Chapter Text
Part I.
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[ I look at you and see all the ways a soul can bruise, and I wish I could sink my hands into your flesh and light lanterns along your spine so you know there’s nothing but light when I see you. ]
Shinji Moon, The Anatomy of Being
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Fushimi Omi had appeared in your life like a storm in the middle of the summer--sudden, pouring , and unexpected.
You were organizing the rolls of gauze in the school nurse’s office as required of your medical committee duties when the door to the clinic slides open with a bang, and his looming figure contrasted dimly against the light from the school hallways.
You had heard the rumors of course. In fact, the very first words your classmates had carefully advised to you under their breath once you had settled in class during your transfer from Sendai were succinctly summarized in seven words: Never get involved with Mad Wolf Omi.
Not that you had intended to trifle with him in any way. With a perpetual scowling face and towering at 6 feet tall, Fushimi Omi’s penchant for violence was spoken of in fearful reverence. He is a member of one of the strongest gangs around town, and the way he usually arrived in class late, knuckles bruised and bloodied, with patches of gauze and bandages wrapped around his head, only fueled the fear that surrounded his persona.
So when Mad Wolf Omi appears in front of the nurse’s office, your heart was all but ready to jump out of your chest.
“Huh, no one’s usually here at this time,” He starts, his gaze betraying slight surprise and irritation as he stepped inside. “But whatever, I guess.”
Without waiting for a response from you, he strides with purpose inside the clinic and makes his way towards one of the beds, plops himself right into the center of the mattress, stretches his legs and makes himself comfortable. Once he settles down, he directs his gaze to you, one eyebrow raised to acknowledge your presence.
“So, who’re you?” He starts, and at the sound of his voice calling out your attention, you snapped out of your momentary trance, and pivot slowly to face him. Schooling your face into the most calm you could muster, you cross your arms in front of your chest and cleared your throat before addressing him.
“The infirmary room isn’t a place where you can just lounge in whenever you want to play hooky,” You start, thankful to the gods above that your voice did not waver. “...Fushimi-san.”
A few seconds pass and the room settles into a sort of unnerving silence. When he adjusts from his lazy sprawl into a sitting position on the mattress, you couldn’t help but swallow a nervous lump down your throat. Omi was silent, save for those amber eyes of his assessing your figure with a detached interest.
Then, he rose from the bed, and your heart almost ceases beating in your chest as he takes one, two steps towards where you were standing. Instinctively, you tighten your grip on your arms in alarm, backing away slowly as he advances towards you.
When your back hits the nearest wall to you as you ran out of room, you couldn’t help but let out a small squeak when Omi was only an arms’ breadth away. From the intense look in his eyes, he was all but ready to throttle the life out of you so you closed your eyes, silently praying for it to be over swiftly and-- oh my god he’s going to beat me up…!
“Pfft.”
Your thoughts get interrupted when someone snorts in amusement in the room.
Tentatively you open your eyes, only for them to widen in surprise as Omi, Mad Wolf Omi , covered his mouth with one hand, chuckling to himself at your frozen expression. You let your hands fall to your sides, blinking, at the sight.
If blood-stained, bare-knuckled Fushimi Omi was a sight to see, him snickering in amusement was another level of downright terrifying.
Ah, you thought to yourself, resigning your fate to the heavens above. I’m going to die for real, huh.
“Well that was something.” Omi interrupts your brooding right then when he finishes snickering, his gaze returning to you. This time, amusement danced in his eyes. “Hey, you. You’re the newbie?”
Mute with surprise and relief flooding in your body at the prospect of being spared right there, you could only nod dumbly in agreement. At your affirmation, Omi hums lowly, backing away from where he stood and swiping a couple of lollipops from the stash you kept on the desk.
“I’ll let you off today with this,” He calls out from over his shoulders, one hand raised to show two pieces of candy he was carrying. He turns and throws one last glance at you, the corner of his lips lifting up in a grin. “See ya around, Miss Medical Committee Member.”
Once the clinic door slides shut and the school bell rang for first period, you sink to your knees on the floor and exhaled loudly in relief.
Since that incident at the clinic, it didn’t take long for your fear for Omi to develop into a quiet interest.
Your eyes almost immediately get drawn to his figure whenever he enters the room. Most of the times, you find yourself secretly sneaking glances at the rarer times he had let his guard down: dozing off contentedly at the back of the room in English class; the small grin he has on his face when he fools around in PE and that strong profile as he walks off into the sunset, motorcycle helmet tucked under his arms as he prepared to ride with his gang.
You had grown tolerant of his pestering as well, just mildly chastising him while he was lounging out and about in the nurse’s office during your shift. From your first encounter with him, you had learned to just let him be, forming an unvoiced treaty as he lounges in the empty beds in the infirmary while you had worked on sorting the student files while the school nurse was out. So long as he wasn’t bothering you directly, you had no problem with it
Today was one of those days. From the sound of footsteps approaching and the door sliding open, you knew that it was him.
“You’ll get in trouble again,” You prompt by way of greeting, eyes trained on the clipboard you were using for your inventory checking as Omi heaves a sigh and sinks into the nearest bed. “Itou-sensei won’t let you off with skipping out on his supplemental classes, you know.”
“That old man can shove it.” Omi replies, voice muffled by the pillows. “He just drones on about the functions of polynomials, I haven’t got a clue what it's about.”
“Can’t argue with that,” You quip, nodding in understanding. Itou was the crabby Maths teacher who was always finding fault with any student he finds problematic. “But he’ll hound you after you skip out on him and it’s not really a pleasant experience.”
“Eh, not like he can catch me anyways.” He turns around in his sleep, this time watching you work silently for a moment before saying something again. “Hey, you have anything to eat here?”
“Unbelievable.” You drop your clipboard and whirl on him, planting your hands on your hips as you direct a glare at him. “You know that the snacks here are for the injured students, right?”
“Hey, I’m an injured patient, too,” Omi retorts, straightening to a sitting position and pointing to a healing bruise on his right eye, a detail you failed to notice when he strode inside the room. Now that he pointed that out, your jovial mood plummeted just as quick, your brows furrowing in concern as you drop your clipboard and step towards him.
“Let me see,” You stated, pulling a stool so you could sit across him, eyes trained on the injury on his eye. Without thinking of the consequences, you reach out for his cheek, your gaze clinically assessing the scope of his injury. “When did you get--”
Your question gets cut off when you turn back to face him, only this time, he was staring you down seriously, sitting stiff on top of the mattress. You tilt your head, confused at his sudden silence, then remember you still have your palm on his cheek.
“I’m sorry. I overstepped,” Mortified, you stumble over your words, a fierce blush working its way from your cheeks to the tips of your ears as you made to draw your hand back but to your surprise, Omi grasps your wrist before you could move away, stilling your palm on his cheek.
“Fushimi-san--”
“ It’s Omi .”
“Huh?” You blink confusedly at his sudden interruption. He was staring at you with a serious expression on his face, the sunset drawing out the golden flecks in his amber-eyes. Your heart skips a beat.
“Being called by my last name makes me itch,” Omi clarifies, his voice soft as he squeezes gently on your wrist. “Just call me Omi.”
“Uh, hm.” You squeak out intelligently, your mind actually short-circuiting at the distance between the two of you. “I’ll keep that in mind, but uh, more importantly, we need to get some ice on that--”
“ Omi, you here? ”
A new voice--loud, raucous, and overbearing--sends you moving away from each other, you toppling over your stool in your hurry to stand up and separate. A boy pokes his head inside the clinic, and you had instantly recognized him as one of Omi’s closest gang buddies, Nachi.
“Not too loud, Nachi.” Omi grumbles, dusting his shirt off as he picks himself off the bed, moving towards where his friend was standing. “What’s up?”
“Idiot, did you forget what today is? We’re supposed to--” Nachi begins but his eyes slide to your figure, halting his speech. “Didn’t realize you were with company, man.”
At his inquisitive glance, you freeze up, nervously tucking stray strands of your hair behind your ears as you busied yourself with arranging and rearranging the medical supplies on the shelves.
“Nah, I was just leaving.” You heard the bed springs creak as Omi rises up from the mattress, stretching his arms as he goes, padding his way towards Nachi and slinging an arm around his friend’s shoulder. “Miss Student Nurse here was just looking after my injuries.”
“What were you saying again, Nachi?” Omi continues, prompting Nachi to continue his interrupted speech.
“I’ll tell you on the way out, man.” From your peripheral vision, you could feel Nachi rest his gaze on yours. “Not sure if she should be hearing this.”
Hey, I could hear you though, You thought bitterly in your head, pouting slightly as you continued to pretend to rearrange the bottles. What, think this Miss Student Nurse can’t handle a little violent story?
“Right, sure. I’ll be there, just give me a sec.” You hear Omi say and without much preamble, you hear the door to the clinic slide close. When you turn back, you see Omi leaning against the doorframe, almost as if he was expecting something from you. Nachi had gone ahead, it seems, but you were sure he was listening behind the closed door.
“So, looks like you have...stuff to do,” You begin, not knowing how to handle this atmosphere. Your eyes drift to his bruised eye and a tinge of worry settles into you, knowing very well that from the serious look on his face that he has to go and get involved into more fighting. “Just press an ice pack to that for at least 15 minutes for several times each day. It’s healing anyways.”
“Got it. Thanks.” Omi replies back, his expression reverting to his usual curt tone. When Nachi knocks twice on the door, he turns his back on you to slide the door open to leave. As he walks into the hallways, Nachi offers you a slight bow before the clinic door closes with a click.
As the sound of their footsteps fade into the sunset, you couldn’t help but feel an unnerving feeling settle in your chest.
“You’re getting awfully chummy with the new girl.”
Omi spares a glance at his Second, Nachi who had a dopey grin on his face as he handed over a can of cold soda. Omi takes it with a click of his tongue, snapping the top open and watching the carbonated drink fizz out unto the lid.
“Mind your own business, Nachi.” Omi barks back, taking a swig from the drink and cringing slightly when the fizzy drink makes its way down his throat. “You’re like a housewife eager for gossip, man.”
“Aww come on, I’m just looking out for you!” Nachi complains, laughing a bit as he takes a swig out of his own drink. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were embarrassed as hell right now.”
“Shut it.”
“She seems nice, though.” Nachi laughs at that taking another swig of his drink before his expression turns serious once more. “All the more reason why you shouldn’t be involving her into our world, Omi.”
“Nothing gets past you, huh.” Omi replies, a sardonic smile playing on his lips as the implications of Nachi’s words got across him clearly. Nachi offers his friend a shrug.
“You wear your feelings on your sleeve, dude. Doesn’t exactly take rocket science, you know? But seriously, Omi.” Nachi retorted with a small grin, until his expression reverts to a serious one again. “She’s different than us, and if you do care for her, you’d keep your distance.”
Of course, he goddamn knows. He was all too aware of the sort of crowd he’s embroiled in--the blood, the brawls, the high-speed adrenaline whenever he’s on his bike. Omi had been closely dancing with trouble ever since he took up leadership of Wolf, and while he loved the thrill of courting with danger, getting to know you these past couple of months and watching your wary glances and guarded postures morph into something softer had struck a chord in him.
Spending quiet afternoons in the infirmary with you as you worked on your shift for the medical committee served as a welcome change. For once, he felt like he had a place he could return to, without worrying about keeping up appearances and he come to appreciate your willingness to patch up his wounds, the feel of your soft skin against his something that he had wanted to savor for a while longer.
But Nachi was right. In the end, Omi was a delinquent, the infamous Mad Wolf, and direct association with you will only place you in more danger.
Omi’s grip on his soda can tightens, bending the metal into an irregular shape. If Nachi notices, he doesn’t comment.