potato chips and anything else that could make them feel like they were back at the Tokyo shop, and then they were reduced to leftovers again.

"Should we wake up Aya-kun?" Omi sounded hesitant. Like he hated the thought.

Youji blinked. / /Aya?/ / "He’s back, huh?" Pause to silently congratulate himself on how casual he sounded. "What time did he get back in, anyway?"

A shrug from Omi. "I dunno. Must have been pretty late. He’s still asleep." Omi nodded across the room, and Youji followed the direction his chin was pointing with his eyes.

"Nah. Let him sleep. We’ll just steal his wallet."

"But, Youji-kun--"

"If all of this hasn’t woken him, neither will my sneaking over there. Trust me."

"That wasn’t what I meant." Omi pouted, "He’ll be mad."

Well, yeah. Of course he would be. And Ken and Omi would be in town. Which meant Youji would be the only one around for him to be mad *at*. And twisted as it was, wasn’t *that* a great plan? A plan to at least get Aya to talk to him.

"Don’t worry, kiddies. I’ll explain and it’ll be fine. He won’t mind. Just throw in his clothes while you’re at it." Omi nodded reluctantly, and Ken rolled his eyes, grabbed his shoes.

"I’m innocent." He announced. "When Aya decides who to kill first, I know nothing about any of this. I was outside." The door opened and closed.

 

~#~

 

Omi and Ken were gone. Along with the piles of laundry that had accumulated on the floor because after a while no one could be bothered to be neat anymore. Except for Aya, who grumbled a little and obsessively picked up everything and put it away two minutes before someone else picked it back up and left it on the floor again. And between all that *and* wandering who knew where until hours after midnight, no wonder he was worn out.

Youji smiled. It was a good thing that Omi and Ken had taken it into their heads to clean up a little, and to go out to do laundry, because it meant he was alone with Aya again. It meant he was free to watch Aya sleep, curled up in the corner where there wasn’t a draft. Looking small and fragile under the bulk of winter blankets. And no, it wasn’t just Youji’s imagination. He *was* paler. His hair stood out starkly against the skin of his face. Other than that blood red mop he looked washed out, colorless. Maybe if he opened his eyes . . . .

But no, because *that* would mean he was awake, and *that* would mean he could see Youji. And *that*, in turn, would mean Youji would have to stop watching him and start gearing up for the fight that would inevitably follow his telling Aya that he’d taken money from Aya’s wallet without asking. That he’d touched *anything* of Aya’s without asking.

He could argue it, of course. Point out all the things Ken and Omi had said, which were, even if it irked him to admit Ken being right about anything, undeniably true. That if they left things the way they were, they would all inevitably start to mutate or something. And maybe Aya would be pleased enough to have the place *not* smelling like dirty, sweaty clothes to forgive him. It was just as likely, however, that he would just argue back and/or go icy and silent. And if *that* happened . . . . Well, Youji had tried to start enough conversations by now to know that it would be followed shortly by the sound of the trailer door slamming, and Aya would be absent for the rest of the day and maybe well into the night. Again. Really, he was going to get sick one of these days, spending whole days out in the cold, when all it took was fifteen minutes to freeze the rest of them. Even Ken, who swore by high and by low that rain and sleet and misery were the best things to play soccer in.

But right now . . . . Well, right now his eyes *weren’t* open, which meant he *couldn’t* see Youji, which meant Youji could look all he wanted. It meant Youji could lay across the re-assembled couch with his chin on the armrest and a beer in his hand and watch Aya’s slow, even breathing, and the way his eyelids fluttered every so often, stirring the tousled red bangs that had fallen into his face. So close yet so far. Close enough to touch, if he didn’t mind losing a hand. Or an entire arm.

Aya didn’t look that vicious now, though. It was hard to visualize *that* Aya, the seemingly merciless killer, when he was looking at *this* one. *This* Aya looked how Aya must have looked back *then*, in the lost days before he carried that sword and that gun. Well, minus the rings under his eyes and the near-unhealthy pallor of his skin and the slight furrow of his brows which pretty much screamed “impending nightmare”.

Youji had watched him sleep often enough to know that look by now. To know it would be followed by muttering, and then tossing and turning. To know that in a few more minutes Aya would be jerking awake, soaked in cold sweat. To know he had to look away and pretend he’d noticed nothing when he did wake. That he would have to ignore the wide-eyed stare that was as terrifying to Youji as whatever had caused it probably was to Aya. Ignore the way Aya would bow his head and rake fingers through tangled hair. Not to fix it or tidy it, but to chase away the fear with pain. Angry with himself for having been scared of a dream, a stupid *dream* dammit! Youji could see him thinking it, could see him cussing himself out as he looked around to get his bearings.

Yup. Just as he had expected. Aya gasped and his eyes shot open. Youji could have started a countdown. Three....two....one.....wake. And he’d be right, too. His timing was never off anymore. He knew just when to flick his gaze away so Aya wouldn’t suspect him. Just *where* to look so it wouldn’t look like he’d just looked away. Usually his eyes headed for the poster girls. Not today, though. Today, he decided it wouldn’t help matters to be caught gazing at near-naked chicks. Today he didn’t even bother to blink.

Aya was raking fingers through his hair, still looking shaken, but with that angry look coming into his expression, chasing it away. Jeez, couldn’t Aya deal with anything without getting mad at *someone* over it? Youji’s ego again. Telling him maybe Aya was just mad at him because he didn’t know how else to deal with the emotion. Youji’s ego telling him Aya was feeling any emotion at all.

He was still mulling this over in his head, watching Aya’s return to the waking world, when those violet eyes flickered. Lifted from where they had been fixed on the blankets to stare, shocked and surprised, into his own green ones. To narrow from large pools of scared plum to angry slits of cool amethyst.

"Hey there." Youji smirked lazily. "You okay?" Aya continued to glare, probably hoping it would chase him off.

"Where were you yesterday, anyway? We--" Youji paused to correct himself, "I was worried. You could have called or something, you know."

Aya continued to glare.

"And you *know* how paranoid Omi is getting. He’s always worrying that someone’s upset or someone’s dead or something."

More glaring. God, didn’t his eyes get tired? Dry out? Didn’t he need to *blink*?

"I mean, I know you’re a selfish shithead, but--"

"I was out."

"Like I hadn’t noticed."

It was, Youji realized, becoming that argument he had dreaded. And it was hard *not* to argue, because it was a pattern they had *all* fallen into. It was as if they all resented one another, like they couldn’t breathe without infringing on *someone’s* personal space. Without offending someone.

So no wonder Omi was paranoid. Youji could see what Omi was afraid of. And not only because Omi had told him, one day, after he’d kicked Ken out into the cold to play soccer where no one was working on an assignment that *might* just be the difference between marvelous and spectacular, and therefore all the difference in the world to Omi. And he’d already gotten little enough sleep last night on the mission, so its pretty fucking hard to concentrate, *especially* with you making all that racket and could you *please* have a little consideration, Ken-kun?

Omi knew they were all falling to pieces here. Omi was afraid they would all end up hating each other. He was afraid they were drifting apart instead of closer, putting any sort of distance between themselves that they could, because they were physically squashed together. He was afraid the family was coming apart, and when these pointless arguments sprang up again and again, Youji was afraid of it, too. He tried a different tack.

"Ken and Omi are out doing laundry."

"Finally." Aya, turning a little in his nest of thick blankets to survey the room.

"Bet you’d forgotten what the floor looked like, huh?" Youji didn’t take his chin off the arm rest, just grinned at Aya frowning at the room as if he’d never seen it before.

"It’s still a mess." Yeah. But it was *less* of a mess. That had to count for something, right? Youji said so.

". . . I suppose." Aya allowed, eyes critically scanning the cluttered surfaces, the poster girls, including the one Ken had drawn a mustache on in a fit of peeve, and which Youji couldn’t be bothered to take down.

"I guess *we* could do some cleaning while they’re out." Youji offered, hoping Aya would turn him down. Hoping he wouldn’t have to spend this precious alone time *cleaning* instead of using it to do what he’d intended. Instead of using it to apologize and fix this mess he’d made.

"I guess we could." Aya said, looking down at his hands.

"Unless you want to do something else?" Oops. A glare for that. Aya stretching and getting to his feet. Too bad he did it so quickly, though. Aya stretching was a sight. Aya stretching was an elegant, graceful curving of the spine and an all too brief, sensual glimpse of muscles sliding easily under that damned shirt he had on.

"No. We should clean."

"Oh. Okay." Youji didn’t get up, though. He just rolled over onto his back to watch Aya pad to the kitchen end of the living room/bedroom/kitchen. Which simply meant he was standing in the area nearer the counter and microwave, as opposed to sitting on the couch, which would have meant he was in the living room while ‘in the bedroom’ meant anywhere else with a blanket pulled over one’s head. Crazy way to live. A decidedly inhumane arrangement to force *anyone* into.

"There’s no food." Aya said, frowning into the box of cereal Omi or Ken had left standing on the counter. The cabinet doors were open above his head, just the right height for Youji to bang his on every other time he needed a snack.

"I know. They’re shopping while they’re doing the clothes, too."

A soft snort from Aya as he flattened the box and shoved it into the overflowing garbage can. Impossible to determine exactly what he meant. Doubt? Derision? Disbelief? Probably that. Youji couldn’t believe Ken *wanting* to clean *or* shop, either.

Youji sat up, held the can of beer in both hands and stared hard at it. The way Aya had stared at the ants that day in the convenience store, waiting his turn to shower. As if there was something of importance to be had in their mindless trooping back and forth. As if the caloric value of beer could hold some sort of philosophy. As if he didn’t want to look anywhere else for fear of what he might see. What he might not see.

"Uh, Aya?" He didn’t wait for a response. Most things Aya would say would only topple his resolve. He just plowed ahead as soon as those incredible eyes locked onto him. He didn’t need to look up to know when they had--he could feel it. An almost imperceptible tingle in his skin. "I had to borrow some money from you so they could. You know, shop and stuff. I hope you don’t mind."

He looked up. Aya was blinking at him, listening. Not glaring, not looking mad. Not looking like he was about to unleash a shitstorm, either. Just listening. Like he could hear that underlying tone in Youji’s voice that Youji'd thought was only in his mind.

"I’m sorry, Aya. And not just about the money."

Odd. Aya was still listening. Wasn’t making a break for it. Was even *looking* at him as he listened, and not away, feigning interest in unlikely things.

"I’m sorry, too." He said, leaning back against the counter, finally dropping those eyes. Good thing he did, too. Youji didn’t think he could stand looking into them for a moment longer. "And not just for making you worry last night."

Even score. They were both sorry. At least it was a step in the right direction.

"And Aya? You can have the couch from now on, if you want."

Aya looked over at it. Blinked at Youji. Smiled. So faint it was almost invisible, especially with the shadow of exhaustion and maybe a slight cold in his eyes and on his face, but at least it was a smile, or a shadow of one. At least it was *real*. Youji decided to go for broke.

"Unless you think there’s room enough for two?"

"No."

Youji looked away. Nodded. "Okay. I’m sorry. I--"

"But maybe one day there will be."

"Well gee. I hope it’s not *too* long a wait."

"I hope so too, Youji. I hope so, too."

 

 

~tbc

#######

 

Weeeellll? Is everyone who asked for this disappointed? Hmmm. Might need another sequel? *watches readers away in horror*. Okaaaayyy . . . .

 

to part three--reststop>>

<<back to part one--living in close quarters

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