notes: Something written for Sephy, Amet and Sanae_y, although Mummy Ringo might not appreciate me trying to convert her - or so she thinks. >.> My first full length Aya x Omi fanfiction and don't ask me how this came about.

What May of Dreams
by DaMouse

It was the third time. The third time since that staged battle at the snow-covered amusement park, that Omi woke up in the dark of the night, covered in sweat and shaking all over. The third time that he had the recurring nightmare. They were all standing in the familiar grounds once more, facing each other, weapons drawn. He could feel the pain even though he wasn’t touched, taste and smell the blood that had not been spilled. In reality, the battle was staged, all for show, for deception, part of the plan. In his dreams, in his sleep, that was the reality – the torment, and the blood…

Yohji, lashing out against him, the wire choking, strangling, cutting off his breathing. Ken, furiously slashing at the men that were supposed to be his comrades in life and death, his hands and metal claws covered with blood. And worst of all, Aya – face contorted with fury, eyes bright with hatred, mouth twisted in an ugly grimace as he came towards him, katana dripping red.

In his dream, Aya was the one who killed him, who drove the katana into his chest with no expression, no emotions. Aya was the one who put a stop to the beating of his heart, who ended his life. In his dream, he saw himself falling at the redhead’s feet, the last thing he saw being the Abyssinian’s eyes, cold and impassioned in their violet hues. Eyes that he didn’t know, didn’t understand.

The teenager sat up, drawing his knees against his chest, still shaking. The nightmare terrified him. He could not help thinking about the one single thought that was constantly running through his head, repeating itself like a mantra. What if the situation was real? What if Aya had not figure out the web of lies that was obscuring the truth? Would they have gone against each other, regardless? Would they have battled each other to death in the dark night at the amusement park?

Would Aya be as determined to kill him, deemed him a traitor? Would Aya hate him?

He tried to swallow back the nausea building up at the back of his throat. It was one thought that he never wanted a confirmation to, but at the same time, the confirmation represent the possibility of the assurance that he was desperately seeking, and yet, was eluding him.

His door clicked, then, and then swung opened to reveal the last person he had expected to see. Aya, dressed in a loose shirt and cotton pants, carrying a mug. Without a word, the older man crossed the room and handed the steaming mug to his younger comrade, sitting down beside Omi in a considerable distance.

After a slight moment of hesitation, Omi accepted the mug, sipping the hot tea gratefully, feeling a little calmer, his nerves soothed. An uncomfortable silence then settled between the two, an uneasiness that had not existed since the day Aya acknowledged him as Tsukiyono Omi.

The boy was the one that spoke first, twisting his fingers together, not looking at the redhead. “How did you…”

“You were screaming.” Aya said evenly.

He flushed, not realizing that he had done so. “It was a dream.”

Amethyst eyes regarded him, but the man remained silent.

“It was a dream that…” Omi’s voice caught for a moment.

Still, Aya said nothing, but continue to look at him in that unsettling way, eyes boring into his, as if he was trying to read the soul and thoughts of his younger teammate. Omi looked away then, flinching visibly.

“Stop looking at me, Aya-kun.” He said shakily, unconsciously edging away from the redhead, looking downwards at his empty mug.

“Because…?” The one word was cryptic in its meaning.

“Because…” he said apprehensively. “…I don’t know what to think anymore.”

Eyebrows then drew together in a slight frown. “Elaborate.” The tone was flat.

Elaborate? He really didn’t have the slightest idea how he was going to. As he lifted his head, Omi searched for the appropriate question. “How much do I…we….matter to you?”

A surprised expression flickered across the man’s eyes, and then his lips pursed themselves into a thin line. “Enough.” He said brusquely.

He stifled a laugh, then, Aya was really a man of few words. It was ironic that he could still laugh in the situation. “Enough?” He repeated tentatively.

“You – all of you – matter enough to me.” He tore his gaze away from him, his eyes focusing on another spot above the blonde’s shoulder.

Omi dropped his eyes, studying his feet. He could feel the questions hanging in the atmosphere, questions that he really had no intention of asking. “It was just a dream.”

“So you keep telling me.” Aya’s voice was laced with an edge of annoyance.

“You killed me.” He blurted out, and then shrank back, feeling himself starting to tremble as he was drawn back into the images of pain and violence, the snow stained with red.

If he had been looking at the redhead, he would have seen the surprise, and then uncertainty, and then resignation. Resignation that some damage had been done and could never be undone.

“It was a dream.” He said, aware, that he was echoing Omi’s exact words.

“What if it wasn’t?”

Violet eyes were flickered with the slightest confusion. “But it was.”

“What if it wasn’t?” Omi repeated. “Would you have…?” The unasked question hung in the air, its meaning evident. He looked at Aya, dreading the answer, and yet, wanting to much to know. Perhaps, he wanted an answer. Whether it be closure, or not, he wanted, no, needed, to know.

Aya looked at him, a strange intensity sculpting his features. “I am Weiss.” He said tonelessly.

Something in him dropped, he could feel it, pummeled, weighted by a seemingly heavy stone, as a mixture of incomprehensible feelings washed over him.

Fear. Agony. Devastation.

“But…I would not have killed you.”

He looked up, his heartbeat accelerating, surprised etched on his face. Aya’s face was expressionless, but the colors in his eyes shifted. “I could not have done it.”

“Why…?” Omi faltered.

What happened next, was not expected, by any of them.

The younger one might have wanted it, to some extent, but never letting himself think about it in those lines. He would never have anticipated any sort of reciprocation, so he chose to bury it.

The older one had kept everything bottled up in himself for far too long. He had resigned to the fact that some things were going to remain unfulfilled. Or perhaps, he never allowed himself to act upon any sort of feelings that was undoubtedly not expected of him.

Or maybe, there was no proper explanation.

Tentative fingers grasped Omi’s shoulders, and he felt himself being pulled towards the older man.

Aya kissed him.

It was more of brief touch of lips upon lips, not a soul-searching, nerve racking kiss, it was a feather-light contact, not with any wild, unbridled passion – but nevertheless, it was, a kiss.

He pulled away after a few seconds, fingers loosening its grip, his eyes a dark violet. “Because. You matter to me…Omi. Very much.”

The boy was stunned, his mind racing frantically, trying to comprehend all that was happening. Touching his lips, still feeling the brief tingle, and the pleasing sensation of that intimate contact with the redhead, all thoughts of the nightmare, the blood, the deaths…dissipated. Because, now he knew – it was what it was. Dreams, nightmares. Not this. Not reality.

Because this was reality. Him, and Aya.

A brilliant smile lighting up his face, he picked up Aya’s hand, squeezing it. “So do you.”

A rare smile crossed Aya’s porcelain features, and he leaned a little closer towards Omi, returning the pressure on his hand. “I know.”

Omi wanted to kiss him again, and so, he did just that.

-end-
1292 words

*headdesk* I should write Happy!Joy!Aya x Omi. *snerks* Yeah, right. But I haven't written fanfiction in almost - what? Two months, I think? *shrugs* Bound to be rusty.

 

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