Jingle Bells: A WK Christmas Fic
Dec. 25th, 2007 02:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
texchanI decided to have a little Christmas fun with the Weiss boys. I hope this isn't too ridiculous or stupid. Also, I don't know if Christmas tree shopping in Japan is similar to what we do here in the US. But, since it worked for my story, I decided to go with what I know. I hope you guys can forgive me, if I got it totally wrong.
Jingle Bells
(a WK Christmas fic by Tex-chan)
Legal Stuff: As always, this story is intended to express one fan’s genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it.
Warnings: Bad language.
Aya crouched behind the sofa, his back to its bulky arm. He struggled to bring his breathing under control and to silence the pounding of the blood in his ears. He listened to the room around him, gaining a mental picture of the space from the small sounds that traveled across the darkness. He heard the slight buzz of the clock over the stove in the kitchen and the steady drip of the leaky faucet that none of them could fix, no matter how many times they changed the washer. He heard the swish of the dishwasher, clearing up the last remnants of their evening meal, and the hum of the refrigerator. Closer in, he heard the electronic crackle of the television, indicating it hadn’t been off for very long -- probably no more than ten or fifteen minutes -- and Aya couldn’t help but reflect on how quickly everything in his life could go from perfectly normal to complete shit. But he reined those thoughts in; now wasn’t the time to ponder over things like this. Now was the time to listen and move carefully, with all the considerable skill he had acquired during his time as an assassin.
The room around him was dark. He had made sure of that, knocking over the lamps and destroying the bulb in the overhead light as he had come careening down the stairs. He had tripped over the fifth step from the bottom, and only just managed to keep his balance so that he didn’t fall and break his neck. He could still feel his heart pounding from that little scare. It beat out a heavy, staccato rhythm against his ribcage -- so hard it was almost painful. He had hit the banister pretty hard as he fell; nothing broken, he was sure, but he would have one heck of a bruise later on. But, he couldn’t think about that now. Omi was going to be pissed at him for breaking the lamps. Aya cringed as the thought flitted through his subconscious. A pissed off Omi was not something he wanted to deal with -- ever. But, almost as quickly as the idea occurred to him, Aya dismissed it. None of that mattered at the moment. For now, he had to keep his wits about him, if he was going to get away.
Aya cursed under his breath as he thought about how stupid this whole situation was. And it had all started from a favor -- something he had done to be nice, because it was Christmas. Sort of a gesture in keeping with the season and all that crap. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Being nice took too much effort, and it was dangerous, to boot.
He had offered to do Yohji’s laundry. After all, Yohji did a lot of stuff for him -- little things here and there, most of which Aya took for granted. He couldn’t remember the last time he had told Yohji thank you. Probably never, really. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate Yohji or the things Yohji did for him. He did. It was just really hard to say those words. He didn’t understand why he had such a difficult time with it. It made him feel vulnerable and open. Uncomfortable. It was silly, and Aya knew it. Even so, the feelings were strong. So strong that he tended to clam up and say nothing, instead of letting someone else know how much he appreciated them. It didn’t make sense, even to him, and Aya didn’t bother dwelling on it. It was just the way he was, and that was that. At the time, it had seemed like a simple enough gesture, and Yohji had seemed pleased at the prospect of getting clean clothes without expending any effort to wash them himself.
But, just like that, everything had turned to crap. How was Aya supposed to know Omi had purchased a new pair of Christmas socks? Red ones, at that. What kind of an assassin ran around wearing red socks with reindeer and jingle bells on them? It was beyond ridiculous. And, how was he supposed to know Omi would walk by and just toss the socks into the washing machine? The washing machine full of hot water and Yohji’s underwear, all of which was now a bright pink color. Why was Yohji so pissed about the pink underwear, anyhow? It wasn’t like he wore them; most of the time, Yohji went commando. Even as the thought ran through his mind, Aya cringed at the fact that he knew this about his friend. There were some things you shouldn’t know about a person, and, as far as Aya was concerned, underwear preferences fell squarely into the category of things best left unsaid. Whatever the reason, Yohji was pissed -- enough so that he had the strong and undeniable urge to exact vengeance. Aya was certain Yohji’s brand of justice would be swift and painful. He was just as certain he didn’t want any part of it, particularly since he was scheduled to be on the receiving end.
And that brought him to the here and now, where he crouched behind their worn-out sofa and tried to catch his breath before making a break for freedom from their apartment above the Koneko. How many times had he gone over this exact scenario in his mind? Dozens? Even more than that? It wasn’t like Aya was a doom-and-gloom kind of guy. At least, he didn’t think he was any more fatalistic in his outlook than the next guy, provided that the next guy was an assassin forced into working for a covert organization in order to pay for medical care for his only living relative. Okay, so maybe he was a little fatalistic. Even so, his penchant for devising ways to escape should he be attacked or trapped inside the Koneko didn’t arise from his less-than-sunny outlook on life. It was a case of wanting to be prepared, and nothing more. At least, that’s what Aya told himself now, as he eyed the kitchen door and wondered how long he had to make good his escape. The one small fly in this whole plan was that, in all his mental drills, he had assumed the person after him would be an enemy who was unfamiliar with the apartment and shop layout, as opposed to one of his housemates. He had always assumed being on his own turf would give him an advantage. Aya shook his head and mentally cursed himself for that. What was the old saying about assuming something? That it made an ass out of you and me? That was certainly true in this instance.
He had gotten lucky upstairs. Yohji had surprised him. Almost before Aya had known what was happening, Yohji had managed to grab him from behind, making good use of his height and weight advantage to bring Aya down quickly, and with a minimum of fuss and injury. Exactly the way he would have done it, had the tables been turned, Aya thought, his irritation over the situation moderated a little by admiration for Yohji’s speed and skill. He had managed to escape, thanks to a quick elbow jab to Yohji’s gut, along with stomping on Yohji’s instep and a rabbit punch to the face. He didn’t think he had done any serious damage, but it had been enough to throw Yohji off balance, giving him a few precious seconds in which to get away.
Aya’s plan had been simple. Maybe a little too simple, as it would be easy for Yohji to figure out what he was doing. Even so, it still seemed like the best course of action available to him -- down the stairs and make a beeline for the kitchen door. From there, down the back stairs into the alley and blessed freedom. Once he managed to make it outside, there was no way Yohji would catch him; he would only have to stay away for a couple of days, until Yohji’s temper cooled a bit and it was safe to return home. All well and good, except Aya hadn’t counted on tripping on the stairs or on smashing into the banister on the way down, both of which had left him too frazzled and winded to make his leap for freedom without pausing to catch his breath. Even now, the stinging ache in his side told him it would be no easy feat making his escape. He could do it. He had been injured worse than this and kept going, but, somehow, his heart wasn’t in it this time. The threat of bodily harm was real enough, but the whole situation was so stupid that it kind of took away some of the urgency. And, that was a dangerous attitude. Aya knew he should treat this like any other mission. It was the only way he would get out of this ordeal with his body and dignity intact. Still, when he remembered all this drama was over pink underwear, he couldn’t help but feel more than a little ridiculous. Too bad Yohji didn’t seem to see the humor in the situation.
Aya felt his breathing, finally, calm enough that he managed to take one deep breath to steady his nerves. He winced at the painful pull in his side, but the gesture did wonders for his mental outlook. He peered around the sofa, toward the stairs. So far, he didn’t hear anyone coming down after him, and he hadn’t heard any sounds of Yohji stirring on the floor above. That didn’t necessarily mean anything; after all, Yohji was an assassin, too. He was more than capable of moving through the house without making any noise. Still, Aya took it as a good sign, and shifted around so that he could peer around the other end of the sofa, toward the beckoning kitchen door. Twenty steps. It couldn’t be more than that. Twenty steps and, then, freedom. He could do this. He was going to make it.
Aya took another deep breath and launched himself from his hiding place, breaking into a sprint as soon as he was upright. At almost the same moment, he heard the sound of Yohji pounding down the stairs after him. He didn’t turn around to look; doing that would spell his doom, so Aya continued moving forward. Five steps, and he heard Yohji’s breathing -- harsh and heavy as he started down the stairs. Ten steps, and he heard a muttered curse as Yohji tripped and careened into the stairwell wall in his haste. Fifteen steps, and he heard a solid-sounding thud as Yohji jumped over the banister, skipping the last several stairs entirely and making up some of his lost time. Twenty steps, and he heard the crunch of broken glass as Yohji tripped and stomped over the broken lamps and light fixture. The sounds were close now -- right behind him and close enough to make the little hairs along Aya’s arms stand on end. But, it didn’t matter, because Aya was in the kitchen. He was at the door. He was reaching for the handle and fumbling with the lock -- so close to making it out of the apartment and into the safety of the night.
So close, and yet, so far away. As Aya began to wrench the door open, mentally exulting in his victory, he felt the moist warmth of Yohji’s breath on his neck as Yohji’s hand closed on the collar of his shirt. With a savage snarl, Yohji jerked Aya away from the door and back into the kitchen, using his free hand to slam the door closed even as he pulled Aya away from his only hope for safety.
Aya stumbled backward, thrown off balance by the momentum of Yohji’s pull and unable to control his fall. He tripped over his own feet as he tried to stay upright and break Yohji’s death grip on his collar. Instead, he slammed, hip-first, into the table in the middle of the kitchen. Aya cringed at the grinding pain and yelped in surprise as the momentum of his fall carried him over the table. He sprawled across its surface, sending the fruit bowl centerpiece flying, before tumbling over the other side and smacking his head against one of the lower cabinets as he fell. Aya heard the crash of the bowl breaking and the dull thud of the fruit striking the floor, but he hardly registered the sounds over the throb of pain in his head. He fell to the floor, landing heavily amid the broken glass from the bowl. He saw a billion flashes of brightly colored light in front of his eyes as he lay there, too stunned to move for a second or two.
A second or two was all he could spare, because Yohji, figuring Aya was fair game as long as he wasn’t bleeding, was on him that quickly. As his vision cleared, Aya caught a furtive glimpse of blurry motion -- his only warning that Yohji was attacking. Luckily for him, his assassin instincts took over, and he rolled under the table and out of Yohji’s reach just as Yohji landed in the spot where Aya had lain moments before. Aya slid out from under the table, grabbing for anything he could use as a weapon. He ended up with one of the stray apples that he had knocked to the floor. He lobbed it at Yohji’s head as he darted out from under the table and scrambled to his feet.
Aya’s throw was uncannily accurate, and Yohji only barely managed to duck out of the way in time. The apple missed his head by a slim margin, the air from its passage stirring his hair as it whizzed by him to smack into one of the upper cabinet doors. It disintegrated on impact, spraying bits of fruit over everything in the vicinity. Yohji paused to flick a couple of apple bits from his sunglasses and glared at Aya, who had stopped on the other side of the table.
Aya glared back, careful to keep the table between him and Yohji. He leaned heavily on it, palms flat and fingers splayed against the rough, pitted wood. He was on the side by the door, and he thought about making another run for it. No, Aya thought, that would never work. It would mean turning his back on Yohji -- something he did not want to do right now.
They stood like that for what felt like a long time -- glaring at each other across the table like a couple of angry cats, each one wary and tensed to react to anything the other might do.
“Can’t we talk about this?” Aya asked, his voice coming out husky and hoarse as he forced the words out between panting breaths.
“No,” Yohji snarled back.
As he spoke, he sprang into motion, darting around the nearest end of the table. Aya moved, too -- squirming away from Yohji’s reach and making his way around to the other side, always keeping the flat surface between the two of them, like an impromptu no-man’s land. Yohji grabbed a dirty cup off the counter as he passed by and threw it at Aya’s retreating back, thinking he might slow Aya down a little. Aya, who had always been gifted with a strong sixth sense, seemed to know the missile was headed toward him. At the last second, he zigged to the left, and the cup flew by him. It crashed into the wall above the stove, showering the appliance and the nearby floor with shards of broken porcelain.
“Hey! That almost hit me, you dickhead!” Aya snapped, stopping to glare at Yohji who, once again, faced him from the opposite side of the table.
“That’s the general idea,” Yohji sneered. “This would all go a lot better if you’d just stand still and let me catch you.”
“Ha, ha,” Aya smirked. “Like hell.”
As if on cue they both started moving again, making one more circuit of the table and, once more, ending up on opposite sides. Neither of them threw anything this time, but they succeeded in trampling the rest of the fruit, creating a slick mess that made the footing treacherous. Aya skidded a little as he came to a stop on the other side of the table, facing the kitchen door and a very angry Yohji.
“It’s just underwear,” he panted.
“Pink underwear, jackass,” Yohji snapped.
“You don’t even wear them,” Aya pointed out, picking what he thought was the most reasonable argument for leniency.
“That doesn’t mean I wanted them to be pink!” Yohji shouted, shoving the table out of the way as he half ran around it and half scrambled over the top to get to Aya.
Aya tried to dodge Yohji’s charge, but he was pinned between the cabinets at his back and the table Yohji had shoved toward him, leaving him nowhere to go. He grunted as Yohji slammed into him, pushing him up and back, onto the top of the counter near the sink. Aya felt dishes break beneath his weight as he landed, and he knocked over a set of canisters, sending a cloud of flour dust into the air. It obscured Yohji’s vision for a fraction of a second, just long enough for Aya, who was scrambling for anything handy, to grab one of the rolling containers before it fell off the counter. He managed to bring his feet up, getting them between him and Yohji and shoving backward, at the same time flinging the canister’s contents in Yohji’s face. Rice flew everywhere. Yohji spluttered and spat as the tiny grains flew into his face, in his mouth, and up his nose. It was enough to make him loosen his hold on Aya.
Aya took advantage of the momentary lapse. He broke free from Yohji’s grip and rolled off the counter. The table cut the kitchen on a diagonal now, thanks to Yohji having shoved it at Aya, and Aya scrambled across one end of it. Throwing caution to the wind, he turned his back on Yohji and went for the door.
Later, Aya would think about those moments and that split decision, and he would realize what a mistake it had been. The floor was slick from all the crushed fruit and broken glass, and he slipped as he jumped down from the table. His hands windmilled crazily in the air as he tried to keep his balance, and that gave Yohji the extra second he needed to regain his composure after the rice attack.
Yohji jumped across the table and tackled Aya. They fell to the floor, landing with a heavy, sick-sounding thud amid the broken glass and mushy, crushed fruit. Aya felt a sick lurch in his stomach as the air rushed out of his lungs, forced from his body by the fall and Yohji’s crushing weight on top of him. He landed hard and lay still, unable to fight or move, unable to do anything except try to pull air into his tortured lungs.
Yohji felt Aya’s body relax beneath him, and he knew he had won. He also knew he had to work quickly. With a low, satisfied chuckle, he scrambled up, pinning Aya to the floor by grinding his knee into Aya’s back, between his shoulder blades. He snapped a length of wire from his watch and tied Aya’s hands behind his back. Then, unwilling to leave anything to chance, he used another length to tie Aya’s feet. Satisfied that Aya wouldn’t escape, Yohji climbed off of him and sat down, sinking into an exhausted heap on the filthy kitchen floor and leaning back against the lower cabinets. He hadn’t thought it would be easy, but catching Aya had proven to be more of a challenge than Yohji had expected. He was winded and panting. Yohji shifted around and pulled his package of cigarettes from his jeans pocket. The little pack was the worse for wear. It had been crushed, and most of the cigarettes inside were ruined. Yohji managed to rescue one, and he lit up, blowing smoke toward the ceiling as he surveyed the wreckage of their kitchen and thought about what he should do now. He hadn’t expected to catch Aya, and the chase had burned off most of his anger. Even so, pink underwear was a pretty serious thing; justice needed to be done.
Yohji smoked slowly, enjoying his victory as much as he enjoyed the feeling of nicotine rushing through his system. He heard Aya recover enough to take several deep, shuddering breaths and, then, struggle against the bonds holding him. Yohji had to admit he was relieved. Sure, he was mad, but he didn’t want to hurt Aya -- not really. After a few minutes of flopping around, to no avail, Aya gave up. He shifted around so that he could look at Yohji, and rested his head on the floor with a weary-sounding sigh.
“It’s just underwear,” Aya repeated, his tone taking on a brittle, angry edge.
“Pink underwear,” Yohji reminded him, as if this explained everything. He took another deep drag from his cigarette and ignored Aya’s accusing glare.
“Pink underwear you don’t even wear,” Aya said.
“That’s not the point,” Yohji replied. “What if I was in an accident? We don’t have the safest jobs, you know. Then, I’d have to go to the hospital in pink underwear. It’s … emasculating.”
“You’re worried about your manhood?” Aya snarled. “That’s what this is all about?”
Yohji shrugged, as if this was reason enough.
Aya sighed, “But you wouldn’t go to the hospital in pink underwear. You would go to the hospital naked, because you don’t fucking wear underwear, in the first place! Why do you even have them, if you don’t wear them?”
“Well, I might want to sometime. You know, like if it got cold or something,” Yohji said, the words riding out of his mouth on a long, steady stream of smoke.
“You suck,” Aya grumbled, giving Yohji one last glare before looking away.
“Right back at ‘ya, you little shit,” Yohji replied.
He finished his cigarette, flicking the spent butt across the kitchen and into the sink. It sizzled as hot ash hit damp metal. With a tired-sounding groan, Yohji got to his feet and stretched his aching muscles. He stared down at Aya, who had given up on trying to struggle out of the wire binding him. Instead, Aya lay on the floor at Yohji’s feet, bound and utterly defeated. For a moment, Yohji thought it was enough. He was about to let Aya go when a flash of inspiration hit him. Chuckling under his breath, he headed into the living room and fumbled through the Christmas decorations Omi had unpacked earlier that day, in preparation for the tree he and Ken had gone out to buy after dinner.
******************************
“Geez, Omi. Did you really have to buy the biggest damn tree on the lot?” Ken grumbled.
He was not in a good mood. Omi had dragged him to four different Christmas tree lots before finally finding a tree he deemed suitable. It was cold and the sidewalks had been crowded. Not to mention the insane Christmas Eve traffic. It had taken them forever to catch a cab back, and then they had had to argue with the driver to convince him to let them tie their tree to the top of the car. The driver had grumbled and griped all the way to the Koneko, although they had parted on happy terms, thanks to a more than generous tip Ken had paid the man -- at Omi’s insistence. Then, they had tackled the chore of dragging the behemoth of a tree up the narrow steps from the back alley to the kitchen door. It hadn’t been easy, particularly since the tree was much wider than the stairs, and heavy, too. Ken paused, panting, on the top step. He shoved an errant evergreen branch out of the way so that he could glare at his partner. Omi, who was fumbling to get his key into the door’s lock, just smiled at him and shrugged, as if to say it was no big deal. This did nothing to improve Ken’s mood.
When Omi finally managed to shove the door open, he stopped in his tracks, an exclamation of “Holy crap” drifting back to where Ken languished behind a thick wall of evergreen. Ken felt a shiver of fear run through him. It was an automatic reaction, and he shoved his way forward, intent on reaching and protecting his partner. Ken stumbled free of the grasping branches and stopped in the doorway, all the fight leaving him at the first sight of what had brought Omi up short.
Their kitchen was in shambles. Fruit splattered over nearly every surface and squished all over the floor. A generous dusting of flour and rice covered all of that, creating a sticky, gooey mess. There were broken dishes on the floor and counters, and the table was shoved off to one side of the kitchen, where it teetered on two legs, perilously close to falling. And, in the midst of the wreckage was Aya, bound hand and foot and wrapped up in a string of Christmas tree lights. The lights blinked and twinkled, a cheery counterpart to the icy glare Aya shot at them as they stood in the doorway and stared at him.
He didn’t bother asking them to untie him. As he watched their expressions change from shock to a stony kind of anger for Omi and an amused grin for Ken, he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Omi was too pissed to help him, and Ken was having way too much fun with the situation. So, Aya did the only thing he could. He continued to glare at them and resigned himself to waiting for Yohji to calm down enough to let him go.
Ken snickered, shaking his head as he stepped around the biggest part of the mess near the door and headed into the living room. He couldn’t help it. After the night he had just had, this was just the kind of Christmas cheer he needed. Finally, it was beginning to feel like a holiday.
Omi stayed put for a few seconds longer, glaring down at Aya as if all of this was his fault. As if Aya had wrecked the kitchen and then, tied himself up with a string of Omi’s favorite Christmas lights. Finally, he shook his head and stepped into the kitchen, slamming the door on the huge Christmas tree he and Ken had left outside on the top step. He had had enough. He had endured Ken’s grumbling and complaining during the Christmas tree hunt. He had put up with the driver’s complaints all the way back to the Koneko. He had even maintained a determinedly cheerful attitude while wrestling the stupid tree up the stairs to their apartment. But, this was the last straw. If he stayed in here much longer, Omi knew he was going to end up killing someone. Christmas cheer could only go so far, after all.
“You guys suck, you know that?” he muttered as he stepped around Aya to follow Ken. “You all suck.”
As Omi walked away from him, Aya caught the distinct sound of jingle bells tinkling. His eyes narrowed in irritation in response to the too-cheerful sound, and he glared after Omi’s retreating figure. If it was the last thing he did on this earth, Aya resolved he was going to burn those damn socks.
End
(a WK Christmas fic by Tex-chan)
Legal Stuff: As always, this story is intended to express one fan’s genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it.
Warnings: Bad language.
Aya crouched behind the sofa, his back to its bulky arm. He struggled to bring his breathing under control and to silence the pounding of the blood in his ears. He listened to the room around him, gaining a mental picture of the space from the small sounds that traveled across the darkness. He heard the slight buzz of the clock over the stove in the kitchen and the steady drip of the leaky faucet that none of them could fix, no matter how many times they changed the washer. He heard the swish of the dishwasher, clearing up the last remnants of their evening meal, and the hum of the refrigerator. Closer in, he heard the electronic crackle of the television, indicating it hadn’t been off for very long -- probably no more than ten or fifteen minutes -- and Aya couldn’t help but reflect on how quickly everything in his life could go from perfectly normal to complete shit. But he reined those thoughts in; now wasn’t the time to ponder over things like this. Now was the time to listen and move carefully, with all the considerable skill he had acquired during his time as an assassin.
The room around him was dark. He had made sure of that, knocking over the lamps and destroying the bulb in the overhead light as he had come careening down the stairs. He had tripped over the fifth step from the bottom, and only just managed to keep his balance so that he didn’t fall and break his neck. He could still feel his heart pounding from that little scare. It beat out a heavy, staccato rhythm against his ribcage -- so hard it was almost painful. He had hit the banister pretty hard as he fell; nothing broken, he was sure, but he would have one heck of a bruise later on. But, he couldn’t think about that now. Omi was going to be pissed at him for breaking the lamps. Aya cringed as the thought flitted through his subconscious. A pissed off Omi was not something he wanted to deal with -- ever. But, almost as quickly as the idea occurred to him, Aya dismissed it. None of that mattered at the moment. For now, he had to keep his wits about him, if he was going to get away.
Aya cursed under his breath as he thought about how stupid this whole situation was. And it had all started from a favor -- something he had done to be nice, because it was Christmas. Sort of a gesture in keeping with the season and all that crap. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Being nice took too much effort, and it was dangerous, to boot.
He had offered to do Yohji’s laundry. After all, Yohji did a lot of stuff for him -- little things here and there, most of which Aya took for granted. He couldn’t remember the last time he had told Yohji thank you. Probably never, really. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate Yohji or the things Yohji did for him. He did. It was just really hard to say those words. He didn’t understand why he had such a difficult time with it. It made him feel vulnerable and open. Uncomfortable. It was silly, and Aya knew it. Even so, the feelings were strong. So strong that he tended to clam up and say nothing, instead of letting someone else know how much he appreciated them. It didn’t make sense, even to him, and Aya didn’t bother dwelling on it. It was just the way he was, and that was that. At the time, it had seemed like a simple enough gesture, and Yohji had seemed pleased at the prospect of getting clean clothes without expending any effort to wash them himself.
But, just like that, everything had turned to crap. How was Aya supposed to know Omi had purchased a new pair of Christmas socks? Red ones, at that. What kind of an assassin ran around wearing red socks with reindeer and jingle bells on them? It was beyond ridiculous. And, how was he supposed to know Omi would walk by and just toss the socks into the washing machine? The washing machine full of hot water and Yohji’s underwear, all of which was now a bright pink color. Why was Yohji so pissed about the pink underwear, anyhow? It wasn’t like he wore them; most of the time, Yohji went commando. Even as the thought ran through his mind, Aya cringed at the fact that he knew this about his friend. There were some things you shouldn’t know about a person, and, as far as Aya was concerned, underwear preferences fell squarely into the category of things best left unsaid. Whatever the reason, Yohji was pissed -- enough so that he had the strong and undeniable urge to exact vengeance. Aya was certain Yohji’s brand of justice would be swift and painful. He was just as certain he didn’t want any part of it, particularly since he was scheduled to be on the receiving end.
And that brought him to the here and now, where he crouched behind their worn-out sofa and tried to catch his breath before making a break for freedom from their apartment above the Koneko. How many times had he gone over this exact scenario in his mind? Dozens? Even more than that? It wasn’t like Aya was a doom-and-gloom kind of guy. At least, he didn’t think he was any more fatalistic in his outlook than the next guy, provided that the next guy was an assassin forced into working for a covert organization in order to pay for medical care for his only living relative. Okay, so maybe he was a little fatalistic. Even so, his penchant for devising ways to escape should he be attacked or trapped inside the Koneko didn’t arise from his less-than-sunny outlook on life. It was a case of wanting to be prepared, and nothing more. At least, that’s what Aya told himself now, as he eyed the kitchen door and wondered how long he had to make good his escape. The one small fly in this whole plan was that, in all his mental drills, he had assumed the person after him would be an enemy who was unfamiliar with the apartment and shop layout, as opposed to one of his housemates. He had always assumed being on his own turf would give him an advantage. Aya shook his head and mentally cursed himself for that. What was the old saying about assuming something? That it made an ass out of you and me? That was certainly true in this instance.
He had gotten lucky upstairs. Yohji had surprised him. Almost before Aya had known what was happening, Yohji had managed to grab him from behind, making good use of his height and weight advantage to bring Aya down quickly, and with a minimum of fuss and injury. Exactly the way he would have done it, had the tables been turned, Aya thought, his irritation over the situation moderated a little by admiration for Yohji’s speed and skill. He had managed to escape, thanks to a quick elbow jab to Yohji’s gut, along with stomping on Yohji’s instep and a rabbit punch to the face. He didn’t think he had done any serious damage, but it had been enough to throw Yohji off balance, giving him a few precious seconds in which to get away.
Aya’s plan had been simple. Maybe a little too simple, as it would be easy for Yohji to figure out what he was doing. Even so, it still seemed like the best course of action available to him -- down the stairs and make a beeline for the kitchen door. From there, down the back stairs into the alley and blessed freedom. Once he managed to make it outside, there was no way Yohji would catch him; he would only have to stay away for a couple of days, until Yohji’s temper cooled a bit and it was safe to return home. All well and good, except Aya hadn’t counted on tripping on the stairs or on smashing into the banister on the way down, both of which had left him too frazzled and winded to make his leap for freedom without pausing to catch his breath. Even now, the stinging ache in his side told him it would be no easy feat making his escape. He could do it. He had been injured worse than this and kept going, but, somehow, his heart wasn’t in it this time. The threat of bodily harm was real enough, but the whole situation was so stupid that it kind of took away some of the urgency. And, that was a dangerous attitude. Aya knew he should treat this like any other mission. It was the only way he would get out of this ordeal with his body and dignity intact. Still, when he remembered all this drama was over pink underwear, he couldn’t help but feel more than a little ridiculous. Too bad Yohji didn’t seem to see the humor in the situation.
Aya felt his breathing, finally, calm enough that he managed to take one deep breath to steady his nerves. He winced at the painful pull in his side, but the gesture did wonders for his mental outlook. He peered around the sofa, toward the stairs. So far, he didn’t hear anyone coming down after him, and he hadn’t heard any sounds of Yohji stirring on the floor above. That didn’t necessarily mean anything; after all, Yohji was an assassin, too. He was more than capable of moving through the house without making any noise. Still, Aya took it as a good sign, and shifted around so that he could peer around the other end of the sofa, toward the beckoning kitchen door. Twenty steps. It couldn’t be more than that. Twenty steps and, then, freedom. He could do this. He was going to make it.
Aya took another deep breath and launched himself from his hiding place, breaking into a sprint as soon as he was upright. At almost the same moment, he heard the sound of Yohji pounding down the stairs after him. He didn’t turn around to look; doing that would spell his doom, so Aya continued moving forward. Five steps, and he heard Yohji’s breathing -- harsh and heavy as he started down the stairs. Ten steps, and he heard a muttered curse as Yohji tripped and careened into the stairwell wall in his haste. Fifteen steps, and he heard a solid-sounding thud as Yohji jumped over the banister, skipping the last several stairs entirely and making up some of his lost time. Twenty steps, and he heard the crunch of broken glass as Yohji tripped and stomped over the broken lamps and light fixture. The sounds were close now -- right behind him and close enough to make the little hairs along Aya’s arms stand on end. But, it didn’t matter, because Aya was in the kitchen. He was at the door. He was reaching for the handle and fumbling with the lock -- so close to making it out of the apartment and into the safety of the night.
So close, and yet, so far away. As Aya began to wrench the door open, mentally exulting in his victory, he felt the moist warmth of Yohji’s breath on his neck as Yohji’s hand closed on the collar of his shirt. With a savage snarl, Yohji jerked Aya away from the door and back into the kitchen, using his free hand to slam the door closed even as he pulled Aya away from his only hope for safety.
Aya stumbled backward, thrown off balance by the momentum of Yohji’s pull and unable to control his fall. He tripped over his own feet as he tried to stay upright and break Yohji’s death grip on his collar. Instead, he slammed, hip-first, into the table in the middle of the kitchen. Aya cringed at the grinding pain and yelped in surprise as the momentum of his fall carried him over the table. He sprawled across its surface, sending the fruit bowl centerpiece flying, before tumbling over the other side and smacking his head against one of the lower cabinets as he fell. Aya heard the crash of the bowl breaking and the dull thud of the fruit striking the floor, but he hardly registered the sounds over the throb of pain in his head. He fell to the floor, landing heavily amid the broken glass from the bowl. He saw a billion flashes of brightly colored light in front of his eyes as he lay there, too stunned to move for a second or two.
A second or two was all he could spare, because Yohji, figuring Aya was fair game as long as he wasn’t bleeding, was on him that quickly. As his vision cleared, Aya caught a furtive glimpse of blurry motion -- his only warning that Yohji was attacking. Luckily for him, his assassin instincts took over, and he rolled under the table and out of Yohji’s reach just as Yohji landed in the spot where Aya had lain moments before. Aya slid out from under the table, grabbing for anything he could use as a weapon. He ended up with one of the stray apples that he had knocked to the floor. He lobbed it at Yohji’s head as he darted out from under the table and scrambled to his feet.
Aya’s throw was uncannily accurate, and Yohji only barely managed to duck out of the way in time. The apple missed his head by a slim margin, the air from its passage stirring his hair as it whizzed by him to smack into one of the upper cabinet doors. It disintegrated on impact, spraying bits of fruit over everything in the vicinity. Yohji paused to flick a couple of apple bits from his sunglasses and glared at Aya, who had stopped on the other side of the table.
Aya glared back, careful to keep the table between him and Yohji. He leaned heavily on it, palms flat and fingers splayed against the rough, pitted wood. He was on the side by the door, and he thought about making another run for it. No, Aya thought, that would never work. It would mean turning his back on Yohji -- something he did not want to do right now.
They stood like that for what felt like a long time -- glaring at each other across the table like a couple of angry cats, each one wary and tensed to react to anything the other might do.
“Can’t we talk about this?” Aya asked, his voice coming out husky and hoarse as he forced the words out between panting breaths.
“No,” Yohji snarled back.
As he spoke, he sprang into motion, darting around the nearest end of the table. Aya moved, too -- squirming away from Yohji’s reach and making his way around to the other side, always keeping the flat surface between the two of them, like an impromptu no-man’s land. Yohji grabbed a dirty cup off the counter as he passed by and threw it at Aya’s retreating back, thinking he might slow Aya down a little. Aya, who had always been gifted with a strong sixth sense, seemed to know the missile was headed toward him. At the last second, he zigged to the left, and the cup flew by him. It crashed into the wall above the stove, showering the appliance and the nearby floor with shards of broken porcelain.
“Hey! That almost hit me, you dickhead!” Aya snapped, stopping to glare at Yohji who, once again, faced him from the opposite side of the table.
“That’s the general idea,” Yohji sneered. “This would all go a lot better if you’d just stand still and let me catch you.”
“Ha, ha,” Aya smirked. “Like hell.”
As if on cue they both started moving again, making one more circuit of the table and, once more, ending up on opposite sides. Neither of them threw anything this time, but they succeeded in trampling the rest of the fruit, creating a slick mess that made the footing treacherous. Aya skidded a little as he came to a stop on the other side of the table, facing the kitchen door and a very angry Yohji.
“It’s just underwear,” he panted.
“Pink underwear, jackass,” Yohji snapped.
“You don’t even wear them,” Aya pointed out, picking what he thought was the most reasonable argument for leniency.
“That doesn’t mean I wanted them to be pink!” Yohji shouted, shoving the table out of the way as he half ran around it and half scrambled over the top to get to Aya.
Aya tried to dodge Yohji’s charge, but he was pinned between the cabinets at his back and the table Yohji had shoved toward him, leaving him nowhere to go. He grunted as Yohji slammed into him, pushing him up and back, onto the top of the counter near the sink. Aya felt dishes break beneath his weight as he landed, and he knocked over a set of canisters, sending a cloud of flour dust into the air. It obscured Yohji’s vision for a fraction of a second, just long enough for Aya, who was scrambling for anything handy, to grab one of the rolling containers before it fell off the counter. He managed to bring his feet up, getting them between him and Yohji and shoving backward, at the same time flinging the canister’s contents in Yohji’s face. Rice flew everywhere. Yohji spluttered and spat as the tiny grains flew into his face, in his mouth, and up his nose. It was enough to make him loosen his hold on Aya.
Aya took advantage of the momentary lapse. He broke free from Yohji’s grip and rolled off the counter. The table cut the kitchen on a diagonal now, thanks to Yohji having shoved it at Aya, and Aya scrambled across one end of it. Throwing caution to the wind, he turned his back on Yohji and went for the door.
Later, Aya would think about those moments and that split decision, and he would realize what a mistake it had been. The floor was slick from all the crushed fruit and broken glass, and he slipped as he jumped down from the table. His hands windmilled crazily in the air as he tried to keep his balance, and that gave Yohji the extra second he needed to regain his composure after the rice attack.
Yohji jumped across the table and tackled Aya. They fell to the floor, landing with a heavy, sick-sounding thud amid the broken glass and mushy, crushed fruit. Aya felt a sick lurch in his stomach as the air rushed out of his lungs, forced from his body by the fall and Yohji’s crushing weight on top of him. He landed hard and lay still, unable to fight or move, unable to do anything except try to pull air into his tortured lungs.
Yohji felt Aya’s body relax beneath him, and he knew he had won. He also knew he had to work quickly. With a low, satisfied chuckle, he scrambled up, pinning Aya to the floor by grinding his knee into Aya’s back, between his shoulder blades. He snapped a length of wire from his watch and tied Aya’s hands behind his back. Then, unwilling to leave anything to chance, he used another length to tie Aya’s feet. Satisfied that Aya wouldn’t escape, Yohji climbed off of him and sat down, sinking into an exhausted heap on the filthy kitchen floor and leaning back against the lower cabinets. He hadn’t thought it would be easy, but catching Aya had proven to be more of a challenge than Yohji had expected. He was winded and panting. Yohji shifted around and pulled his package of cigarettes from his jeans pocket. The little pack was the worse for wear. It had been crushed, and most of the cigarettes inside were ruined. Yohji managed to rescue one, and he lit up, blowing smoke toward the ceiling as he surveyed the wreckage of their kitchen and thought about what he should do now. He hadn’t expected to catch Aya, and the chase had burned off most of his anger. Even so, pink underwear was a pretty serious thing; justice needed to be done.
Yohji smoked slowly, enjoying his victory as much as he enjoyed the feeling of nicotine rushing through his system. He heard Aya recover enough to take several deep, shuddering breaths and, then, struggle against the bonds holding him. Yohji had to admit he was relieved. Sure, he was mad, but he didn’t want to hurt Aya -- not really. After a few minutes of flopping around, to no avail, Aya gave up. He shifted around so that he could look at Yohji, and rested his head on the floor with a weary-sounding sigh.
“It’s just underwear,” Aya repeated, his tone taking on a brittle, angry edge.
“Pink underwear,” Yohji reminded him, as if this explained everything. He took another deep drag from his cigarette and ignored Aya’s accusing glare.
“Pink underwear you don’t even wear,” Aya said.
“That’s not the point,” Yohji replied. “What if I was in an accident? We don’t have the safest jobs, you know. Then, I’d have to go to the hospital in pink underwear. It’s … emasculating.”
“You’re worried about your manhood?” Aya snarled. “That’s what this is all about?”
Yohji shrugged, as if this was reason enough.
Aya sighed, “But you wouldn’t go to the hospital in pink underwear. You would go to the hospital naked, because you don’t fucking wear underwear, in the first place! Why do you even have them, if you don’t wear them?”
“Well, I might want to sometime. You know, like if it got cold or something,” Yohji said, the words riding out of his mouth on a long, steady stream of smoke.
“You suck,” Aya grumbled, giving Yohji one last glare before looking away.
“Right back at ‘ya, you little shit,” Yohji replied.
He finished his cigarette, flicking the spent butt across the kitchen and into the sink. It sizzled as hot ash hit damp metal. With a tired-sounding groan, Yohji got to his feet and stretched his aching muscles. He stared down at Aya, who had given up on trying to struggle out of the wire binding him. Instead, Aya lay on the floor at Yohji’s feet, bound and utterly defeated. For a moment, Yohji thought it was enough. He was about to let Aya go when a flash of inspiration hit him. Chuckling under his breath, he headed into the living room and fumbled through the Christmas decorations Omi had unpacked earlier that day, in preparation for the tree he and Ken had gone out to buy after dinner.
******************************
“Geez, Omi. Did you really have to buy the biggest damn tree on the lot?” Ken grumbled.
He was not in a good mood. Omi had dragged him to four different Christmas tree lots before finally finding a tree he deemed suitable. It was cold and the sidewalks had been crowded. Not to mention the insane Christmas Eve traffic. It had taken them forever to catch a cab back, and then they had had to argue with the driver to convince him to let them tie their tree to the top of the car. The driver had grumbled and griped all the way to the Koneko, although they had parted on happy terms, thanks to a more than generous tip Ken had paid the man -- at Omi’s insistence. Then, they had tackled the chore of dragging the behemoth of a tree up the narrow steps from the back alley to the kitchen door. It hadn’t been easy, particularly since the tree was much wider than the stairs, and heavy, too. Ken paused, panting, on the top step. He shoved an errant evergreen branch out of the way so that he could glare at his partner. Omi, who was fumbling to get his key into the door’s lock, just smiled at him and shrugged, as if to say it was no big deal. This did nothing to improve Ken’s mood.
When Omi finally managed to shove the door open, he stopped in his tracks, an exclamation of “Holy crap” drifting back to where Ken languished behind a thick wall of evergreen. Ken felt a shiver of fear run through him. It was an automatic reaction, and he shoved his way forward, intent on reaching and protecting his partner. Ken stumbled free of the grasping branches and stopped in the doorway, all the fight leaving him at the first sight of what had brought Omi up short.
Their kitchen was in shambles. Fruit splattered over nearly every surface and squished all over the floor. A generous dusting of flour and rice covered all of that, creating a sticky, gooey mess. There were broken dishes on the floor and counters, and the table was shoved off to one side of the kitchen, where it teetered on two legs, perilously close to falling. And, in the midst of the wreckage was Aya, bound hand and foot and wrapped up in a string of Christmas tree lights. The lights blinked and twinkled, a cheery counterpart to the icy glare Aya shot at them as they stood in the doorway and stared at him.
He didn’t bother asking them to untie him. As he watched their expressions change from shock to a stony kind of anger for Omi and an amused grin for Ken, he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Omi was too pissed to help him, and Ken was having way too much fun with the situation. So, Aya did the only thing he could. He continued to glare at them and resigned himself to waiting for Yohji to calm down enough to let him go.
Ken snickered, shaking his head as he stepped around the biggest part of the mess near the door and headed into the living room. He couldn’t help it. After the night he had just had, this was just the kind of Christmas cheer he needed. Finally, it was beginning to feel like a holiday.
Omi stayed put for a few seconds longer, glaring down at Aya as if all of this was his fault. As if Aya had wrecked the kitchen and then, tied himself up with a string of Omi’s favorite Christmas lights. Finally, he shook his head and stepped into the kitchen, slamming the door on the huge Christmas tree he and Ken had left outside on the top step. He had had enough. He had endured Ken’s grumbling and complaining during the Christmas tree hunt. He had put up with the driver’s complaints all the way back to the Koneko. He had even maintained a determinedly cheerful attitude while wrestling the stupid tree up the stairs to their apartment. But, this was the last straw. If he stayed in here much longer, Omi knew he was going to end up killing someone. Christmas cheer could only go so far, after all.
“You guys suck, you know that?” he muttered as he stepped around Aya to follow Ken. “You all suck.”
As Omi walked away from him, Aya caught the distinct sound of jingle bells tinkling. His eyes narrowed in irritation in response to the too-cheerful sound, and he glared after Omi’s retreating figure. If it was the last thing he did on this earth, Aya resolved he was going to burn those damn socks.
End
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-26 05:20 pm (UTC)....
*cannot stop laughing*
Oh, Tex, this is just the kind of holiday cheer *I* needed, too. XD Thank you so, so much for posting it! It is Luv. Bona-fide, side-stitching, holiday Luv.
*tacklegloms the awesomeness that is Tex*
Hope you're having a better holiday than poor Aya. ^_~ *snickergiggle*
(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-26 08:55 pm (UTC)I'm so glad you liked it. I was worried that it ended up being a bit too stupid/ridiculous/whatever. I always worry about that. LOL
I am having a better holiday than Aya, luckily. >.O Hubby and I are in SA for a little mini vacation, and we're staying at my favorite hotel. Whee! *happeh vibez*
I hope your holiday is going OK, too. *gloms*
(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-26 10:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-27 05:03 am (UTC)I'm so glad you liked the story!! I worried that the ending was goofy ... that people would be offended by the Christmas tree thing ... and that the story, as a whole, was too ridiculous to share. I feel so relieved that it's gotten a positive reception so far.
My Christmas has been really good. A lot better than I expected. We came down to Texas to visit family, which is usually stressful as heck. This time, though, I've been relaxed and, generally, in a much better mood than I have been for ... well, a loooong time. My kiddo has had fun, too, which is the most important thing to me.
I hope you had a great holiday, too! Thanks again for reading, and for the super-kind comments!! *hugs*
PS: I have some jingle-socks, too. But, they are for Halloween. They have a black cat on them and black jingle bells. *snicker*
(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-26 10:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-27 05:07 am (UTC)...
But, that's probably a discussion for another comment. *nervous laugh*
I'm so glad you enjoyed the story. As I mentioned before, I worried over this one because it is so silly and cracky. I was hoping people would find it fun in spite of that. So far, looks like I got lucky. (Or, you guys are all being way too nice to me. But, then ... I think that's lucky, too. =D)
I hope you had a great holiday!! And, thanks again for reading and for the luv vibes! ♥
(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-28 11:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-31 03:54 am (UTC)Perhaps he should be glad for the times when I leave him alone. =P
Thanks so much for reading this! *GLOMS* As always, you're so incredibly nice to me, and I appreciate it so much. I'm glad this one gave you a bit of a holiday giggle. =D