Disclaimer: Warning: SPOILERS up to episode 10. the song "Strong" is by Madelyn Iris, and i got the words frum my sister listening to the lyrics, so they're probably not 100% correct.. oh well. and of course WK is not mine =p don't sue dammit. also, i'm not used to writing this character... -_-; so if he's OOC, don't kill me. on with the show..

( // denotes flashbacks )

When they push you down
Get back on your feet
And kindly let them know
That you can’t be beat

It was always raining in movies when something bad happened, or was about to happen. Something horrible, something that would change the entire story, the way the 'hero' of the story looked at things.
It was raining that day.

He was still numb inside. He felt a thousand miles away from everything, his mind locked away deep inside. He was hiding himself from the rest of the world, painfully collecting the shattered remains of his soul and his emotions.
They had all tried to approach him, nervously, unsure of what to say to him.
He had tried a few times to force a smile, but it hurt too much. It made it feel as if his face would tear with the effort, so eventually, when he seemed to get only more and more distant with their visits, they helplessly turned away, trying to go about their everyday lives and hoping that he would be strong enough to come out of his shell.

And when they laugh at you
Look them in the eye
Smile right back at them
And hold your head up high
Just reach out your hand
And surrender to the tide
Fear not the enemy
For he is on your side

When he finally made himself leave his room and put on a mask of less pain, it was Aya who finally pulled him back into the real world, speaking to him as one who knew the pain of losing someone close. His words had helped...
But his heart still felt like it was torn into pieces.

He tried as hard as he possibly could to act normal, to recover his genki attitude, because he could see relief in the eyes of his team mates at his supposed slow recovery. But although Aya understood to a degree what he was going through, he could not bring himself to confide completely in the aloof boy, to pour his heart out to the stone-faced assassin.
And so he kept his pain and his anguish to himself and let it eat him alive from within.

When your back’s against the wall
When it’s all about to fall
When there’s no one there to come
Hold your head up high and let the weak
Let the weak say I am strong

Betrayal... murder.
He had lost his entire family. How could it be true that he was a part of the Taketori family? The flash of hatred and pitiless scorn that had flooded Aya's eyes that first day that they had discovered his secret had almost killed him. To think that his team mates had hated him-- if even for just that moment --was almost more than he could bear. Taketori was his family by blood, but this motley crew of tortured assassins were the only true family he knew. To find out his bloodline...and then to have his own sister killed before his eyes had nearly sent him screaming over the edge of insanity.
Aya, with his quiet but understanding words, had snatched him back from that brink, and he found a small comfort in Ken's bumbling attempts to cheer him up and Yohji's old teasing, but he did not feel completely whole anymore.
He wondered if he should hate himself for who he was. He was a Taketori, he was the son of Aya's mortal enemy and his own team mates were bent on killing his family.
Sometimes death seemed almost too easy.
A quick answer to his inner, silent torture.

Now when they’re diagnosed
You’ve got six months to go
Be sure to tell the world
Be sure to let them know
That you have lived your life
Following the sun
And when you reach the end
Let them know
You’ve just begun

"Yo, Omittchi!"
Omi looked up from arranging a bundle of irises. "Nani, Yohji-kun?"
The older man was surrounded by a gaggle of hopeful school girls as he called over to his small friend, "Go get that green and yellow vase from the back, will you?"
"Hai." Omi set down his arrangement, excused himself from the company of two admiring girls with a bright smile, and hurried towards the back of the shop, passing Aya, who was busy at the counter, and Ken, who was giving tips to a wistful-looking girl.
Once in the back, where it was relatively quieter, Omi relaxed against the counter. He glanced up at where the vase was on the top shelf and mentally gave himself about two minutes before Yohji would begin to wonder what was taking him so long.

He closed his eyes, relieved to be able at last to let the fake smile slide from his face, tightening his mouth to hold back the well of grief that threatened to overcome him. He had dreamt about *her* again. Another nightmare about his sister dying in his arms. He was visited by nightmares every night, now, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could handle it.

He couldn't help feeling a little sorry for himself, but stronger than that was his own self-disgust. Aya, Ken, and Yohji had all been through horrible things in their past, and here he was taking it like a little baby. You didn't see Yohji weeping and wailing about Asuka, or Ken bemoaning his ruined career as a J-leaguer. Even Aya rarely said anything about his sister, though it was obvious to the others because of their closeness to him that it hurt him every day when he saw her lying so helplessly in the hospital. But the solemn man neither asked or desired pity, and Omi was damned if he would be the baby of the team and go crying to one of his team mates-- who had troubles of their own --about his own personal problems.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself away from the counter with a determined frown and pulled the vase down from the shelf, pasting on a smile before re-entering the shop.

When your back’s against the wall
When it’s all about to fall
When there’s no one there to come
Hold your head up high and let the weak
Let the weak say I am strong

"If you're not going to buy anything, get out," Aya's voice was firm. "We're going to close."
"Bring your purchases to the front, kudasai," Yohji called. "Sayonara, thanks for coming~!"
"Ne, where's Omi?" Ken looked around quizically, placing an unwanted gardenia back on the shelf. "He was here a minute ago..."
"Aya told him to get out," Yohji said airily shrugging. "Sent him to the library to study for that history test he's got coming up." He grinned ruefully. "His way of being nice and giving him a break."
"Aa... I hope he's ok..."
"Sure sure. He's fine."

. . . . .

Omi shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it on the peg at the entrance to the library. It was getting cooler outside; it looked like a winter rain was on the way.
He headed towards the history section, reveling in the solemn quiet of the large building.
He loved coming to the library, it was his sanctuary. He loved the quietness of it, the old musty smell, the safeness.
Crazy people didn't come to the library.
No one died in the library.

He walked slowly down the history aisle, trailing his fingers lightly along the binders of the old books, not really paying attention to their titles. He just liked the feel of them, of that information running underneath his fingertips. It was almost as satisfying to open an instruction book or a history book of some kind as it was to feel his fingertips dancing over the keyboard to a computer, drawing information from the massive network like water.
He chose a random book and strode towards one of the empty tables, sitting down and placing the book before him, flipping it open without bothering to even check if it had anything to do with the time period his class was going over in school.
"Excuse me... can I sit here?"
Omi looked up, a polite smile already in place, voice light from years of practice. "Yes, please. I don't..." he trailed off, his eyes widening. "..mind...."
The boy standing beside his chair lifted one hand slightly in greeting, gorgeous face as impassive as always, a large reference book tucked under his arm. "Konbanwa."
"Nagi..." Omi glanced around quickly, as if afraid of being spied on, shutting his book hastily as Nagi slid calmly into the seat beside him. "What are you doing here?"
The younger boy didn't even look up, setting his book on the table and turning calmly to the first page. It looked like a computer programming book. "I should ask you that question. You haven't been coming here for almost a month."
Omi frowned slightly, unable to concentrate on his book any longer. "I was...busy," he said lamely.
"Ah." Nagi didn't even seem to be listening, eyes skimming the pages as he absorbed the information like a sponge. A very intelligent sponge.
Omi turned his eyes on his book, swallowing hard. He couldn't deny that he was happy to see the other boy again... The tentative friendship they had started shortly before Ouka's death had been purely coincidental, but had grown stronger with time. Nagi was an important part of Omi's life, now, and he realized that it had been stupid of him to avoid the library and therefore avoid Nagi. But he had been too ashamed to cry in front of the solemn boy, had been determined not to show his face again until he had things under control.
They had met in the library, and had both been wary of each other, wondering if a fight was forthcoming. But both were reluctant to give up the library, their sanctuary, the saneness of the place. An uneasy truce had been agreed upon and had slowly turned to friendship. No one else knew about it; not Weiß, not Schwarz.
It was their little secret.
Nagi glanced up after almost ten minutes and arched a brow at his older friend, who was still staring dully at the first page. Sighing quietly, he marked his place with a scrap of paper and rose to his feet, touching Omi lightly on the shoulder. "Come on," he said. "We're going to the bathroom."
Omi rose to his feet without question and followed the young assassin to the bathrooms at the other end of the library.

Once they were inside the male's bathroom, Omi leaned over the sink, gazing at his reflection with dead eyes as Nagi moved past him, calmly pushing open each stall door to check for occupancy. "I feel like I'm going crazy, Nagi," he said, his voice eerily calm. "I guess... I'm getting over Ouka's death a little. I mean, you do that, right? Eventually you just kinda... accept someone's dead. Right? But... Knowing who I am... wondering if Aya still secretly hates me..." He turned, his voice rising an octave. "I feel like I'm tearing apart!"
Nagi approached him calmly, his inspection done. They were alone in the bathroom. He placed his hands on the sink's countertop, on either side of the older boy, gazing up at him with hooded dark eyes. "You should have come here earlier, then. To let me help you forget. And understand."
Nagi sighed a little, glancing away almost as if caught explaining things to a child when he would rather be doing something else. "If your precious leader really hated you he wouldn't talk to you, work with you, or even look at you. You've seen the way he looks at Taketori and Crawford. You've seen what he looks like when he faces someone he hates. He doesn't look at you like that, does he?"
Omi slowly shook his head, hesitant. "No...but..."
Nagi shut him up efficiently, pressing his mouth to the older boy's, pushing a hot, impatient tongue inside and sliding a hand around Omi's lower back. After only a brief hesitation Omi raised his own arms, wrapping them around Nagi's slender form and kissing him back.
This... this was what he needed. What he wanted. This was what made him feel wanted, made him realize he wasn't hated. Quickly Omi took control of the kiss, twisting so that Nagi was pinned against the counter, a willing participant who raised slender hands to cup Omi's face in his palms.
He could still remember the first time the telekinetic had made a move on him, had run his hand down Omi's torso and brushed his lips against his own. He had been shocked and red as a beet, stumbling back, stammering, humiliated by Nagi's small smirk and chuckle.
But Nagi was a beautiful boy. And a persistant one.
The same Omi who months ago had flushed at Nagi's suggestive touches buried his hand in dark locks and tilted Nagi's face up to capture his mouth more fully, moaning a little as talented digits plucked his shirt from his pants and skimmed up along his bare back.

Let the weak
Let the weak say I am strong

Let the weak
Let the weak say I am strong

"If your precious leader really hated you he wouldn't talk to you, work with you, or even look at you."
Aa.. Nagi was right.
Ouka was gone. He belonged to a family of terrible men that he was destined to kill and that Aya was destined to hate.
But that didn't mean Aya hated him. And that meant...
he was not a Taketori.
Taketori may have claims on him by blood... but he was and always would be Tsukiyono Omi, Persia's appointed leader of Weiß.
Nagi had helped him to realize what had been in front of him all along, what had been there in Aya's eyes for him to see.
There was no hate in those eyes, no pity. Only understanding and.. acceptance.
Nagi wanted him. Maybe even needed him on some level.
And his team mates needed him. Needed his cheerfulness, his optimism, his sharp mind and swift fingers. The young men who had become his family, his friends, were hurt because he was hurting and they knew there was nothing they could do but work things out by himself.
Nagi opened his eyes as he pulled back for breath, feeling Omi's mouth curve in a smile against his own. He gazed at the other boy, brushing a finger across those upturned lips, and shook his head slightly in satisfaction. It was not the polite smile of Bombay's fake life.
It was Tsukiyono's smile. And it was real.

When your back’s against the wall
When it’s all about to fall
When there’s no one there to come
Hold your head up high and let the weak
Let the weak say I am strong


author's notes: ....GAG.
I don't like it... T__T grrrr.. no more writing at 2 am!!