Time: 1am
Hours of sleep: 2
Beers: 1 1/2

The leftover half sat next to Yohji's elbow as he peered at the computer screen. It was probably warm by now; he hadn't touched it in an hour.

Still, probably better to be frying his eyes doing research than getting drunk. Getting drunk had gotten him into this in the first place.

Less than a full week had passed since the night at the hotel. He'd had two wet dreams, probably because he'd doggedly refused to jerk off. The only images his treacherous body wanted to jerk off to were images of him.

Schuldig. The object of his wet dreams and of his research. Yohji hadn't expected to find out much and was therefore not disappointed. He knew only two things that he hadn't know when he'd given up on sleep an hour ago.

One; Schuldig was most probably German, because two; schuldig was a German word. It meant guilty. A codename, maybe, but Yohji couldn't figure out why he'd give out his codename to a stranger.

Yohji yawned and picked up his beer. It was warm. He almost drank it anyway, but if he wanted to get drunk, he'd need a lot more than half a can. It probably wouldn't help if he did. He just needed willpower. And sleep.

He poured the rest of the beer into the sink and got back in bed.

Time: 7:30am
Insomnia: 1
Yohji: 0

Yohji slumped over the counter, breathing in coffee steam. Just over half an hour to go until the before-school rush started. He wondered if Aya would let him go back to bed. Probably not.

Aya was transplanting a cactus in the corner and giving him suspicious looks. Aya had been giving him suspicious looks all week, every time he showed up for work.

Granted, it wasn't usual for him to be on time when he had the morning shift, but it wasn't a sign he was in league with the devil either. Unless the devil had orange hair and bright blue eyes. Last night, still awake around three, he'd considered that possibility.

Yohji shook his head and stood up. Sleep deprivation, that's all it was. It was why he was on time and it was why thoughts like that seemed so reasonable, and it was why he kept noticing the way Aya's hair brushed his neck and the way Aya's jeans clung to his thighs.

"Am I supposed to be doing something?" he asked, secure in the knowledge that Aya could always find more work to do. Hopefully, something distracting.

Aya shot him an even more suspicious look. "The plants out front need watering."

Yohji went outside, found he'd forgotten the watering can, retrieved it, and went outside again. His coordination was shot from the five hours of sleep he'd gotten in the past forty-eight hours, and what he watered was mainly the sidewalk. At least it got him away from Aya.

Schuldig was bad enough. Noticing Aya's jeans was much worse. Next it could be Ken. Or, God help him, Omi.

He wasn't gay. Definitely not.

One encounter (the first didn't count) didn't change that. One guy didn't change that. Maybe he had some kind of previously unrealized fetish for obnoxious German assassins. Or being tied up. (Or fucked in alleys--shut up, doesn't count.)

He did still like girls--for example, the one jogging on the other side of the street with an bra insufficient to its task--but he hadn't been able to bring himself to go out since that night. It had taken him until this morning to realize why; he was afraid they'd know. Know that he'd gotten fucked (twice) and liked it.

He knew it was stupid. Even if they did know, they probably wouldn't care, and even if they cared, there was always someone else.

And now there was a guy jogging down the opposite side of the street, bare-chested, sweatpants slung so low he could see-- Never mind what he could see.

He went back to watering the sidewalk. It was safer.

Afternoon naps: 1
Disturbing dreams: 1
Beers: 3
Peace of mind: Nowhere in sight

The last can was cold and faintly damp as he held it to the back of his neck. Insomnia was better than this. Disturbing sex dreams would've been better than this, even disturbing sex dreams about him.

Yohji took deep breaths as his body once again convinced itself that it wasn't strangling. He checked the clock. Five thirty. He'd gotten almost two hours of sleep. Not bad, though his eyes were still grainy, and his skin felt raw.

A shower, he decided. That might help. He shrugged on his robe and walked down the hall. The door to the shower room was closed, but opened as he approached.

Aya stepped out, wearing a towel and nothing else. His hair was damp and dark with moisture. A few beads of water clung to his chest. He brushed past Yohji with hardly a glance.

Yohji went into the shower room, slammed the door, and locked it. "All right," he said out loud.

Bisexual. That wasn't so bad. Just because he maybe...slightly...liked guys, didn't mean he had to do anything about it. Marginally bisexual. Barely bisexual. Objectively speaking, that was probably more mentally healthy than an obnoxious-German-assassin fetish.

It wasn't as if he wanted to jump Aya's bones. He just appreciated beauty when he saw it. At least, he was pretty sure he didn't want to jump Aya's bones. Maybe he'd better find out. He didn't need any more surprises.

He hung the robe up and got in the shower, steeling himself.

Conditioner on palm, palm on cock. If his body wanted guys, he'd give it guys. And maybe he could go out tonight and not think about Schuldig or Aya or low-slung-sweatpants guy. Just an experiment, he told himself. It wasn't as if he was going to make a habit of this.

He let his mind wander. Behind closed eyes, he saw rough brick, felt Schuldig slamming into him from behind. His cock started to harden in his hand.

Aya? Aya, wet from the shower, forgot his--his--fuck, hair dye, whatever. Forgot it and came back in, got into the shower with him, hands on his hips, Yohji's cock rubbing between their bodies as he pressed close, Aya's mouth finding his...

That was where it broke down. He couldn't imagine how Aya would kiss. Hard and cruel, like he was when he killed? Or hesitant? He couldn't have had that much experience, the way he shied away from even casual touch.

Yohji opened his eyes in frustration. He didn't have to kiss him. He just had to...get Aya down on his knees, sucking...no, fuck, it wasn't going to work. Which was probably good, since he had to work with the guy.

It was much easier to imagine how Schuldig would kiss. Hard, because he'd know exactly what he was doing. A hand in Yohji's hair, pulling his head back, exposing his neck. Teeth on his throat. Or a knife. Something sharp and dangerous.

Yohji heard himself moan as the steam built. His free hand cupped his balls, squeezing softly in rhythm with his strokes.

Schuldig would want to fuck him again, would say so right in his ear. Hand moving down his back, fingers slipping between his cheeks.

Yohji's own fingers moved behind his balls, seeking, but he stopped himself. He didn't do that to himself. He only let the girls do it because they wanted to. He didn't like it that much.

So he'd tell Schuldig no. No, get down on your knees for me. Suck me off like you promised, you sick fuck.

And Schuldig would stroke him roughly--yeah, like that--and get on his knees, grinning up at him, that tilted devil's smile. He'd kneel and lick--

Yohji trailed fingers over his cock, panting. He let one drag right across the head, too slowly, because it wasn't him doing it so he couldn't judge how long to linger. Imperfectly perfect, and just a little too much. His thighs shook.

More. Suck me. He couldn't tell whether he'd said it out loud. Didn't care. He thrust hard into his hand, curled fingers slick and wet and hot as lips and tongue.

He gentled his thrusts, made his grip looser, and in his mind Schuldig teased him. Tongue--thumb--rubbing over the head of his cock. Mocking smile and mocking words.

Yohji could only gasp in reply. His hips snapped forward, and he lost control. The pressure built as he fucked Schuldig's imagined mouth, and he came with a ragged breath and the sharp crack of his head against the tile wall.

He stared at the wall opposite, hand still moving lightly over his cock. His mind was thankfully blank, his breath harsh in his throat.

It felt so good not to think. He moved under the spray and closed his eyes, warm water streaming over his face and down his body. After a minute, he slid down the wall to sit on the shower floor. The impact of the water on his eyelids turned his vision to dark red and purple swirls.

It didn't matter what he was, he realized. It didn't matter whether he wanted Schuldig again or not. It wasn't like he could call him up and ask if he wanted to screw. Not that he would if he could.

All right. So he might. But only because of the peace it bought him. Only because of the time afterward, now, when he wasn't the guy who'd gotten his lover killed, or a murderer, or even a fucking florist.

It was better than booze, even if didn't last as long. Yeah. If he had Schuldig's number, he might call. And if he liked guys, really, wasn't that the least of his problems?

The water was starting to cool. He forced himself to his feet and washed quickly. He turned the extractor fan on to suck up some of the steam and dried off, wrapping the towel around his waist.

The mirror was fogged, so much water condensed on its surface that the drops gathered together to form tiny rivers that ran slowly down to the countertop. Yohji wiped a patch clear with his palm and looked at his face.

He looked different now, he was sure. Thinner, older, harder. Something. When he joined Weiss, Manx told him his life was over. He was just now realizing she was right, just now beginning to resent it.

Is this it? he asked his reflection silently. Booze and sex and blood and bad dreams? Why are you even bothering?

He held his own gaze for so long his eyes started to ache, and stopped only when someone pounded on the door.

"Will you hurry up in there?" Ken yelled. "I just got back from a game!"

Which meant he would be covered in mud and stray blades of grass. Yohji smirked to himself--at himself--and put on his robe. Ken could find out for himself how much hot water was left. He brushed past Ken and walked back to his own room.

He lay on his bed and looked up at the cracks in the plaster ceiling.

Why are you even bothering?

He didn't want to die. Maybe that was a good enough reason for now. He closed his eyes and slept through till morning with no dreams.