He probably wouldn't have left the waiting room at all, had the nurse not gently urged him to his feet and ushered him to the sun room, all the while encouraging him quietly, telling him that accepting that he was sick and needed help was the first and biggest step to recovery. Now that he was cooperating, he'd be home in no time, she said.
Home. He just wanted to go home.
Problem was, he wasn't quite sure what 'home' that meant right now. The 'home' that he had only vague memories of, where they'd... they'd left him? Where they didn't care? Or 'home' where he was nothing more than a killer, and probably never would be? The one that felt so real he could almost taste it, that Aya and Yohji and Ken would tell him... Or, finally, the 'home' his brother assured him was waiting, if only he could remember it. The 'home' where he was wanted and loved and needed and...
He wrapped his arms tighter around himself as he wandered into the sun room, the nurse urging him to relax and not try to think too much about it right now. Not thinking sounded good, but he couldn't. Not when he felt like he couldn't tell up from down anymore.
What if everything was a lie? What if...
Then he spotted Aya. Aya would know, wouldn't he? If this was all a lie? If, if he was really Michael? He made his way over cautiously, unsure of his welcome. "A-Aya-kun?"
Aya looked up when he heard Omi speak his name, brows furrowed miserably and eyes blank. Omi seemed... confused, off somehow. Since when had he started stuttering? All this registered to Aya calmly, like in a dream.
Maybe the boy had had a visitor as well. Aya should have been more alarmed, considering the possibilities that line of thought brought up, feeling like the ground he walked was crumbling away. And yet he couldn't feel a thing.
"Omi," he said silently, finding himself surprisingly grateful for the company. "How...how are you?"
Wrong. Wrong, wrong, this was all so wrong. Aya wasn't supposed to look like that. He was supposed to be ready with an answer for anything, maybe yell at Omi for being stupid enough to believe all of that, but not...
He'd have to play along, try to remember. Something had to start making sense eventually, right?
He forced a smile, wobbly though it was. "I'll be okay. What about you?"
Aya swallowed as he eyed that hesitant smile, then he returned his gaze back to his lap and the letter.
"I... am not sure," he said silently, already a small voice at the back of his mind whipping him for sounding so weak and distracted. How hard would it be to lie? He did so every day. Omi obviously thought it was okay.
"It's fine," Aya finally forced himself to say. "You had a visitor?"
The smile seemed to have gone over okay, so he forced himself to move, sitting down in a chair near Aya. Well, sitting for a few moments before the vulnerable, open feeling got to be too much for him, and he pulled his knees up to his chest.
He eventually nodded in answer to Aya's question, not really noticing whether Aya was looking to see it or not. "You did, too?"
"Yeah," was all Aya managed for an answer. He laid another blank gaze at Omi, looking at him idly. He looked so much like Sena, big eyes and that same confusion riding heavy on the slim shoulders.
Aya didn't want to think about it. He shook his head slightly and winced when the brand new shoulder wound protested violently to the gesture, sending stabs of pain down along with his arm and spine, up to the stiff arch of his neck. He hissed under his breath and stilled his shoulders, slowly letting them relax again. It reminded him about last night, this morning and what happened around here when the darkness fell.
Just another cruel spell.
It was as if seeing Omi for the first time since walking into the sun room. The boy seemed small and vulnerable. Something was horribly wrong here.
"I guess we're not okay, huh? What happened?" he asked softly, trying to catch Omi's gaze.
Trying to catch Omi's gaze would probably have been easier if Omi hadn't been so studiously avoiding Aya's.
What was real? Was this real, all of this fear and uncertainty and pain and darkness and-
Please help me!
He took in a sharp breath, biting his tongue to stop himself from crying out, eyes going the tiniest bit unfocued as another random memory followed along the ends of that line of thought. Okay. So, they were triggered by similar thoughts, right, so he just had to avoid thinking those things. Right.
Get yourself together, he told himself sternly. Things like that weren't going to get him out of here, no matter which memories were true. "Nothing." He took a deep breath, centering himself as his-
assassin, killer, pulling the wings off butterflies, NO!
Calm. He had to be calm. Whether the memories were right or not, they existed, so it wasn't wrong to use them... right? "Nothing happened, really. We... talked. About a lot of things. What about yours?" He nodded at the letter in Aya's lap. Sometimes, a good offense was the best defense.
"Omi..." Aya started as the boy struggled with himself. He had a front seat to this show, and it wasn't difficult to see and hear what was not said aloud. Whoever had been visiting Omi was not good news. And as Aya had just witnessed, it could be anyone from his late brothers to his late sister and then back to uncle Persia or whoever practically.
It might have been a good defense, definitely distracting material in right about any other situation. Now Aya just ignored the whole thought, ashamed of the fact that he was grateful for the distraction. Omi seemed deeply troubled and Aya was more than happily willing to put aside his own heartache for a moment.
"Are you sure?" he asked quietly, studying Omi carefully for a moment before reaching over to ruffle his hair like he had done earlier this morning, only this gesture slow and deliberate. Omi would be able to dodge it if he so wanted. "I saw someone I didn't think I'd see ever again. And had a letter delivered to me, from my sister, I'm assuming."
Maybe some honesty would spring out a matching reaction?
He didn't quite duck away from Aya's hand, but the aborted twitch said he might have liked to. It wasn't that he didn't want the contact, didn't want that comfort. Far from it, really. Even this morning, he'd been more than happy for the attention. Now...
Well, it felt like a betrayal. Turning around from crying on his brother's shoulder to letting someone who might as well be a stranger be equally as intimate, or was it the other way around? If he could just remember, just figure things out...
"A letter from your sister? That's great, right?" He sounded a little more uncertain than he would have liked, but Aya-chan was part of Omi's world. If Omi wasn't real, was she?
"I don't really know," Aya murmured, even cracked a sad smile to company his broken tone of voice. He had not talked with her in length since she fell in coma. He was a bit afraid to open the envelop.
Understatement of the year, he was scared stupid to open it.
Even if Omi flinched, Aya reached for him determinedly, laying a warm hand over the soft hair and ruffling the blond bangs gently. He was hellbent on keeping what had been there this morning. And Omi seemed almost ready to fly away like a scared bird, cut all communication channels and be gone. If it was any way possible to avoid that, he'd go for it.
"But it made me wonder..." he begun slowly, studying Omi as he spoke. "Who did you meet?"
He tensed up under Aya's hand, not sure anymore how to react. So much had happened since last night, he wasn't even sure who he was, anymore, let alone who he was supposed to be to all these people who wanted things from him.
After a second, though, he gave in to the part of him that was telling him to just take comfort where he could get it. With a sigh, he let his eyes fall closed. "My brother."
Aya couldn't help tensing up as Omi confirmed what he had been fearing all along. But he made a point about not withdrawing his hand right away. He might as well do it right this time.
"So, you remember your brothers now?" he asked quietly. He wished he had known how to handle this one. He felt utterly lost, which never failed to irritate him. At the moment he was short on any emotion even vaguely related to anger, however, borderline depression playing a merry game of tag with his sense of duty and responsibility.
He finally leaned back and brought his hands together in his lap. What was the point? He was talented in murder, not in keeping his friends together when they seemed to fall apart.
He didn't open his eyes again, instead squeezing them even tighter shut and burying his face in his knees. He didn't need to look at Aya for this.
"I don't know." And he didn't. Not really. He remembered Mamoru's brothers. Probably. Maybe they were Michael's brothers, too, but how could he know? Some of the things Hirofumi had told him made sense or clicked with things he vaguely remembered. Like Masafumi playing the piano, or Mother loving flowers or...
But how did he know? He was starting to remember things, so many things, but how could he know?
Omi's and Aya's visions about Masafumi's musical talents might have been completely different. Aya knew Omi's knowledge about his family would be limited, even if he would regain his memories. But how could he bring himself to say any of those things aloud when Omi looked like this?
"Eventually you'll remember everything," he said quietly. "There's no need to push yourself."
What else could he say? It seemed something was coming back to Omi. How and what? It remained to be seen. Until then he'd just have to remain quietly supportive.
"...." This was one of those moments when Aya felt completely out of range. And yet he desperately needed to act.
He wished Yohji or Ken was here instead of himself. They'd know what to do, wouldn't they?
But neither of them were in sight, Aya would have to deal with this on his own. Even if he'd end up fucking it up royally. Omi, and Mamoru for that matter, had valued Aya for his honesty. How could he betray that trust now? It needed to be said, however hurtful it would be.
He pocketed the letter again-- out of sight, out of mind. And then he reached for Omi, or rather the boy's chair, which he pulled closer without caring if Omi would protest or not. His forehead ended up leaning against the top of Omi's head and arm wrapping around him warmly. He had once had a kid sister, this wasn't so much different, was it?
"I know, me too," he said softly. And it wasn't a lie. He wanted it to be true so badly. "But... It's not real. It's just one of their cruel games. Remember last night?"
Home. He just wanted to go home.
Problem was, he wasn't quite sure what 'home' that meant right now. The 'home' that he had only vague memories of, where they'd... they'd left him? Where they didn't care? Or 'home' where he was nothing more than a killer, and probably never would be? The one that felt so real he could almost taste it, that Aya and Yohji and Ken would tell him... Or, finally, the 'home' his brother assured him was waiting, if only he could remember it. The 'home' where he was wanted and loved and needed and...
He wrapped his arms tighter around himself as he wandered into the sun room, the nurse urging him to relax and not try to think too much about it right now. Not thinking sounded good, but he couldn't. Not when he felt like he couldn't tell up from down anymore.
What if everything was a lie? What if...
Then he spotted Aya. Aya would know, wouldn't he? If this was all a lie? If, if he was really Michael? He made his way over cautiously, unsure of his welcome. "A-Aya-kun?"
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Maybe the boy had had a visitor as well. Aya should have been more alarmed, considering the possibilities that line of thought brought up, feeling like the ground he walked was crumbling away. And yet he couldn't feel a thing.
"Omi," he said silently, finding himself surprisingly grateful for the company. "How...how are you?"
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He'd have to play along, try to remember. Something had to start making sense eventually, right?
He forced a smile, wobbly though it was. "I'll be okay. What about you?"
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"I... am not sure," he said silently, already a small voice at the back of his mind whipping him for sounding so weak and distracted. How hard would it be to lie? He did so every day. Omi obviously thought it was okay.
"It's fine," Aya finally forced himself to say. "You had a visitor?"
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He eventually nodded in answer to Aya's question, not really noticing whether Aya was looking to see it or not. "You did, too?"
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Aya didn't want to think about it. He shook his head slightly and winced when the brand new shoulder wound protested violently to the gesture, sending stabs of pain down along with his arm and spine, up to the stiff arch of his neck. He hissed under his breath and stilled his shoulders, slowly letting them relax again. It reminded him about last night, this morning and what happened around here when the darkness fell.
Just another cruel spell.
It was as if seeing Omi for the first time since walking into the sun room. The boy seemed small and vulnerable. Something was horribly wrong here.
"I guess we're not okay, huh? What happened?" he asked softly, trying to catch Omi's gaze.
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What was real? Was this real, all of this fear and uncertainty and pain and darkness and-
Please help me!
He took in a sharp breath, biting his tongue to stop himself from crying out, eyes going the tiniest bit unfocued as another random memory followed along the ends of that line of thought. Okay. So, they were triggered by similar thoughts, right, so he just had to avoid thinking those things. Right.
Get yourself together, he told himself sternly. Things like that weren't going to get him out of here, no matter which memories were true. "Nothing." He took a deep breath, centering himself as his-
assassin, killer, pulling the wings off butterflies, NO!
Calm. He had to be calm. Whether the memories were right or not, they existed, so it wasn't wrong to use them... right? "Nothing happened, really. We... talked. About a lot of things. What about yours?" He nodded at the letter in Aya's lap. Sometimes, a good offense was the best defense.
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It might have been a good defense, definitely distracting material in right about any other situation. Now Aya just ignored the whole thought, ashamed of the fact that he was grateful for the distraction. Omi seemed deeply troubled and Aya was more than happily willing to put aside his own heartache for a moment.
"Are you sure?" he asked quietly, studying Omi carefully for a moment before reaching over to ruffle his hair like he had done earlier this morning, only this gesture slow and deliberate. Omi would be able to dodge it if he so wanted. "I saw someone I didn't think I'd see ever again. And had a letter delivered to me, from my sister, I'm assuming."
Maybe some honesty would spring out a matching reaction?
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Well, it felt like a betrayal. Turning around from crying on his brother's shoulder to letting someone who might as well be a stranger be equally as intimate, or was it the other way around? If he could just remember, just figure things out...
"A letter from your sister? That's great, right?" He sounded a little more uncertain than he would have liked, but Aya-chan was part of Omi's world. If Omi wasn't real, was she?
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Understatement of the year, he was scared stupid to open it.
Even if Omi flinched, Aya reached for him determinedly, laying a warm hand over the soft hair and ruffling the blond bangs gently. He was hellbent on keeping what had been there this morning. And Omi seemed almost ready to fly away like a scared bird, cut all communication channels and be gone. If it was any way possible to avoid that, he'd go for it.
"But it made me wonder..." he begun slowly, studying Omi as he spoke. "Who did you meet?"
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After a second, though, he gave in to the part of him that was telling him to just take comfort where he could get it. With a sigh, he let his eyes fall closed. "My brother."
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"So, you remember your brothers now?" he asked quietly. He wished he had known how to handle this one. He felt utterly lost, which never failed to irritate him. At the moment he was short on any emotion even vaguely related to anger, however, borderline depression playing a merry game of tag with his sense of duty and responsibility.
He finally leaned back and brought his hands together in his lap. What was the point? He was talented in murder, not in keeping his friends together when they seemed to fall apart.
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"I don't know." And he didn't. Not really. He remembered Mamoru's brothers. Probably. Maybe they were Michael's brothers, too, but how could he know? Some of the things Hirofumi had told him made sense or clicked with things he vaguely remembered. Like Masafumi playing the piano, or Mother loving flowers or...
But how did he know? He was starting to remember things, so many things, but how could he know?
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"Eventually you'll remember everything," he said quietly. "There's no need to push yourself."
What else could he say? It seemed something was coming back to Omi. How and what? It remained to be seen. Until then he'd just have to remain quietly supportive.
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No need to push? He couldn't remember. It... He... He just...
He curled even tighter, shaking with the effort of not crying, and unconsciously echoed his earlier statement to Hirofumi. "I just want to go home."
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He wished Yohji or Ken was here instead of himself. They'd know what to do, wouldn't they?
But neither of them were in sight, Aya would have to deal with this on his own. Even if he'd end up fucking it up royally. Omi, and Mamoru for that matter, had valued Aya for his honesty. How could he betray that trust now? It needed to be said, however hurtful it would be.
He pocketed the letter again-- out of sight, out of mind. And then he reached for Omi, or rather the boy's chair, which he pulled closer without caring if Omi would protest or not. His forehead ended up leaning against the top of Omi's head and arm wrapping around him warmly. He had once had a kid sister, this wasn't so much different, was it?
"I know, me too," he said softly. And it wasn't a lie. He wanted it to be true so badly. "But... It's not real. It's just one of their cruel games. Remember last night?"
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