WK Fic: Ground Zero, part 2
Apr. 12th, 2008 11:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
texchanYohji stared at the handset, frowning and listening to the beep-beep-beep of the dial tone. After a moment or two, he pressed the off button and placed the phone back on its cradle. He wanted to throw it across the room. He wanted to watch it shatter into a million pieces -- plastic bits and wire raining down on the carpet beneath the sizeable dent he was certain the handset would leave in the wall. As if that would make everything better. As if it would force all of this shit to make some kind of twisted sense. As if smashing the phone would make Aya wake up. But, it was Aya’s phone -- the cordless that sat on top of his dresser -- and Yohji knew Aya would be pissed if he broke it. So, instead of following his better instincts, he sighed and placed it onto its base, twisting the handset around until he heard the small blip that let him know it had connected and was charging.
Yohji hadn’t particularly wanted to use a cordless phone; it might have been paranoid of him, but the thought that someone could be listening in had crossed his mind more than once. Normally, Yohji might have laughed at himself or told himself he was being stupid, but not today. There was something about exploding cars and pulling his unconscious partner out of a fire that tended to bring Yohji’s paranoia to the forefront. Hell, it even made being paranoid seem like a good thing. In the end, his desire to remain near Aya -- within an easy arm’s reach -- had won out, and he had used the cordless. Maybe that was paranoia, too, but a different kind. Either way, Yohji couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that had been twisting his gut into knots ever since he had stormed out of the Koneko’s back door to find Aya’s car engulfed in flames and Aya nowhere in sight. A shiver ran down his spine as the memories rammed through his mind. Whatever. He didn’t want to think about it. He was tired and sweaty and smelled like smoke, and he didn’t want to think about anything right now.
At least the phone call had gone well. Or, as well as could be expected, all things considered. Manx was unhappy and bitchy and more than a little condescending, just like always. Although, he almost couldn’t blame her for it today, especially since he had to tell her they had two operatives down due to an incendiary device of unknown origin. Of course, Manx had already known about the bomb, which Yohji found creepy on more levels than he even wanted to pretend existed. But, she had promised to send extra security to help Ken watch over Omi, and she hadn’t asked many questions about Aya. Yohji considered that a blessing. He had halfway expected to be crawling with Kritiker agents and medical personnel within minutes of the call; on any normal day, that’s what would have happened. Today, Yohji knew he wouldn’t have been able to take it; he was a hair’s breadth away from losing it. Maybe Manx had heard it in his voice -- a little edge that reminded her she was dealing with someone who could be just as ruthless and frightening as she was. Either way, she had let the subject drop for now, and, for that, Yohji was grateful. He might have been willing to consider it their first break of the day, if he hadn’t been afraid of jinxing himself.
He groaned as he sank into the chair next to Aya’s bed. It was an overstuffed armchair -- Aya’s one concession to comfort, if you used the word “comfort” in its loosest sense. Yohji had long thought it the most uncomfortable, unfriendly piece of furniture in the universe, and he had teased Aya about it on more than one occasion. But today, he almost welcomed the chair’s presence. He fidgeted until he was able to sit without feeling like the rogue spring in the chair’s seat was going to impale him, and, once he was comfortable, he leaned back, staring at the ceiling and running his fingers through his hair. He wanted to take a shower, but that was out of the question. There was no way he was leaving Aya alone -- at least, not until Aya was awake enough to tell him to fuck off.
“So? Why don’t you? I know you want to. Just wake up and tell me to fuck off,” he said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
He stared at Aya, searching for some sign that Aya heard him, hoping for even the smallest clue that Aya was returning to the land of the living. But there was nothing. He had been winded from the climb up the stairs and in a hurry to call Manx, so he had, more or less, tossed Aya onto the bed before moving to the telephone. He figured he should try and settle Aya a little better -- do something to make him more comfortable, at least. But, after a moment, he thought better of it. Aya was covered in soot and grime, and Yohji knew he would pitch the bitch fit of all bitch fits over waking up to dirty sheets. Aya was weird like that; Yohji figured it was his way of trying to assert control over a life that was, all too often, totally out of control and beyond understanding. But, then again, he was no psychoanalyst. Whatever the reason, Yohji knew Aya well enough to know he was better off leaving things as they were, with Aya resting on top of the covers. He stood up, wincing at the ache that throbbed down his spine, and pulled off Aya’s boots. He tossed them toward a corner of the room, where they landed, one after the other, with a solid-sounding thunk. With that task accomplished, he crossed to Aya’s closet and pulled out a light throw. It wasn’t cold in the room, but he found he didn’t like looking at Aya’s fire-mangled clothes. The smoke smell was bad enough. He knew he should try and clean Aya up a bit, but he was too tired. Instead, he settled for arranging the blanket over Aya and sank back into the chair, frowning as he felt the spring bite into his butt.
“I hate this fucking chair, you know that?” he muttered at Aya.
Yohji wondered how many times he had done this. How many times had he sat here in this stupid, uncomfortable chair -- waiting, watching, and worrying? How many times had he fought with this chair’s ridiculous, too-springy seat and tried to wish Aya awake? Enough times that this felt eerily familiar. Same song, second verse -- and Yohji hated that.
This time was different. This time, there were unanswered questions -- too many unanswered questions. Usually, Yohji knew more than he wanted to about how Aya had been injured, who had done it, why it had happened, and what he had done to them in retribution. This time, he didn’t know any of that. Although he suspected the fire hadn’t been an accident and that Aya had been the target of some kind of attempted hit, he couldn’t be sure. Yohji didn’t like feeling as if he had a bull’s eye scrawled on his back. But, he was certain he wouldn’t have any answers until Aya woke up.
Yohji sighed and, again, leaned back in the chair. He wanted to watch Aya, as if he could force Aya to wake up and talk to him, to tell him he was okay and everything was fine, if he sat there and stared hard enough. Who knew? It might work. Aya hated for anyone to watch him. Yohji couldn’t help grinning as he thought about how fidgety and uncomfortable Aya would get upon realizing someone was looking at him. His normally self-assured, cool manner seemed to dissolve, and he became clumsy and awkward, his embarrassment showing in the blush that, ever so slowly, would creep over his face. Yohji had never figured it out. Aya had odd-colored hair and eyes and, although Yohji didn’t give that much consideration to such things regarding other men, even he had to admit Aya was good looking. Maybe even more than good looking. Maybe attractive enough to qualify as downright hot. Not that he had ever thought of Aya that way, Yohji quickly told himself, reining in his wandering thoughts before they got too far away from him. Still, Aya should be used to people staring at him. It had probably been happening his entire life. Yohji had wondered, more than once, if it had always been this way -- would Aya get so embarrassed and flustered if he was still “Ran”, if things had never changed in his life and he had never had to become “Aya”? He’d probably never know the answer to that riddle.
Whatever the case, Yohji found he couldn’t sit and stare at Aya, no matter how much he wanted to assure himself Aya was still there, still real, and still breathing. Knowing how much Aya hated it worked against his conscience and made it impossible. So, he settled for leaning back and staring at the ceiling, instead. Maybe the blank, white tableau would, somehow, help him pull his racing thoughts into some kind of order. He wanted to figure all of this out. No, more than that, he needed to figure all of it out. Was it really a bomb? Who could have planted it? Was it aimed at Aya or at Weiss, in general? How did they figure out Weiss’s cover? These questions and a million more tumbled around his brain, banging into each other and making his teeth itch. And yet, he was no closer to an explanation, no matter how hard he tried. No matter how crazy he made himself. It was as if the answers he wanted were right there in front of him, but they would skitter out of reach when he tried to grab them. It was frustrating and made him want to yank his hair out by the roots.
Yohji took a deep breath, holding it in his lungs for a moment and, then, letting it out on a long, slow sigh. He told himself to relax, and, for several moments of relative peace, he forced his mind into stillness, listening to the sounds of the house around him. He could hear the building creaking and groaning as it settled, the hum of Aya’s electric alarm clock, the too-loud ticking of the wristwatch on the night stand, the muted rumble and creak of the wind outside blowing against the building. And, more distantly, the muted cry of the sirens. Yohji knew they had to have reached the Koneko by now, but he could hardly hear them up here. It was as if the sounds of the outside world didn’t reach into their living quarters. Yohji had often found that thought comforting -- like they had something of a sanctuary from the world around them. Today, though, the sanctuary felt a little more like a prison -- hostile and uncertain -- and Yohji found himself fighting the urge to jump at every familiar sound.
“This is crap,” Yohji muttered under his breath. He sat up again, once more leaning his weight on his elbows, which he rested on his knees.
For several long seconds, he sat there and stared at Aya again. It was weird. Except for the smudge of dirt and the bruise along one cheek, Aya looked like he was sleeping -- as if he had snuck away, playing hooky from his shift in the shop so that he could take a nap. His face was peaceful, the expression relaxed, and the daylight that filtered in through the blinds over his window seemed to bathe the bed -- and Aya -- in a sort of golden glow. Yohji shook his head, laughing under his breath and telling himself it was his imagination. Or, maybe it was the glow from the fire. He was tempted to go to the window to see if it was still burning, but he didn’t want to chance the rescue crews seeing him. They would have questions he didn’t want to answer.
And yet, he had to move. He felt restless and edgy, and he knew he would go crazy if he sat in this chair any longer. He could feel that in his bones. With a sigh, Yohji got up and began to pace around Aya’s room. He stopped at the dresser to fiddle with the small cache of items there -- Aya’s loose change, his clock, an extra set of keys. After a few moments, he moved away, toward the closet. He opened it and looked inside, shaking his head over how impossibly neat Aya was -- every shirt hung neatly on a hanger, every pair of pants folded on a shelf, and even the shoes lined up on the closet floor.
“Shit, you’re fucking insane, aren’t you?” Yohji said. He glanced over his shoulder toward Aya, who was still lying, silent and still, on the bed. He shrugged, peering into the closet once more and muttering, “It’s not right to be that neat. You’re a guy, for crying out loud,” as he pushed the door closed.
He made his way from the closet to the bed, standing over Aya for a few moments before sinking down to sit next to him. The box springs squeaked a little as the mattress dipped under Yohji’s weight. He leaned over, placing his arms on either side of Aya’s body and bracing his weight on them as he stared down at his unconscious partner. He didn’t like seeing Aya like this. Aya wasn’t loud, but he wasn’t exactly quiet, either. Yohji had spent a lot of time with the man, and he wasn’t sure how to describe it, but seeing Aya like this -- lifeless and static -- felt so wrong it made Yohji want to scream. At the same time, he had to admit, having a rare chance to study Aya up close, that Aya really was beautiful. It wasn’t a traditional kind of beauty. There was something decidedly masculine to the set of his cheekbones and chin -- something that would prevent a person from describing him as “pretty”. At the same time, there was something about Aya’s appearance that drew a person in. Once you started looking at him, it was hard to force yourself to stop. Yohji might have been tempted to term Aya’s beauty ethereal or other-worldly, except even the thought was too ridiculous. It made him snicker, under his breath, just thinking about it. This was Aya, for crying out loud -- bitchy, prissy, drama-queen Aya. The guy Yohji worked with every day in the shop. The guy he killed with every night as one of Weiss’s hunters. He was not pretty. Not in any way, shape, or form. Yohji told himself that, in no uncertain terms.
Except …
Aya was pretty. In his own way. Yohji was secure enough to admit that about another guy. He could even admit it about Aya -- a guy he saw every day, and most nights. It didn’t mean anything. Right?
Right, Yohji thought to himself. A strand of hair had fallen across Aya’s face -- dark red against the pale color of his skin. Yohji reached over and brushed it away.
“So? What about it? Are you gonna wake up and tell me what the fuck is going on here? If I know you, you have some idea, right? Some clue or damn good guess as to who might have blown up your car.” He paused for a moment, as a new thought occurred to him. “Holy fuck. You’re going to be pissed, aren’t you? I mean, more than usual -- because of the car thing. I’d be fucking pissed at the world, if that happened to my car,” Yohji mumbled, almost under his breath. It didn’t matter how loud the words were. Aya wasn’t listening, anyhow, and he was only talking to hear his own voice, just so it wouldn’t feel like he was alone in here.
Yohji’s hand had lingered after brushing the hair from Aya’s face. His fingers traced a path along Aya’s cheek, following the contour of his cheekbone and rubbing at the smudge of dirt Yohji had seen there. He was still worried about Aya being unconscious, but, underneath that, Yohji was glad Aya was alive. He remembered how he had felt when he had run out of the back door to see Aya’s car engulfed in flames. He had been certain Aya was dead and, even now, in the almost calm aftermath of what had happened, he couldn’t quantify the emotions that had taken hold of him. Rage, panic, terror, dread, and the most profound, soul-sucking grief he had felt since watching Asuka die all those years ago. It was this last emotion that surprised him. Sure, he cared about Aya. He cared about all of his teammates. They were his family -- a homicidal, dysfunctional family that was armed to the teeth, but a family, nonetheless. But, somehow, Aya had come to mean more. Yohji hadn’t realized it, not until seeing that burning car. Not until that moment, when he had believed, in his heart of hearts, that Aya was dead. And, now, Aya was here. Not quite all right. But very much alive. And Yohji realized he was grateful, weak with relief, and happy -- as if everything could remain right in his little corner of the world, just because Aya was still breathing. It was stupid. Really stupid. Yohji told himself that, over and over. And yet, it was how he felt.
His fingers stroked across Aya’s lips -- the barest of touches, skin skimming across skin. And, without thinking about it, Yohji leaned down, brushing his lips against Aya’s. It had been a sudden impulse. Yohi wasn’t sure why he had wanted to do it, but the urge had been too strong to ignore -- almost like his feeling of relief had bubbled over until he couldn’t contain it. He didn’t think about it; he just went with the impulse. At first, the kiss was chaste, the barest press of lips against lips. But, to Yohji’s surprise, Aya responded, his mouth opening slightly beneath the pressure. Instinctively, Yohji deepened the kiss, leaning into it and allowing his tongue to dart out into Aya’s mouth. Yohji’s tongue raked against Aya’s teeth and brushed across his tongue as Yohji explored the younger man’s mouth, feeling Aya’s skin -- cool and soft against his lips -- and tasting Aya’s breath, which was warm, moist, and had the gentle flavor of the green tea Aya had had at breakfast that morning.
He hadn’t intended to, but Yohji found himself lost in the kiss. He closed his eyes and let the moment take him, as if the smells and flavors could fill him up from the inside. He wasn’t sure how long it lasted. It could have been only a few seconds, or it could have been an eternity, but Yohji felt Aya’s body shift a little beneath him. He opened his eyes to find Aya watching him, an expression of what Yohji read to be shocked disbelief plain in his blue-violet eyes, in spite of the fact that Aya seemed unable to get them to focus properly.
“Oh, shit,” Yohji said, experiencing the sudden, nausea-inducing sensation of feeling the world drop out from beneath him -- his own, personal ground zero of crisis and panic.
He pulled away from Aya, his hand automatically rising to his own lips, covering them and wiping away the tiny bit of saliva that was there -- as if he could wipe away what he had done. “It’s just a dream. Just a dream,” Yohji repeated, almost unaware of what he was saying. Did he really want Aya to believe this was nothing more than a figment of his imagination? Yohji wasn’t sure, but it seemed the easiest way to keep Aya from killing him. And Yohji was all about self preservation. So, he said it again, “It’s all right, Aya. It’s just a dream.”
Aya stared at him for another second or two -- an odd, unfocused almost-glare, as if he was trying to see through fog. And then, he sighed. His eyes slid closed again, and he shifted around, as if searching for a more comfortable position in which to lie.
Yohji sat on the bed for what felt like a long time, afraid to do anything to upset the delicate balance he had, somehow, managed to achieve. It seemed as if he had squeaked out of what could have been a very uncomfortable and dangerous situation. He had a sudden flash vision of himself spitted on the point of Aya’s sword, and it gave him the distinctly uncomfortable feeling of seeing his entire life flash before his eyes. He couldn’t believe he got away with that lame “it’s a dream” shit. And -- wait? Had Aya kissed him back? He hadn’t realized it at the time, but, now, thinking back on it, it felt like that was exactly what had happened. But, that couldn’t be right, could it?
Whatever. It didn’t matter. Yohji told himself that; he told his mind it was nothing, that it was a fluke and something he never should have done, in the first place. And yet, his mind insisted on wondering if Aya really had kissed him back, and if it could have meant something, after all.
“Fuck. Just … shut up, brain. Shut the fuck up,” Yohji mumbled, shaking his head. He stood up, doing his best not to move the bed or disturb Aya. He moved across the room, back to the phone, and punched in Manx’s number. Maybe he was ready for those Kritiker medical personnel, after all.
***********************
Yohji glanced up from the cash register to watch Aya assisting one of their regular customers -- an elderly woman who came in every week and purchased several bouquets of violets. Yohji never had figured out what she did with all of them; he had often suspected she came in just to get Aya to wait on her. But, whatever the case, she was a good customer -- enough so that even Aya took the time to be polite and cater to her. Not that any of them really gave a shit if the Koneko made money or not. Maybe it was Aya’s way of pretending he was what he appeared to be. Kind of a little vacation from the reality that was his life. It was easier to pretend he really was a florist than to face the constant truth of being one of Kritiker’s killers.
It had been a little over a week since the whole car bomb incident, although Yohji now thought of it as the “kissing incident”. Funny how something so seemingly innocuous could end up feeling enough like the kiss of doom to overshadow a bomb. Things had been … odd. That was the only way Yohji could think to describe them. Aya and Omi both seemed fine -- hardly any the worse for wear, although Yohji suspected Omi was hiding a lot of extra emotional baggage behind the easy-going façade he had adopted since the incident. Or, more emotional baggage than was the norm, even for him. Aya had, of course, been pissier than usual because of the loss of his car. Yohji couldn’t blame him. He would have felt the same way. Kritiker had agreed to replace it, but that hadn’t done much to cool Aya’s temper. Kritiker had removed the burned out wreckage to their labs, and Manx had contacted them a few days later to tell them it hadn’t been a freak accident; someone had planted a bomb in the Porsche. So far, they didn’t have any new leads on who might have done it or why, but Manx assured them Kritiker was working on it. Of course, with her next breath, she had warned them to look out for themselves, which hadn’t done anything to comfort anyone on the team. So far, though, it had been business as usual.
More or less.
Yohji frowned as he closed the cash drawer, causing it to ding in protest at his rough handling. For him, life had been more surreal than ever. He had done his best to stay out of Aya’s way. It had been easy. Aya wasn’t in the mood to be around any of them. Not that he ever was, really, but it had been worse since losing his car. Yohji had been able to use that as a handy excuse so that Omi and Ken both thought he was avoiding getting caught on the receiving end of one of Aya’s temper tantrums. Only Yohji knew the truth. That he couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss -- those few short moments during which he had felt Aya’s lips beneath his and Aya had, in a small way, surrendered himself to Yohji. He was afraid Aya remembered all of it, and that it was only a matter of time before he was called to answer for what he had done. And, even worse, Yohji found he couldn’t quite look at or think of Aya in the same way. Part of it was discomfort over not knowing how Aya felt about the kiss. Part of it was fear that Aya was pissed at him and secretly plotting revenge. And, Yohji had to be honest, here -- part of it was that he wondered what the hell it all meant. Did he have those kinds of feelings for Aya? Did Aya have them for him?
Today, it hadn’t been possible to avoid Aya. Omi was busy with some extra recon for Kritiker, and he had enlisted Ken to help him. That left Aya and Yohji to manage the shop and maintain their cover. Alone. With no one to run a buffer between them, and no chance for Yohji to run away and hide.
“Hey.”
Yohji jumped at the sound of Aya’s voice. He looked up to find Aya just on the other side of the counter, glaring at him over the top of the cash register. He had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed Aya’s approach.
“Um, y … yeah?” Yohji asked, cringing at how whiny and unsure his voice sounded.
Aya gave Yohji a perplexed look. For a second or two, it seemed as if he would ask Yohji something, but he appeared to change his mind. He shook his head and, instead, gestured toward the customer who had followed him to the counter. Her arms were full of violets, but she peered over them to smile at Yohji. He managed to smile back at her, stifling a small laugh as she blushed like one of the school-age fangirls who normally crowded into the shop.
“Can you ring up Mrs. Harada’s purchase?” Aya asked. He, too, had carried an armful of violets up to the front, and he placed them on the counter as he spoke.
“S … sure. Yeah. I can do that,” Yohji replied, leaning forward to help Mrs. Harada unload her purchases.
Aya gave Yohji another perplexed glare, but he walked away, past the counter and into the back room, without saying anything else.
Yohji rang up Mrs. Harada’s order. He smiled at her and made small talk, just like always. Once he had taken her money and given her a receipt, he boxed up the bouquets and offered to help her carry them home. As always, she refused, and Yohji teased her about it. And, he waved to her as she exited the shop. But his mind wasn’t on any of it. It was like he was running on auto-pilot, just going through the motions without thinking about what he was doing. He was too busy with all the questions turning and tumbling around in his head.
“I think I’m going to go get lunch. It’s pretty slow right now,” Aya said.
For the second time in less than ten minutes, Yohji suffered the uncomfortable sensation of being taken by surprise. Aya had come from the back room to stand next to him behind the counter, and, once again, Yohji hadn’t heard or noticed Aya’s approach. He couldn’t help thinking, maybe, he should put a bell on Aya. It was a fleeting thought, there and gone in an instant as Yohji tried to push his brain into gear so that he could recover from the shock of finding Aya standing so unexpectedly close, so that he could pretend everything was normal.
“All right. What the fuck is wrong with you?” Aya demanded, turning to glare at Yohji.
“What? Nothing. Nothing’s wrong with me,” Yohji replied, hoping his voice sounded normal.
“Bullshit. You’re about to jump out of your skin, and you’ve been avoiding me all week. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. So, what is it? Spit it out,” Aya countered.
“Its …” Yohji began, but he cut himself off before he could finish. “It’s nothing,” he said, shaking his head.
Aya didn’t say anything for a few moments. The silence seemed to grow and stretch between them, until it was heavy and unwieldy, until it felt as if nothing could possibly break it.
At last, Aya cleared his throat. It was a small noise, but it sounded big and loud in the quiet that had fallen over the shop.
“It was just a kiss, Yohji. It’s no big deal,” Aya said, his voice soft and so low it barely carried to where Yohji stood, just inches away.
Yohji wasn’t sure how to feel. Sad, because the kiss, apparently, hadn’t meant anything to Aya? Relieved because the kiss, apparently, hadn’t meant anything to Aya, and that meant Aya wasn’t going to kill him? Happy to find out Aya wasn’t angry with him? Or pissed off that Aya had known all along and, yet, had let him suffer this way all week? He decided to go with being pissed; it felt more natural than anything else. And besides, it would let him vent some of the nervous energy he had built up over the past several days.
“You fucker,” Yohji growled. “You knew all along, and let me worry myself sick over this?”
“You’re hardly sick,” Aya pointed out. “Besides, it seemed like a fitting punishment. Almost like getting even. But, if you’re going to keep acting all weird over it … well, that takes away all the fun.”
Yohji took a deep breath, letting it out on a long sigh. “But it is weird. How can it not be weird? I kissed you. I mean … does it mean nothing? Does it mean I think of you that way? Or that you think of me like that? And, it’s just … well, weird. I mean, how can we work together, knowing I did that? Doesn’t it freak you out, even a little?” The words came out all in a jumble as the underlying panic Yohji had been feeling all week overtook his anger.
“It was just a kiss,” Aya repeated, his voice normal and his tone matter-of-fact -- the same tone of voice he might have used to tell Yohji the sky was blue. He paused for a moment or two before adding, almost under his breath, “You’re the last person I would have expected to overthink things like this.”
“Yeah, well, it’s weird. It’s like the whole dynamic is thrown off or something. Like I ripped a hole in the fucking time-space continuum and little blue aliens are going to start falling out of it at any moment,” Yohji said.
“You mean green,” Aya corrected. “Aliens are always green.”
Yohji stared at him in disbelief. Here he was, on the verge of some kind of mental meltdown, and Aya was worried about what color the fucking pretend aliens were?
“Who says?” Yohji asked. “Besides, I’m the one freaking out here. If I want blue aliens, I’ll have blue fucking aliens. I don’t care what you say.”
Aya sighed. “Fine,” he muttered.
Aya was fast. Before Yohji could say anything else or react, he had turned and closed the small distance between them. He reached out and gripped the back of Yohji’s head, his fingers curling into the hair at the nape of Yohji’s neck as he pulled Yohji toward him. Yohji was too surprised to react, and he allowed himself to be pulled off balance. And then, Aya’s mouth was on his. Aya’s lips were soft and cool against Yohji’s and his tongue pressed forward, asking for entrance. Once more, Yohji found his senses flooded with the smell and taste of Aya -- violets and roses, the crisp, clean flavor of the water he had used to freshen the stock in the back room, and, as always, that gentle, underlying flavor of green tea. It was an odd combination and, yet, it was so uniquely “Aya” that Yohji would have known it anywhere. As before, Yohji reacted instinctively. His eyes slid closed and he leaned forward, opening his mouth in response to Aya’s demands and surrendering himself to the kiss. Aya’s tongue slowly worked its way into Yohji’s mouth, tracing its contours as Aya licked across Yohji’s teeth and tongue. And, all the while, he pulled Yohji toward him, holding him a willing prisoner, keeping him present in this one lingering moment in time. Yohji was happy to let himself be carried along on the seductive feel of Aya’s lips against his, on the lick and lap of Aya’s tongue in his mouth, on the suck and pull of Aya’s teeth dragging gently against his bottom lip, and in the smell and taste that Yohji had come to realize was so distinctively Aya.
Yohji didn’t want it to end, but, all too soon, Aya pulled away. He released his hold on Yohji’s neck and swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. Yohji stared at Aya, winded from the intensity of the kiss. Part of his mind -- the part that was still functioning -- wondered what had just happened. And, for the second time in a week, Yohji experienced a sinking feeling that told him he was watching the universe shatter into pieces, as if some twisted, high-on-crack deity had turned everything on its side, just for kicks. Ground zero of his latest personal crisis. It wasn’t a happy moment.
“What. The. Hell?” Yohji asked, once he could trust his voice.
“See?” Aya said. “Just a kiss. Now we’re even, and you don’t have to feel weird any more.”
“Right,” Yohji replied, unable to hide the sarcasm in his voice, “That wasn’t weird at all.”
Aya shrugged and walked away, around the counter and toward the front of the shop, pausing when he reached the door. “So, lunch? You want anything? I’m buying.”
Yohji still felt a bit shell-shocked over the fact Aya had just kissed him. Even so, he couldn’t help but laugh as he nodded in response to Aya’s question. “Yeah,” he said, “Whatever you’re having is fine.” He paused a moment and then finished, “You … buying lunch. Now that’s what I call weird.”
“Asshole,” Aya snapped.
He did his best to sound and appear angry. He opened the door with a sharp jerk, causing the bell over it to jingle wildly. But, as he stepped onto the sidewalk, Aya could hear Yohji’s laughter following him out of the shop. And he smiled.
~End
Yohji hadn’t particularly wanted to use a cordless phone; it might have been paranoid of him, but the thought that someone could be listening in had crossed his mind more than once. Normally, Yohji might have laughed at himself or told himself he was being stupid, but not today. There was something about exploding cars and pulling his unconscious partner out of a fire that tended to bring Yohji’s paranoia to the forefront. Hell, it even made being paranoid seem like a good thing. In the end, his desire to remain near Aya -- within an easy arm’s reach -- had won out, and he had used the cordless. Maybe that was paranoia, too, but a different kind. Either way, Yohji couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that had been twisting his gut into knots ever since he had stormed out of the Koneko’s back door to find Aya’s car engulfed in flames and Aya nowhere in sight. A shiver ran down his spine as the memories rammed through his mind. Whatever. He didn’t want to think about it. He was tired and sweaty and smelled like smoke, and he didn’t want to think about anything right now.
At least the phone call had gone well. Or, as well as could be expected, all things considered. Manx was unhappy and bitchy and more than a little condescending, just like always. Although, he almost couldn’t blame her for it today, especially since he had to tell her they had two operatives down due to an incendiary device of unknown origin. Of course, Manx had already known about the bomb, which Yohji found creepy on more levels than he even wanted to pretend existed. But, she had promised to send extra security to help Ken watch over Omi, and she hadn’t asked many questions about Aya. Yohji considered that a blessing. He had halfway expected to be crawling with Kritiker agents and medical personnel within minutes of the call; on any normal day, that’s what would have happened. Today, Yohji knew he wouldn’t have been able to take it; he was a hair’s breadth away from losing it. Maybe Manx had heard it in his voice -- a little edge that reminded her she was dealing with someone who could be just as ruthless and frightening as she was. Either way, she had let the subject drop for now, and, for that, Yohji was grateful. He might have been willing to consider it their first break of the day, if he hadn’t been afraid of jinxing himself.
He groaned as he sank into the chair next to Aya’s bed. It was an overstuffed armchair -- Aya’s one concession to comfort, if you used the word “comfort” in its loosest sense. Yohji had long thought it the most uncomfortable, unfriendly piece of furniture in the universe, and he had teased Aya about it on more than one occasion. But today, he almost welcomed the chair’s presence. He fidgeted until he was able to sit without feeling like the rogue spring in the chair’s seat was going to impale him, and, once he was comfortable, he leaned back, staring at the ceiling and running his fingers through his hair. He wanted to take a shower, but that was out of the question. There was no way he was leaving Aya alone -- at least, not until Aya was awake enough to tell him to fuck off.
“So? Why don’t you? I know you want to. Just wake up and tell me to fuck off,” he said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
He stared at Aya, searching for some sign that Aya heard him, hoping for even the smallest clue that Aya was returning to the land of the living. But there was nothing. He had been winded from the climb up the stairs and in a hurry to call Manx, so he had, more or less, tossed Aya onto the bed before moving to the telephone. He figured he should try and settle Aya a little better -- do something to make him more comfortable, at least. But, after a moment, he thought better of it. Aya was covered in soot and grime, and Yohji knew he would pitch the bitch fit of all bitch fits over waking up to dirty sheets. Aya was weird like that; Yohji figured it was his way of trying to assert control over a life that was, all too often, totally out of control and beyond understanding. But, then again, he was no psychoanalyst. Whatever the reason, Yohji knew Aya well enough to know he was better off leaving things as they were, with Aya resting on top of the covers. He stood up, wincing at the ache that throbbed down his spine, and pulled off Aya’s boots. He tossed them toward a corner of the room, where they landed, one after the other, with a solid-sounding thunk. With that task accomplished, he crossed to Aya’s closet and pulled out a light throw. It wasn’t cold in the room, but he found he didn’t like looking at Aya’s fire-mangled clothes. The smoke smell was bad enough. He knew he should try and clean Aya up a bit, but he was too tired. Instead, he settled for arranging the blanket over Aya and sank back into the chair, frowning as he felt the spring bite into his butt.
“I hate this fucking chair, you know that?” he muttered at Aya.
Yohji wondered how many times he had done this. How many times had he sat here in this stupid, uncomfortable chair -- waiting, watching, and worrying? How many times had he fought with this chair’s ridiculous, too-springy seat and tried to wish Aya awake? Enough times that this felt eerily familiar. Same song, second verse -- and Yohji hated that.
This time was different. This time, there were unanswered questions -- too many unanswered questions. Usually, Yohji knew more than he wanted to about how Aya had been injured, who had done it, why it had happened, and what he had done to them in retribution. This time, he didn’t know any of that. Although he suspected the fire hadn’t been an accident and that Aya had been the target of some kind of attempted hit, he couldn’t be sure. Yohji didn’t like feeling as if he had a bull’s eye scrawled on his back. But, he was certain he wouldn’t have any answers until Aya woke up.
Yohji sighed and, again, leaned back in the chair. He wanted to watch Aya, as if he could force Aya to wake up and talk to him, to tell him he was okay and everything was fine, if he sat there and stared hard enough. Who knew? It might work. Aya hated for anyone to watch him. Yohji couldn’t help grinning as he thought about how fidgety and uncomfortable Aya would get upon realizing someone was looking at him. His normally self-assured, cool manner seemed to dissolve, and he became clumsy and awkward, his embarrassment showing in the blush that, ever so slowly, would creep over his face. Yohji had never figured it out. Aya had odd-colored hair and eyes and, although Yohji didn’t give that much consideration to such things regarding other men, even he had to admit Aya was good looking. Maybe even more than good looking. Maybe attractive enough to qualify as downright hot. Not that he had ever thought of Aya that way, Yohji quickly told himself, reining in his wandering thoughts before they got too far away from him. Still, Aya should be used to people staring at him. It had probably been happening his entire life. Yohji had wondered, more than once, if it had always been this way -- would Aya get so embarrassed and flustered if he was still “Ran”, if things had never changed in his life and he had never had to become “Aya”? He’d probably never know the answer to that riddle.
Whatever the case, Yohji found he couldn’t sit and stare at Aya, no matter how much he wanted to assure himself Aya was still there, still real, and still breathing. Knowing how much Aya hated it worked against his conscience and made it impossible. So, he settled for leaning back and staring at the ceiling, instead. Maybe the blank, white tableau would, somehow, help him pull his racing thoughts into some kind of order. He wanted to figure all of this out. No, more than that, he needed to figure all of it out. Was it really a bomb? Who could have planted it? Was it aimed at Aya or at Weiss, in general? How did they figure out Weiss’s cover? These questions and a million more tumbled around his brain, banging into each other and making his teeth itch. And yet, he was no closer to an explanation, no matter how hard he tried. No matter how crazy he made himself. It was as if the answers he wanted were right there in front of him, but they would skitter out of reach when he tried to grab them. It was frustrating and made him want to yank his hair out by the roots.
Yohji took a deep breath, holding it in his lungs for a moment and, then, letting it out on a long, slow sigh. He told himself to relax, and, for several moments of relative peace, he forced his mind into stillness, listening to the sounds of the house around him. He could hear the building creaking and groaning as it settled, the hum of Aya’s electric alarm clock, the too-loud ticking of the wristwatch on the night stand, the muted rumble and creak of the wind outside blowing against the building. And, more distantly, the muted cry of the sirens. Yohji knew they had to have reached the Koneko by now, but he could hardly hear them up here. It was as if the sounds of the outside world didn’t reach into their living quarters. Yohji had often found that thought comforting -- like they had something of a sanctuary from the world around them. Today, though, the sanctuary felt a little more like a prison -- hostile and uncertain -- and Yohji found himself fighting the urge to jump at every familiar sound.
“This is crap,” Yohji muttered under his breath. He sat up again, once more leaning his weight on his elbows, which he rested on his knees.
For several long seconds, he sat there and stared at Aya again. It was weird. Except for the smudge of dirt and the bruise along one cheek, Aya looked like he was sleeping -- as if he had snuck away, playing hooky from his shift in the shop so that he could take a nap. His face was peaceful, the expression relaxed, and the daylight that filtered in through the blinds over his window seemed to bathe the bed -- and Aya -- in a sort of golden glow. Yohji shook his head, laughing under his breath and telling himself it was his imagination. Or, maybe it was the glow from the fire. He was tempted to go to the window to see if it was still burning, but he didn’t want to chance the rescue crews seeing him. They would have questions he didn’t want to answer.
And yet, he had to move. He felt restless and edgy, and he knew he would go crazy if he sat in this chair any longer. He could feel that in his bones. With a sigh, Yohji got up and began to pace around Aya’s room. He stopped at the dresser to fiddle with the small cache of items there -- Aya’s loose change, his clock, an extra set of keys. After a few moments, he moved away, toward the closet. He opened it and looked inside, shaking his head over how impossibly neat Aya was -- every shirt hung neatly on a hanger, every pair of pants folded on a shelf, and even the shoes lined up on the closet floor.
“Shit, you’re fucking insane, aren’t you?” Yohji said. He glanced over his shoulder toward Aya, who was still lying, silent and still, on the bed. He shrugged, peering into the closet once more and muttering, “It’s not right to be that neat. You’re a guy, for crying out loud,” as he pushed the door closed.
He made his way from the closet to the bed, standing over Aya for a few moments before sinking down to sit next to him. The box springs squeaked a little as the mattress dipped under Yohji’s weight. He leaned over, placing his arms on either side of Aya’s body and bracing his weight on them as he stared down at his unconscious partner. He didn’t like seeing Aya like this. Aya wasn’t loud, but he wasn’t exactly quiet, either. Yohji had spent a lot of time with the man, and he wasn’t sure how to describe it, but seeing Aya like this -- lifeless and static -- felt so wrong it made Yohji want to scream. At the same time, he had to admit, having a rare chance to study Aya up close, that Aya really was beautiful. It wasn’t a traditional kind of beauty. There was something decidedly masculine to the set of his cheekbones and chin -- something that would prevent a person from describing him as “pretty”. At the same time, there was something about Aya’s appearance that drew a person in. Once you started looking at him, it was hard to force yourself to stop. Yohji might have been tempted to term Aya’s beauty ethereal or other-worldly, except even the thought was too ridiculous. It made him snicker, under his breath, just thinking about it. This was Aya, for crying out loud -- bitchy, prissy, drama-queen Aya. The guy Yohji worked with every day in the shop. The guy he killed with every night as one of Weiss’s hunters. He was not pretty. Not in any way, shape, or form. Yohji told himself that, in no uncertain terms.
Except …
Aya was pretty. In his own way. Yohji was secure enough to admit that about another guy. He could even admit it about Aya -- a guy he saw every day, and most nights. It didn’t mean anything. Right?
Right, Yohji thought to himself. A strand of hair had fallen across Aya’s face -- dark red against the pale color of his skin. Yohji reached over and brushed it away.
“So? What about it? Are you gonna wake up and tell me what the fuck is going on here? If I know you, you have some idea, right? Some clue or damn good guess as to who might have blown up your car.” He paused for a moment, as a new thought occurred to him. “Holy fuck. You’re going to be pissed, aren’t you? I mean, more than usual -- because of the car thing. I’d be fucking pissed at the world, if that happened to my car,” Yohji mumbled, almost under his breath. It didn’t matter how loud the words were. Aya wasn’t listening, anyhow, and he was only talking to hear his own voice, just so it wouldn’t feel like he was alone in here.
Yohji’s hand had lingered after brushing the hair from Aya’s face. His fingers traced a path along Aya’s cheek, following the contour of his cheekbone and rubbing at the smudge of dirt Yohji had seen there. He was still worried about Aya being unconscious, but, underneath that, Yohji was glad Aya was alive. He remembered how he had felt when he had run out of the back door to see Aya’s car engulfed in flames. He had been certain Aya was dead and, even now, in the almost calm aftermath of what had happened, he couldn’t quantify the emotions that had taken hold of him. Rage, panic, terror, dread, and the most profound, soul-sucking grief he had felt since watching Asuka die all those years ago. It was this last emotion that surprised him. Sure, he cared about Aya. He cared about all of his teammates. They were his family -- a homicidal, dysfunctional family that was armed to the teeth, but a family, nonetheless. But, somehow, Aya had come to mean more. Yohji hadn’t realized it, not until seeing that burning car. Not until that moment, when he had believed, in his heart of hearts, that Aya was dead. And, now, Aya was here. Not quite all right. But very much alive. And Yohji realized he was grateful, weak with relief, and happy -- as if everything could remain right in his little corner of the world, just because Aya was still breathing. It was stupid. Really stupid. Yohji told himself that, over and over. And yet, it was how he felt.
His fingers stroked across Aya’s lips -- the barest of touches, skin skimming across skin. And, without thinking about it, Yohji leaned down, brushing his lips against Aya’s. It had been a sudden impulse. Yohi wasn’t sure why he had wanted to do it, but the urge had been too strong to ignore -- almost like his feeling of relief had bubbled over until he couldn’t contain it. He didn’t think about it; he just went with the impulse. At first, the kiss was chaste, the barest press of lips against lips. But, to Yohji’s surprise, Aya responded, his mouth opening slightly beneath the pressure. Instinctively, Yohji deepened the kiss, leaning into it and allowing his tongue to dart out into Aya’s mouth. Yohji’s tongue raked against Aya’s teeth and brushed across his tongue as Yohji explored the younger man’s mouth, feeling Aya’s skin -- cool and soft against his lips -- and tasting Aya’s breath, which was warm, moist, and had the gentle flavor of the green tea Aya had had at breakfast that morning.
He hadn’t intended to, but Yohji found himself lost in the kiss. He closed his eyes and let the moment take him, as if the smells and flavors could fill him up from the inside. He wasn’t sure how long it lasted. It could have been only a few seconds, or it could have been an eternity, but Yohji felt Aya’s body shift a little beneath him. He opened his eyes to find Aya watching him, an expression of what Yohji read to be shocked disbelief plain in his blue-violet eyes, in spite of the fact that Aya seemed unable to get them to focus properly.
“Oh, shit,” Yohji said, experiencing the sudden, nausea-inducing sensation of feeling the world drop out from beneath him -- his own, personal ground zero of crisis and panic.
He pulled away from Aya, his hand automatically rising to his own lips, covering them and wiping away the tiny bit of saliva that was there -- as if he could wipe away what he had done. “It’s just a dream. Just a dream,” Yohji repeated, almost unaware of what he was saying. Did he really want Aya to believe this was nothing more than a figment of his imagination? Yohji wasn’t sure, but it seemed the easiest way to keep Aya from killing him. And Yohji was all about self preservation. So, he said it again, “It’s all right, Aya. It’s just a dream.”
Aya stared at him for another second or two -- an odd, unfocused almost-glare, as if he was trying to see through fog. And then, he sighed. His eyes slid closed again, and he shifted around, as if searching for a more comfortable position in which to lie.
Yohji sat on the bed for what felt like a long time, afraid to do anything to upset the delicate balance he had, somehow, managed to achieve. It seemed as if he had squeaked out of what could have been a very uncomfortable and dangerous situation. He had a sudden flash vision of himself spitted on the point of Aya’s sword, and it gave him the distinctly uncomfortable feeling of seeing his entire life flash before his eyes. He couldn’t believe he got away with that lame “it’s a dream” shit. And -- wait? Had Aya kissed him back? He hadn’t realized it at the time, but, now, thinking back on it, it felt like that was exactly what had happened. But, that couldn’t be right, could it?
Whatever. It didn’t matter. Yohji told himself that; he told his mind it was nothing, that it was a fluke and something he never should have done, in the first place. And yet, his mind insisted on wondering if Aya really had kissed him back, and if it could have meant something, after all.
“Fuck. Just … shut up, brain. Shut the fuck up,” Yohji mumbled, shaking his head. He stood up, doing his best not to move the bed or disturb Aya. He moved across the room, back to the phone, and punched in Manx’s number. Maybe he was ready for those Kritiker medical personnel, after all.
***********************
Yohji glanced up from the cash register to watch Aya assisting one of their regular customers -- an elderly woman who came in every week and purchased several bouquets of violets. Yohji never had figured out what she did with all of them; he had often suspected she came in just to get Aya to wait on her. But, whatever the case, she was a good customer -- enough so that even Aya took the time to be polite and cater to her. Not that any of them really gave a shit if the Koneko made money or not. Maybe it was Aya’s way of pretending he was what he appeared to be. Kind of a little vacation from the reality that was his life. It was easier to pretend he really was a florist than to face the constant truth of being one of Kritiker’s killers.
It had been a little over a week since the whole car bomb incident, although Yohji now thought of it as the “kissing incident”. Funny how something so seemingly innocuous could end up feeling enough like the kiss of doom to overshadow a bomb. Things had been … odd. That was the only way Yohji could think to describe them. Aya and Omi both seemed fine -- hardly any the worse for wear, although Yohji suspected Omi was hiding a lot of extra emotional baggage behind the easy-going façade he had adopted since the incident. Or, more emotional baggage than was the norm, even for him. Aya had, of course, been pissier than usual because of the loss of his car. Yohji couldn’t blame him. He would have felt the same way. Kritiker had agreed to replace it, but that hadn’t done much to cool Aya’s temper. Kritiker had removed the burned out wreckage to their labs, and Manx had contacted them a few days later to tell them it hadn’t been a freak accident; someone had planted a bomb in the Porsche. So far, they didn’t have any new leads on who might have done it or why, but Manx assured them Kritiker was working on it. Of course, with her next breath, she had warned them to look out for themselves, which hadn’t done anything to comfort anyone on the team. So far, though, it had been business as usual.
More or less.
Yohji frowned as he closed the cash drawer, causing it to ding in protest at his rough handling. For him, life had been more surreal than ever. He had done his best to stay out of Aya’s way. It had been easy. Aya wasn’t in the mood to be around any of them. Not that he ever was, really, but it had been worse since losing his car. Yohji had been able to use that as a handy excuse so that Omi and Ken both thought he was avoiding getting caught on the receiving end of one of Aya’s temper tantrums. Only Yohji knew the truth. That he couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss -- those few short moments during which he had felt Aya’s lips beneath his and Aya had, in a small way, surrendered himself to Yohji. He was afraid Aya remembered all of it, and that it was only a matter of time before he was called to answer for what he had done. And, even worse, Yohji found he couldn’t quite look at or think of Aya in the same way. Part of it was discomfort over not knowing how Aya felt about the kiss. Part of it was fear that Aya was pissed at him and secretly plotting revenge. And, Yohji had to be honest, here -- part of it was that he wondered what the hell it all meant. Did he have those kinds of feelings for Aya? Did Aya have them for him?
Today, it hadn’t been possible to avoid Aya. Omi was busy with some extra recon for Kritiker, and he had enlisted Ken to help him. That left Aya and Yohji to manage the shop and maintain their cover. Alone. With no one to run a buffer between them, and no chance for Yohji to run away and hide.
“Hey.”
Yohji jumped at the sound of Aya’s voice. He looked up to find Aya just on the other side of the counter, glaring at him over the top of the cash register. He had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed Aya’s approach.
“Um, y … yeah?” Yohji asked, cringing at how whiny and unsure his voice sounded.
Aya gave Yohji a perplexed look. For a second or two, it seemed as if he would ask Yohji something, but he appeared to change his mind. He shook his head and, instead, gestured toward the customer who had followed him to the counter. Her arms were full of violets, but she peered over them to smile at Yohji. He managed to smile back at her, stifling a small laugh as she blushed like one of the school-age fangirls who normally crowded into the shop.
“Can you ring up Mrs. Harada’s purchase?” Aya asked. He, too, had carried an armful of violets up to the front, and he placed them on the counter as he spoke.
“S … sure. Yeah. I can do that,” Yohji replied, leaning forward to help Mrs. Harada unload her purchases.
Aya gave Yohji another perplexed glare, but he walked away, past the counter and into the back room, without saying anything else.
Yohji rang up Mrs. Harada’s order. He smiled at her and made small talk, just like always. Once he had taken her money and given her a receipt, he boxed up the bouquets and offered to help her carry them home. As always, she refused, and Yohji teased her about it. And, he waved to her as she exited the shop. But his mind wasn’t on any of it. It was like he was running on auto-pilot, just going through the motions without thinking about what he was doing. He was too busy with all the questions turning and tumbling around in his head.
“I think I’m going to go get lunch. It’s pretty slow right now,” Aya said.
For the second time in less than ten minutes, Yohji suffered the uncomfortable sensation of being taken by surprise. Aya had come from the back room to stand next to him behind the counter, and, once again, Yohji hadn’t heard or noticed Aya’s approach. He couldn’t help thinking, maybe, he should put a bell on Aya. It was a fleeting thought, there and gone in an instant as Yohji tried to push his brain into gear so that he could recover from the shock of finding Aya standing so unexpectedly close, so that he could pretend everything was normal.
“All right. What the fuck is wrong with you?” Aya demanded, turning to glare at Yohji.
“What? Nothing. Nothing’s wrong with me,” Yohji replied, hoping his voice sounded normal.
“Bullshit. You’re about to jump out of your skin, and you’ve been avoiding me all week. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. So, what is it? Spit it out,” Aya countered.
“Its …” Yohji began, but he cut himself off before he could finish. “It’s nothing,” he said, shaking his head.
Aya didn’t say anything for a few moments. The silence seemed to grow and stretch between them, until it was heavy and unwieldy, until it felt as if nothing could possibly break it.
At last, Aya cleared his throat. It was a small noise, but it sounded big and loud in the quiet that had fallen over the shop.
“It was just a kiss, Yohji. It’s no big deal,” Aya said, his voice soft and so low it barely carried to where Yohji stood, just inches away.
Yohji wasn’t sure how to feel. Sad, because the kiss, apparently, hadn’t meant anything to Aya? Relieved because the kiss, apparently, hadn’t meant anything to Aya, and that meant Aya wasn’t going to kill him? Happy to find out Aya wasn’t angry with him? Or pissed off that Aya had known all along and, yet, had let him suffer this way all week? He decided to go with being pissed; it felt more natural than anything else. And besides, it would let him vent some of the nervous energy he had built up over the past several days.
“You fucker,” Yohji growled. “You knew all along, and let me worry myself sick over this?”
“You’re hardly sick,” Aya pointed out. “Besides, it seemed like a fitting punishment. Almost like getting even. But, if you’re going to keep acting all weird over it … well, that takes away all the fun.”
Yohji took a deep breath, letting it out on a long sigh. “But it is weird. How can it not be weird? I kissed you. I mean … does it mean nothing? Does it mean I think of you that way? Or that you think of me like that? And, it’s just … well, weird. I mean, how can we work together, knowing I did that? Doesn’t it freak you out, even a little?” The words came out all in a jumble as the underlying panic Yohji had been feeling all week overtook his anger.
“It was just a kiss,” Aya repeated, his voice normal and his tone matter-of-fact -- the same tone of voice he might have used to tell Yohji the sky was blue. He paused for a moment or two before adding, almost under his breath, “You’re the last person I would have expected to overthink things like this.”
“Yeah, well, it’s weird. It’s like the whole dynamic is thrown off or something. Like I ripped a hole in the fucking time-space continuum and little blue aliens are going to start falling out of it at any moment,” Yohji said.
“You mean green,” Aya corrected. “Aliens are always green.”
Yohji stared at him in disbelief. Here he was, on the verge of some kind of mental meltdown, and Aya was worried about what color the fucking pretend aliens were?
“Who says?” Yohji asked. “Besides, I’m the one freaking out here. If I want blue aliens, I’ll have blue fucking aliens. I don’t care what you say.”
Aya sighed. “Fine,” he muttered.
Aya was fast. Before Yohji could say anything else or react, he had turned and closed the small distance between them. He reached out and gripped the back of Yohji’s head, his fingers curling into the hair at the nape of Yohji’s neck as he pulled Yohji toward him. Yohji was too surprised to react, and he allowed himself to be pulled off balance. And then, Aya’s mouth was on his. Aya’s lips were soft and cool against Yohji’s and his tongue pressed forward, asking for entrance. Once more, Yohji found his senses flooded with the smell and taste of Aya -- violets and roses, the crisp, clean flavor of the water he had used to freshen the stock in the back room, and, as always, that gentle, underlying flavor of green tea. It was an odd combination and, yet, it was so uniquely “Aya” that Yohji would have known it anywhere. As before, Yohji reacted instinctively. His eyes slid closed and he leaned forward, opening his mouth in response to Aya’s demands and surrendering himself to the kiss. Aya’s tongue slowly worked its way into Yohji’s mouth, tracing its contours as Aya licked across Yohji’s teeth and tongue. And, all the while, he pulled Yohji toward him, holding him a willing prisoner, keeping him present in this one lingering moment in time. Yohji was happy to let himself be carried along on the seductive feel of Aya’s lips against his, on the lick and lap of Aya’s tongue in his mouth, on the suck and pull of Aya’s teeth dragging gently against his bottom lip, and in the smell and taste that Yohji had come to realize was so distinctively Aya.
Yohji didn’t want it to end, but, all too soon, Aya pulled away. He released his hold on Yohji’s neck and swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. Yohji stared at Aya, winded from the intensity of the kiss. Part of his mind -- the part that was still functioning -- wondered what had just happened. And, for the second time in a week, Yohji experienced a sinking feeling that told him he was watching the universe shatter into pieces, as if some twisted, high-on-crack deity had turned everything on its side, just for kicks. Ground zero of his latest personal crisis. It wasn’t a happy moment.
“What. The. Hell?” Yohji asked, once he could trust his voice.
“See?” Aya said. “Just a kiss. Now we’re even, and you don’t have to feel weird any more.”
“Right,” Yohji replied, unable to hide the sarcasm in his voice, “That wasn’t weird at all.”
Aya shrugged and walked away, around the counter and toward the front of the shop, pausing when he reached the door. “So, lunch? You want anything? I’m buying.”
Yohji still felt a bit shell-shocked over the fact Aya had just kissed him. Even so, he couldn’t help but laugh as he nodded in response to Aya’s question. “Yeah,” he said, “Whatever you’re having is fine.” He paused a moment and then finished, “You … buying lunch. Now that’s what I call weird.”
“Asshole,” Aya snapped.
He did his best to sound and appear angry. He opened the door with a sharp jerk, causing the bell over it to jingle wildly. But, as he stepped onto the sidewalk, Aya could hear Yohji’s laughter following him out of the shop. And he smiled.
~End
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2008-04-13 04:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-04-13 01:27 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-04-14 10:47 pm (UTC)*MASSIVE GLOMPAGE*
...
*MORE GLOMPING*
Love it! All of it! The Yohji and Aya....eee! Thank you, again, for writing this! It was very nice of you to do....and I has a few little goodies for you (and what is turning out to be a very late birthday present) to send you ;_; *iz made of the fail* Actually, I don't think I sent you a proper review for this, come to think of it...*goes to get that* <3
(no subject)
Date: 2008-04-16 07:26 pm (UTC)I'm so glad you like it. That was what was most important to me, since I wouldn't have finished this one if not for you asking for it. ^__^
PS: OMG ... Your icon is sooo great! *snuggles it*
(no subject)
Date: 2008-04-16 07:41 pm (UTC)Haha, thanks! I like the icon, too! I made it from a doujin I read. I <3 almost-stick-figure!yohji declaring his love for almost-stick-figure!aya! (And the look on ASFA’s face is priceless, hee!)
I won’t be around much until much later tonight (going to the movies) but if your up for chatting….eee! I got the ‘love child’ cel! And all but one cel are in the SMJ warehouse awaiting my order for shipping! I’m sooo excited! Then I can sneak into work and scan those bad bois up onto my gallery and officially open it!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *glomps* -- sorry, I was just really excited about that. I’m exited for sending your package, too…which is still sitting on bedroom floor ;_; Let me know when YOUR cels come and you get them scanned! I’m wanting to see the gorgeous pan cel of them all again!
I’m starting to think I should’ve just written you an email with all this in there…O.<
(no subject)
Date: 2008-04-19 08:51 pm (UTC)I've been checking with Rinkya, but my last win isn't at the warehouse yet. I can't wait for it to arrive. As soon as it does, I'm going to have everything shipped to me. Not like it's a whole lot, but it's been a while since I was able to update more than one or two WK cels in my gallery. I'm still excited over winning them. (Even though I did have to fight for them -- LOL) *happeh*
I'm still so, so happy you liked the "kissy fic". (I love calling it that. Makes me snicker. Hee!)I was happy with the kind and long reviews, too. I like it when people leave in-depth thoughts, particularly since I don't get many reviews, to begin with. It kind of helps me feel like everything evens out and that, maybe, people don't hate my writing. Even if they don't leave comments -- LOL. You know how paranoid I can be. >.O
I looove the stick-figure icon. Or, should I say almost-stick-figure icon. The expression on ASF Aya's face is what really makes it for me. It's so "him". *giggles*