"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?"
Omi startled a bit when Aya moved his chair, but he didn't protest too much. The shaking slowly started to die down under Aya's embrace. Aya must have been a good big brother, Omi thought absently, wondering if his older brothers had done this for him when he was upset or scared or lonely.
Didn't family do that sort of thing?
"How do you know?" Oh, how he wanted it to be real. His family wanted him home. "What if I just don't remember? You and Yohji said I'm not-" His voice caught in his throat. "-not really Omi." Of course he remembered last night. In his mind, though, the horrors of this place really didn't have anything to do with him possibly having a real family. If he could only remember being Michael...
"I've never... " Aya started but only could manage a whisper. He breathed in deeply, then tried again. "I've never said you are not Omi. In fact-" He bit his lip for a moment but then decided to continue on a bit shakily. "No, I hope you are."
He could feel nervous knots clenching in the bottom of his stomach, and he closed his eyes tightly as he thought over his next words. "I know because I know what has happened to me, and those are not things I could just imagine." He paused, not knowing how to say what he was going to. He'd probably end up sounding pompous even if that was as far from his intent as possible. "I was there when you recovered your memories. If you wish so, I'll tell you whatever you want to hear about it."
"You called me Mamoru. When we met here, you didn't call me Omi, you called me Mamoru." That seemed to be a pivotal point right now. He didn't quite fit with the 'world' they thought they came from. Why would he be the odd one out if it was...
If it was real.
He didn't seem to have heard Aya's offer, or at least he didn't seem to be giving it much thought. If they were fake memories in the first place, who was to say the way Aya remembered them wasn't also fake? He knew, or at least he thought the monsters and things that happened after dark were real. Two many people with too much empirical evidence for it to be completely in his mind, but Weiss... they all told different stories but somehow still just accepted that it was all the same thing?
He leaned harder against Aya. He just didn't know which were true. How was he supposed to remember the right things when he couldn't know?
When Omi leaned heavier against Aya, he wrapped his other arm around the boy as well, turning his head around until his cheek was resting on the top of Omi's head. He sighed, his breath rustling Omi's hair. He smelled just the same as Aya did, the same soap and fabric softener, antiseptic. And yet he felt so small, vulnerable.
It almost broke Aya's heart again.
"Because that's what the future you wanted," he said silently, voice raw by the words that sounded strange to his own ears. "Takatori Mamoru..."
The hurt was still there. Something he couldn't describe by words. Feeling so strong he could have built his life upon it, probably had in fact. And yet they were practically mocking it, Landel's. He knew the anger was waiting just around the corner to be called onto the stage, but now he didn't have time for it.
Mamoru was his future, or maybe his past. The memories he thought he had, the early ones of his family and everything before Weiss, were Mamoru's. He thought. According to the others, Mamoru would eventually go back to his 'real' family, leaving Weiss to fend for themselves.
Omi couldn't even begin to imagine doing that. Mamoru not being real at all would make that easier. At least for him. What if he was just confusing the memories, Michael's memories, his real memories, and assigning a name he'd heard to them. Aya had called him Mamoru, so maybe it was stuck somewhere in his subconscious.
Then there was 'Omi.' According to his own memories, and what almost everyone had told him, Omi wasn't any too real, either. He only began to exist after the...
Because Omi hasn't yet filled his quota of misery, which seemed to be one of the many rules of the universe; Weiss must suffer.
Aya's sigh echoed Omi's right after. He could only guess what the boy was thinking, and in fact he didn't want to assume anything. It wasn't as if he didn't have anything to say, on the contrary there seemed to be a mountain of thoughts he could have shared. Yet none of them compelled him to open his mouth right at that moment. Mostly those matters were too big to fit into his mouth, too; better observed quietly and conversed with by action.
There was one thing, however, which he wished to say. Even if it was something of an axiomatic truth.
"Whatever the future you is called, or you were called in the past, you can be Omi as long as you like." It came out a bit louder than he had meant, perhaps gaining strength from his certainty over this matter. A far cry from his statement years ago, 'you're Tsukiyono Omi!' But the intent still stayed the same.
He pulled back slightly and looked down at Omi, trying yet again to catch his gaze.
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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Didn't family do that sort of thing?
"How do you know?" Oh, how he wanted it to be real. His family wanted him home. "What if I just don't remember? You and Yohji said I'm not-" His voice caught in his throat. "-not really Omi." Of course he remembered last night. In his mind, though, the horrors of this place really didn't have anything to do with him possibly having a real family. If he could only remember being Michael...
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He could feel nervous knots clenching in the bottom of his stomach, and he closed his eyes tightly as he thought over his next words. "I know because I know what has happened to me, and those are not things I could just imagine." He paused, not knowing how to say what he was going to. He'd probably end up sounding pompous even if that was as far from his intent as possible. "I was there when you recovered your memories. If you wish so, I'll tell you whatever you want to hear about it."
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If it was real.
He didn't seem to have heard Aya's offer, or at least he didn't seem to be giving it much thought. If they were fake memories in the first place, who was to say the way Aya remembered them wasn't also fake? He knew, or at least he thought the monsters and things that happened after dark were real. Two many people with too much empirical evidence for it to be completely in his mind, but Weiss... they all told different stories but somehow still just accepted that it was all the same thing?
He leaned harder against Aya. He just didn't know which were true. How was he supposed to remember the right things when he couldn't know?
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It almost broke Aya's heart again.
"Because that's what the future you wanted," he said silently, voice raw by the words that sounded strange to his own ears. "Takatori Mamoru..."
The hurt was still there. Something he couldn't describe by words. Feeling so strong he could have built his life upon it, probably had in fact. And yet they were practically mocking it, Landel's. He knew the anger was waiting just around the corner to be called onto the stage, but now he didn't have time for it.
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Omi couldn't even begin to imagine doing that. Mamoru not being real at all would make that easier. At least for him. What if he was just confusing the memories, Michael's memories, his real memories, and assigning a name he'd heard to them. Aya had called him Mamoru, so maybe it was stuck somewhere in his subconscious.
Then there was 'Omi.' According to his own memories, and what almost everyone had told him, Omi wasn't any too real, either. He only began to exist after the...
After.
He sighed, miserable. Why couldn't it be easy?
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Aya's sigh echoed Omi's right after. He could only guess what the boy was thinking, and in fact he didn't want to assume anything. It wasn't as if he didn't have anything to say, on the contrary there seemed to be a mountain of thoughts he could have shared. Yet none of them compelled him to open his mouth right at that moment. Mostly those matters were too big to fit into his mouth, too; better observed quietly and conversed with by action.
There was one thing, however, which he wished to say. Even if it was something of an axiomatic truth.
"Whatever the future you is called, or you were called in the past, you can be Omi as long as you like." It came out a bit louder than he had meant, perhaps gaining strength from his certainty over this matter. A far cry from his statement years ago, 'you're Tsukiyono Omi!' But the intent still stayed the same.
He pulled back slightly and looked down at Omi, trying yet again to catch his gaze.
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It was nice of Aya to try to cheer him up, and on some level he even believed what Aya was saying, but...
Once you can remember us all ... then you can come home.
Was being Omi worth losing that chance?
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