"CHIKUSHO!"

Yohji removed his fist from the flattened pillow, and the imagined face that had been there.  He let his eyes fall shut again.  There didn't seem to be much point in even trying to get out of bed.  And as long as he locked the door, he was sure there would be no one to notice the difference of whether he was home or not.

His body was aching and sore.  He *would not* think about the reason, of the whys and wherefores of how it had become so.  He *would NOT* think of how it had become so, years before.

About the only thing he would do was lie in bed and try not to remember anything.  This sieve-like memory had been the practice of years.  The only true test of it was how quickly he could forget.

"White," he mumbled, passing a hand over the stinging scratches on his chest.  He shuddered.  *We are not white anymore.*  That is, if they ever had been in the first place.

Aya popped in the door, a box balanced on one hand.

Yohji half-hitched himself up in bed, glaring.  "TEMEE!!  What the hell do you think you're doing here!?"

"It sounds like someone needs White Cross Detergent," Aya intoned in a sepulchral voice.  He stumbled into the room, as if pushed with quite a bit of force.  "Don't forget, White Cross Detergent can handle the toughest stains."

Yohji turned red.  All over.  "Come over here," he gritted, "I'm going to kill you."  He crooked one finger, green eyes blazing.

Aya stayed where he was.  "There's nothing like White Cross Detergent to get the bloodstains out the morning after."

Yohji started up out of bed with a low growl.  "I know who's responsible for this.  OMI!  You little PRICK!  Is Ken filming this to air as a commercial?"

There was a suspicious *thud* outside of Yohji's window.

Yohji clutched the sheet around his waist.  "Oh my god, he is."  He paled.

"White Cross Detergent: it purges the blackest sins."  Aya dropped the box with a grimace of distaste.  "It could be worse."

"HOW?" Yohji demanded, disbelieving.

"Omi could market the tape he made of last night, but he's not *that* hard-up for cash."

Yohji keeled over.  "That was the only consideration?"

"I don't believe this," Jack muttered, pressing a button on his cell phone.  He tucked it into his pocket.  "Even his answering machine is lying to me.  'I'll call you?'  Dammit!"  He slammed his hands against the side of the car.  It rocked wildly.

"Hey, chill, man!" Alien swung around, eyes darting over his face.  "It's not like you to get so worked up over a guy.  Like, ever."

"This one's special," Jack countered.  His lips pressed into a thin line.  "I thought he was worth it, but it looks like he was just giving me the runaround."

Alien cocked his head.  "Yeah, so, maybe somethin' happened, huh?"

"Maybe," Jack said.  He rubbed his aching temples.  "I hope not, but--well, maybe."  For his own sake, he hoped something *had.*

"Hey, can I borrow your cell?" Alien asked.  "You're goin' with Match, and he's got his.  But I dropped mine in the toilet this morning."

Jack looked at him in disgust.

"Hey, it was an accident, man!" Alien said defensively.  He held up his hands when Jack continued to look at him.  "I wasn't havin' phone sex again, I swear."

Jack looked at him, lips twitching.

Alien blinked a few times, then looked away, obviously trying very hard *not* to smile.

"You were, weren't you?" Jack gasped out.

Alien cracked up.  "Yeah, okay, yeah!"  He began to laugh hysterically.  "I was havin' phone sex...and I was doin' it with Match's girlfriend!"

Jack looked startled.  "Hey, that's not funny."

Match crashed in from offstage.  "Yeah, you little asshole, that's not funny at all!"

Alien jumped three feet backwards.  "WHOA!  Match, man, I'm sorry, I didn't think you heard that!"

"Take it back!" Match seethed.

"Uh, I can't."

Jack sidled around to the other side of the car.  He did *not* want to be a part of this.

"Whaddya mean, you can't take that back!?"

"Well, because I *was* having phone sex with your girlfriend!"

"You bastard!  I'm gonna kill you!  I never shoulda saved your skinny ass that one time!"

"Oh yeah?  Well, you shouldn't leave your girl alone *all* the time!"

"You little backstabber, I can't believe you'd sleep with your own friend's girl--"

"Hell, man, it's been so long for her, even *I'm* starting to look good!"

Match stopped with his mouth halfway open, and blinked.

Alien blinked several times.

"Man, you just dissed yourself," Match told him.

Alien grinned.  "Yeah...I know!  So, you want me to leave her alone?"

"Nah," Match shrugged, "I was looking for an excuse to dump her again, guilt-free this time."

"Well, here ya go," Alien jerked his head.  "You've got a pretty damned good excuse."

"Thanks, man.  Put 'er there," Match nodded, lifting a hand.

Alien high-fived him.

Jack stared.  He would NEVER understand straight relationships.  Or straight male bonding, for that matter.

Now, where the fuck was Yohji, and why hadn't he called!?

Omi looked up, swallowed, and began to cry.

"Omi!"  Ken was bending down, putting his arms around him, hauling him up onto the couch.  "Oh, no, no...Omi, I'm so sorry...no, *please* don't cry...what did I do?"  He held him and stroked his hair and simultaneously tried to pull his jeans closed.  "I'm sorry, I should have warned you... don't cry, why are you crying?"

"Because you came in my mouth, you bloody arse!" Omi burst out, pushing Ken away, seating himself on his own separate cushion of the couch.  "You inconsiderate jerk!  You didn't even *warn* me!  And talk about stamina...you've got NONE!  I'm rethinking this whole relationship thing, Ken...actually, I think I'm going to go next door to Yohji-kun!  He probably knows how to treat a boy right!

"O-Omi!?" Ken gasped, sounding -- and looking -- utterly poleaxed.

"That's right!" Omi stood, fisting his hands on his hips.  "I'm tired of everyone thinking of me as sweet, adorable Omi!  I'm taking charge of my sex life!  In fact, I think I'm going over to Schwarz -- I bet they don't drop the ball, dammit!  I'm sick of taking the short end of the stick!"

Ken turned crimson.

"A~ra," Omi drawled, "did that hit a little too close to home, Ken-kun?"

"Omi, just give me one more chance!" Ken pleaded, clutching at his hair in dismay.  "You're being awfully quick!"

"That was my line!" Omi retorted.  "Goodbye, Ken-kun."

He stormed out of the apartment, shucked out of his house-slippers and hopped into a pair of sneakers, and slammed the door behind him.

Ken stared at the door, speechless.

After a moment, the door opened again and Omi stormed back in.  "Wait a minute, this is MY apartment!"  He pointed to the door.  "Out, Ken-kun."

Ken continued to stare, open-mouthed.

Omi sighed.  "Please," he added.

At that, Ken got up slowly and shuffled to the door.  He stopped to give one last, pleading look to Omi, who averted his eyes and thinned his mouth to a scowl.

The door slammed behind him, and Ken winced.

"That's it," Ken decided, "no more shotakon.  After tonight, I'm only sleeping with men over twenty-two."