CrossBlades

      Something calm and almost deadly enwrapped him in silence. So quiet, so cold, soft and still like velvet walls. Why was silence so comforting?
      Something moved out of the corner of his eye. A young woman pulled the book from its shelf and examined the cover. His eyes slid along her thin frame. Sliver glasses hid beneath auburn locks tied up in a black ribbon and cascaded down the back of a long red overcoat. Dark edges of a skirt hung above black grannie boots. From the side she was quite attractive, drawing looks from other men around her. His eyes returned to the page, still soaked in silence, his concentration returned.
      Silence broke as something pushed its way through the door and into the stagnant air.
      “Okay, you promise this won’t take long?” The presence was unavoidable now as the young voice of protest reached his ears. He looked up, expecting to see a child pulling at its mother’s sleeve. Instead, the spiky blonde bangs of a twenty year old male stood out across the room.
      “Here, lemme show you something I think you might like.” A shorter girl with wavy brunette hair pulled him by the arm away from the door.
      “Yes! I get to see your panties!” His fist popped up from behind a shelf. The third figure turned and glared after them, his long copper ponytail swinging under a dark cowboy hat. A brown duster swirled around his ankles.
      “I meant the sports section! You are such a perv!”
      “Ow!” The cowboy snickered at his comrade’s protest. His gaze turned to the last person, another man in his early twenties, brown hair to his ears with red highlights streaking through bangs that reached his eyebrows in spots. He stood slightly shorter than the cowboy, obviously slouched with his hands in the pockets of black jeans, a black wife beater covering the pale white skin of his chest. Something looked odd about his face but it was too far to see. He reached into his back pocket and riffled through his wallet, the chain smacking against his knee.
      “Okay, I have to get her some stupid book...” His voice was deep and velvety, almost like a purr.
      “Why?”
      “She asked.”
      “And we still serve Our Majesty the Princess? Her royal pain in the ass?”
      “I’m still her boyfriend.”
      “And I wonder why on a daily basis.”
      “Whatever. Help me find the Health section.”
      “Mental Health?” They disappeared behind a bookcase. They were the noisiest customers to walk through the door since he’d come in. He glanced at the clock. He’d been in the store for nearly two hours. His feet feel from the footstool and he stood, the black trench coat slipping quietly off the chair. At the counter he dropped a bookmark into the middle of the book and placed it in front of the cashier. She forced the same smile she gave everyone and took the bills. He took the bag and left, glancing over his shoulder to the strangers, only a brief flash of black between the bookshelves before he hit the warm air.
      Leaving the huge franchise bookstore somehow made him feel better. He only ever went there because of the big chairs and the fact that nobody seemed to care if you read a whole book while you sat. He only bought the book since he couldn’t stand the store for much longer, full of ignorant people oblivious to the world outside their petty problems. Too much for him to bear, and he didn’t want to start questioning why anyone would bother protecting them in the first place.
      The wind whipped around the door and ruffled the flowers on the hall table as the door shut. It was usually cooler in between the towering office buildings of downtown, the hot summer sun couldn’t reach past the steel shadows to the streets.
      He pulled his boots off and walked into the living room, dumping the bag on the couch. The glass was cool under his fingers as he leaned against the window. A breeze pushed the curtains, cool and refreshing against the miserable humidity that coated the city like molasses.
      “I’m going to have a shower.”
      “What did you buy?”
      “A book of Baudelaire’s poems.”
      “Wasn’t he French?”
      “Yes.” He walked past the young blonde, still unmoving from his computer screen.

      He was stretched out on his bed, the book open on his chest. The pillow was cold from his wet hair but he lay unmoving, staring at the ceiling with one hand under his neck. The book was almost finished, scribblings of pain and forced life run through a French-English dictionary.
      It wasn’t that he was tired, just unwilling to move, even to turn the page. It was too late in the day to take a nap and there would probably be an evening meeting in a few hours anyway.
      Something drifted to his nostrils, the faint smells of supper as it filled the apartment. He stretched, letting the book slip onto the covers, then stood up. Aya stopped in front of the mirror to comb his fingers through his red locks, wrapping one of his bangs absently around a finger. He tugged on the short cut black shirt that just covered his ribs and tucked his thumbs into the pockets of his dark gray mircofiber pants.
      The other three team members were gravitating around the kitchen as he came down the open staircase. Omi had moved his laptop to the kitchen table as usual and Yohji was planted on the counter, entangled in the telephone, probably setting up another date. Ken was staring into the open oven and tentatively poking at whatever they were about to eat. Aya leaned his shoulder against the wall and wrapped both arms around his chest.
      Ken brought the pan to the table and plunked it down on the cooling rack. Everyone sat as he went back to the counter and hung up his oven mitts.
      “Meat loaf again?”
      “Do you want to cook?”
      “No,” Omi pulled a piece out of the pan and looked shyly at Ken.
      “Well then...”
      “I think what Omi meant is that a little diversity is good.”
      “Well that fits you to a T.” Ken took a sip of his lemonade, the ice cubes clinking softly against the glass.
      Yohji stiffened. “Jealousy, that’s all it is.” He waved his fork.
      “Quality over quantity, rhinestone cowboy.”
      “I love that song!” Omi smiled around his mouthful of food.
      “Since when did I turn into a bad country song?”
      “Shows what you know.”
      “What’s that supposed to mean?” Yohji dropped his fist to the table, glaring at Ken. “You’re infuriating!”
      “You’re a womanizing idiot.” He broke his grin to stare back.
      “Guys?” Omi waved his chopsticks.
      “Is there a meeting tonight?” Aya’s cold voice snapped both men out of their tiff.
      “I think so.” Ken rested his fork on his plate. “Manx sent an e-mail, didn’t she?”
      Omi nodded.
      “Then I’ll be down later.” He stood, pushing the chair out from behind him, and left the table. The other three finished in silence.
      His bare feet tapped against the wood of the steps. Ken and Yohji were both respectable partners and highly skilled. Anyone that could stand up to Schwartz was worth keeping on the same side. Their bickering, however, could only be tolerated for so long.
      He shut the door to his room and sat on the bed. The light blinked on the stereo and he slipped the oversized headphones over his ears. His eyes shut, letting himself fade off into the music.

Chapter 2
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