© 2006 Jet Mykles for the story. The characters however are not mine. Click here for more info on these beautiful kitties. Or check out the Bishonenworks WK gallery, which is where my obsession began.
Authors note: This is a continuation of a work of love. Pure fan fiction. I get no payment or kickback out of this except pure enjoyment and a wish to share the image of Aya, Yohji, Ken and Omi in my head.
– LEAVING –
It was inevitable, of course. Any assassin would know that. One couldn’t stay in one place too long or one got caught.
Aya told himself that as he packed the bag that was always half full. His other bag was still packed from the previous night, still sitting downstairs where Omi had left it. He’d known that they probably wouldn’t be able to stay where they were for long but… But this time he’d allowed himself to hope, to think that maybe things would calm down enough for him to enjoy life a little.
Ha! Not in the cards for Ran Fujimiya.
He ran through plans in his head as he rushed down the stairs. Money wasn’t an issue. They each had at least four IDs with passports and two off-shore banking accounts. Through force of habit and self-preservation, he had at least two stockpiles of cash hidden away off-site and was confident that the others had their own stashes. They would leave their cell phones. They’d have to contact Krittiker through different means.
He met Ken in the main room. The athlete was bent over his own bags, green sweatshirt tied about his slim waist and beat-up leather jacket over his t-shirt. His goggles lay hung like a necklace from his throat. “Are we going overboard?” Ken asked calmly, brown eyes level and serious.
“Maybe. You willing to risk it?”
Ridiculous question. Ken didn’t bother to answer it.
Omi and Yohji appeared at the same time, nearly silent as they rushed down the stairs. During the past few months, all four of them had grown careless, walking and moving around like normal people. Aya was gratified to see that it didn’t take much to pick up old habits.
Yohji carried a wad of paper towels, indicating that he, like the rest of them, would have wiped down most of the available surfaces of his bedroom. “I’m going to miss this place.” He sighed, dumping the towels in the wastebasket by the door. His long, mission coat was draped over one arm. Black jeans and a black midriff hugged his lean frame, the only mar in the lines being the pack of cigarettes and the lighter stashed in one front pocket. The watch that was much more encircled his slim wrist.
“No help for it,” Aya said, shouldering his bags and holding tight to his katana. He tossed his keys to Ken. “You and Omi take the Porshe. Ditch it when you can.”
Ken caught them, but frowned. “I was going to take the bike.”
“Fine, then Omi should take the car. You two will need it.” At their twin frowns, he sighed. “I assume you are going together?”
Unbelievably, that thought seemed to just dawn on them. Fine. He didn’t wish to take the time to sort out their affair. He shook his head and turned to Yohji. A moment of sheer panic threatened to blind him as looked up into those emerald green eyes. It was entirely possible that Yohji wouldn’t stick with him. Yohji was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, of seeing to his own needs. Perhaps more capable than Aya in the long run. They didn’t have to leave together. But Aya couldn’t fathom being without the blond.
Reassurance came in the form of a suggestive smile on those gorgeous lips as Yohji lowered his familiar glasses to cover green eyes. “And we’re taking the Seven, I assume?”
Aya beat down his own grin, determined to remain cool. He nodded. “But we have to get rid of it as soon as possible.”
Yohji sighed, tossing his coat over his shoulder and bending to pick up his two bags. “I know. I was so hoping to keep this one though.”
“Baka,” Aya grumbled, turning for the back door.
Yohji was only a few steps behind him. “We’ll be in touch in a week, yeah?” he called to the other two.
Aya glanced back to seem them nod then pushed out the door.
Omi watched Aya leave with Yohji at his heels, each of them glowing briefly as they passed through a square of morning light streaming across the kitchen. Horrible foreboding told him that he might not see them again. He bit his lip.
A comforting arm slid around his shoulders. He gave in to the luxury of folding himself in Ken’s arms.
“It’s okay, Omi. We’re probably taking this way too seriously.”
Ken pressed the keys to Aya’s Porshe into Omi’s hands. “We should get going.”
Omi stared at the keys. It made sense. His little car wouldn’t have the pickup to speed them away if necessary. But he was supposed to drive alone? Panic speared his heart. “Ken.”
“Come with me in the car.”
Ken frowned, shoving his bag up on his shoulder. “But the Yamaha…”
“Please, Ken. I don’t think it’s a good idea that we’re separated.”
Frustrated, scared, Omi gathered the lapels of Ken’s leather jacket in his hands and hauled the taller assassin to him. “I just got you, Ken. I couldn’t stand it if I lost you.”
Ken’s arms went around him, a reassuring smile curving his lips. “You’re not going to lose me. I’ll be right there with you.”
Omi shook his head. “Please, Ken.”
Outside, the Seven roared to life. They stared into each other’s eyes, listening to their companions drive off into the morning.
Finally, Ken reached up to brush a single tear from Omi’s cheek. A tear he hadn’t felt shedding.
Ken smiled. “Okay, Omi. Whatever you say.”