Fanfiction Archive: Arrivals
May. 29th, 2009 12:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
texchan(Written: October, 2007)
Warnings: Bad Language.
Summary: Sometimes, the hardest thing about friendship is having to say you're sorry. But caring and small gestures can go a long way toward helping a person express what is in their heart, as Aya discovers during a frustrating trip to the airport.
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.
Inspired By: A fic prompt: "Pineapple"
Arrivals
(a wk fanfiction by tex-chan)
Aya cursed under his breath as he circled the parking garage -- again. The Porsche's tires squealed as he gunned the engine, bringing it around a tight turn and onto the straight-away that led to the next level. The noise echoed away from him, reverberating off of concrete pillars and buttresses to join the rest of the cacophony -- tires squealing in the distance, the throbbing roar of cars driving overhead, honking horns, and the shouted curses of drivers who had grown impatient with the gridlock inside the garage. Aya shared their frustration. He fumed and tapped the steering wheel, beating out an impatient, staccato rhythm with his fingers. It felt like he had been sitting on this stupid ramp for an eternity, and he was ready to be done with this whole ordeal, already. Aya struggled to reign in his irritation. If he started honking, he wouldn't stop -- at least, not until he had rid himself of every angry impulse he had at the moment, and that might take a while. Instead, he settled for glaring at the car in front of him. It had a smiley face bumper sticker. For some reason, that pissed Aya off even more, and he had to fight down the urge to get out of his car and beat the crap out of the other driver. He reminded himself that was not acceptable public conduct, and, instead, settled for entertaining himself with daydreams of slicing and dicing that stupid, simpering, smiling yellow ball -- and the guy who owned it. No one in their right mind should put something that idiotically cheerful on the back of their car; Aya figured the guy was pretty much asking to have the crap kicked out of him.
The car in front of him began to move. It backfired, belching a little cloud of exhaust in Aya's general direction, as the driver stepped on the gas -- almost as if the car had decided to have the last word on Aya's thoughts about its bumper sticker. He sneezed and coughed at the noxious smell of it, feeling sick at the bitter, acrid taste it left in the back of his throat. Life would have been so much better if he could have rolled up his windows and relied on the Porsche's AC, but he had been sitting in this traffic jam for so long that he was afraid the car might overheat. At this point, there was nothing he could do but grin and bear it. Or, scowl and bear it -- as it were.
He hated this stupid parking garage. He hated the too-tight turns and the vertigo-inducing way it wound up and up and up -- until he thought he was going to vomit from the endless circling. He hated the stifling heat and the choking smells of exhaust. He hated how claustrophobic this place made him feel, like he would be buried under tons of concrete and steel at any moment -- probably the unhappy after-effect of being caught in one too many exploding or burning buildings. It was a hazard of the trade, he supposed. Unavoidable. But that didn't make being here any easier. And, he hated the airport, in general. It was always overcrowded with people who were too frazzled and rushed to remember things like common courtesy. Being in a hurry seemed to turn most people stupid. The garage was just the beginning. Aya wasn't looking forward to braving the hazards of rolling luggage, lost travelers, and screaming children that he knew awaited him inside the building.
The car in front of him pulled into a parking space, leaving what appeared to be a clear path in front of Aya. He shifted the Porsche into a higher gear and stepped on the gas, feeling a surge of relief when the engine growled and the car jumped forward in response to the slight pressure of his foot. He was sick of crawling along at this snail's pace. It made his teeth itch, and not in a good way. He sped forward, sending the car careening around another curve and toward the next uphill ramp. The Porsche's tires squealed, leaving the scent of burning rubber in his wake, as he peeled around the turn and, again, stepped on the gas, alternating it with the clutch to shift into an even higher gear.
Yohji always gave him a hard time about his driving. Aya couldn't help smiling as he thought about that. Yohji was always saying he didn't have to worry about buying it on a mission, because he must be destined to die in a traffic accident. Aya couldn't figure out what the big deal was; he was an excellent driver. Even Yohji had to admit that, when pressed. He just happened to enjoy being an excellent driver while going fast. Really fast. It wasn't like Yohji obeyed every traffic law, either. As far as Aya was concerned, Yohji had no room to criticize.
Suddenly, a car loomed up in front of him -- not moving, but stuck in yet another traffic crawl on the ramp. He was so lost in thought that he almost didn't see it in time. He stomped on the brakes and the clutch, downshifting as quickly as he could without tearing the engine to shreds. The Porsche fishtailed, and Aya twisted the steering wheel, trying to turn into the skid. It didn't take more than a couple of seconds, but it felt like an eternity before he managed to bring the car to a safe stop, smoke and the heavy scent of burning rubber spewing from its overheated tires and brakes.
That had been almost too close for comfort. Aya took a deep gulp of air and let it out on a long, sighing breath as he leaned forward, resting his head on the steering wheel, and tried to calm the run-away rhythm of his heart. He had had a paper sack sitting on the passenger seat, and, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of it on the floorboard. It must have fallen during the Porsche's crazy, sliding skid.
He took another deep breath and reached over to rescue the bag. The paper crinkled beneath his fingers as he peered inside to check the contents -- a small bottle of pineapple soda and a pack of Yohji's favorite brand of cigarettes. He was relieved to find the bottle unbroken and the pack of cigs still in pristine condition. The cigarettes hadn't been hard to get, but he had been forced to run all over town looking for that stupid soda. It was Yohji's favorite. Unfortunately, there were only two stores in Tokyo that sold the damn stuff. One was near the Koneko, but they had been out of stock. He hadn't had any other choice but to drive all the way across town to the other store. He had gotten stuck in a traffic jam on the way there, and, by the time he had arrived, the store had been closed for lunch, requiring him to wait for half an hour until the owners had returned. The store was in one of the rougher parts of town, and he had had to discourage two kids from keying the Porsche and one from slashing its tires. Needless to say, it had been a frustrating shopping experience. Aya figured it was a good thing the soda was undamaged. If it hadn't been, he probably would have lost it. But, the soda and the cigs were both fine, and the shopping trip from hell was a distant memory. Besides, Yohji loved that soda. It was worth the effort if it made him happy. Not that he cared about Yohji's happiness, Aya reminded himself, frowning at his reflection in the rearview mirror.
Memories of his shopping expedition inevitably led him to think about the last time he had seen Yohji. They had fought. It had seemed so important at the time, but, now, Aya couldn't remember who had said what or what had started the argument. What he did remember was that things were said -- things a man shouldn't say to someone who meant as much to them as Yohji meant to him. Feelings were hurt, on both sides, and they had almost ended up coming to blows. Not that physical fights were anything unusual around the Koneko, but, somehow, this had been different. Aya couldn't explain it, even to himself, but it had felt different. It had felt -- wrong. And final. And horrible.
Yohji had put one of the vases through the big cooler in the back room, shattering both the vase and the cooler door, and Aya had only just managed to restrain himself before the fight had escalated even more. He had left the shop, slamming the door behind him, and he had stayed away for the next couple of days. When he had returned, Yohji had been gone -- sent away on some recon mission for Kritiker. It had been surprising, because the assignment seemed to have come up so suddenly. Plus, they didn't get sent out of Japan very often, although it did happen from time to time.
A cold band of fear had settled around Aya's chest upon learning of Yohji's departure, and the reasons for it. He didn't want to admit it, but the thought of Yohji going out on a solo mission scared the crap out of him. Even under the best of circumstances. And, the way they had left things … well, it made it that much worse, in Aya's mind. He didn't want to worry. He didn't want to care. But, he did. If anything had happened to Yohji, and they had left things like that -- angry, bitter, and full of hatred -- Aya knew he would never be able to forgive himself.
No. Nothing would happen to Yohji. Nothing could happen to Yohji. Aya couldn't think about that. He didn't want to think about it. So, he pushed it out of his mind. Or, he tried to push it away, at least. It was still there -- a nagging, worrisome little voice in the back of his head. Aya wanted to tell it to shut the hell up, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. Yohji had been gone for a week, and that stupid voice hadn't stopped nattering at him for even a single damn minute, which had led to a lot of sleepless nights and an endless string of very foul moods and temper tantrums.
The traffic moved again, and Aya followed -- at a more reasonable pace this time. He was almost at the level where he wanted to park, anyhow. He drove up the ramp and pulled into the first empty space he could find. He wasn't looking forward to fighting his way through the airport, but he had to admit he would be glad to get out of this damn car.
************************
The airport was filled to the brim with people -- and then some. Aya had expected as much, but, even so, he felt his stomach clench with dread at the thought of having to work his way through the bustling crowd. There were people everywhere -- lost tourists toting rolling suitcases and huge cameras, and wearing sunglasses and perplexed expressions; parents running after screaming, overly-stimulated children; business men walking with a brisk, no-nonsense pace, looking irritated, and carrying leather briefcases; flight crew personnel dodging in and out of the straggling crowd, just trying to make it to their next gate on time; and thousands of people who seemed to dawdle along, as if they had nowhere in particular to be and all the time in the world in which to get there. And the noise was almost as bad. Footsteps and voices echoed from every part of the huge, cavernous building. The din rose and fell, although it maintained a steady, almost mind-numbing buzz that made thinking all but impossible.
Aya paused in the doorway, frowning as he surveyed the scene before him. He had removed his sunglasses upon entering the building, but, now, he put them back on, shoving them into place with his index finger. Forcing himself to push his way through the crowd was going to be hard enough. But, somehow, it would be worse if all these strangers could see his eyes. It was silly, and Aya felt a bit foolish. Even so, he felt a lot more comfortable with the sunglasses on. He decided not to overthink his desire for anonymity and, instead, entered the crowd as soon as he saw a pause in the steady stream of humanity flowing past him. Now wasn't the time for soul searching. Or the place. If he let himself think about things too much, he knew he wouldn't go through with this. He would turn around and go home, and he didn't want to do that. He thought about the parking garage, and his eyes narrowed in irritation. No. Going home now was out of the question. Every mission had a point of no return, and Aya knew he had passed it eons ago on this particular outing. He tightened his grip on the soda bottle's neck. The paper bag crinkled beneath his fingers. It felt soft, almost like old leather, and Aya welcomed the odd sensation; it anchored him, somehow, reminding him why he was here in a place that he hated so much.
Once he was in the crowd, he moved quickly. He found it easy to work his way past the people around him -- dodging the slow walkers, avoiding the gawkers, steering clear of the screaming children. After he had traveled a short distance past the doors and, then, away from the security and check-in lines, Aya found he could move freely. He sped up, feeling satisfied and more content as he watched the floor in front of him disappear beneath him with every quick stride. At the same time, he couldn't help but feel uncertain and a little nervous because each step carried him closer to his destination.
Without warning, he had to stop short to keep from tripping over a suitcase an elderly couple dragged into his path. Of course, neither of them was paying any attention to where they were going, or to who or what was around them. They were lost in their own world, and, in a way, lost in each other. The woman dropped the handle of her suitcase, and her husband stooped to pick it up for her. When he handed it back to her, she smiled and laid her hand on his cheek. He took it in his hand and kissed her palm.
Aya, lost in his own thoughts, barely managed to keep from running them over. He avoided them, but not without banging his shin on the woman's bag. They both called out to him, asking if he was all right, but Aya hurried on, unwilling to stop. The intimate scene had made him uncomfortable. He felt dirty and cheap, like a voyeur looking in on something special and precious, something the rest of the world had no right to view.
"I hate the airport," Aya muttered, under his breath. He slowed his pace, hesitating as he neared his destination.
What was he doing here? This had to be the most idiotic thing he had done in … well, a long time. He hated putting himself out here like this -- he felt off-balance and vulnerable. It was too much like showing he cared, and Aya hated that, most of all.
He shouldn't be doing this. If he had any sense, he would turn around and leave. No one would ever know. Yohji hadn't expected anyone to pick him up at the airport, and he would be none the wiser. And, Aya would have protected himself from getting hurt -- something he had sworn to do, ever since that night when he had seen his parents die and his sister lying injured on the ground. Getting too close -- especially considering what he did for a living -- hurt too much. Somehow, Yohji had wormed his way into Aya's life. To the point where Aya couldn't think about a life without Yohji in it in some way. He didn't even want to think about it -- even though the realization scared him to death.
And that brought him full circle. That was the reason he was here, and he knew it. No matter how much the knowledge ate at him, he was enough of a realist to admit it was the truth. He wanted to see Yohji. He needed to see Yohji. It made no sense, but he felt like everything in his world would be back in place, once he saw Yohji in person. And, that was all there was to it.
Aya sighed in resignation, pausing to read the signs over the corridors branching out from the airport's main walkway. He saw the one he wanted -- indicating the area where deplaning passengers would exit security to find transportation or locate their baggage -- and, taking a deep breath to steel himself against the possibly colossal mistake he was about to make, stepped away from the crowd. He found an inconspicuous place to wait, across from the exit. It was the perfect strategic position -- directly across from the exit, so that he would be sure to see everyone coming out of the doorway, separated from the crowd enough that no one would notice him unless they were looking for him, and with his back to a clear space on the wall, so that no one could approach him unawares. He did it unconsciously, although he felt safer and more secure once he had found the perfect place in which to wait. Aya tried not to analyze it, shrugging it off as a case of his night job bleeding over into his daytime existence. It was either that, or he really had become his work -- which was not an acceptable possibility. Even the thought of that made him want to cringe inside.
He didn't have to wait long. Five minutes, maybe ten. He saw Yohji exit the doorway, carrying a small duffel bag, and wearing his sunglasses and a grin that told Aya, even at first glance, that Yohji, likely, had just had his hand down the shirt of one of the flight attendants. In his mind, Aya scoffed at what a lecherous idiot Yohji was. Or, at least, he tried to. But, really, the sight of his friend -- so normal and happy … so very Yohji ... made Aya's heart skip a beat. He was relieved. Much more relieved than he would have liked to have been. And, he was glad. He didn't want to admit that, but it was true. He was glad to see Yohji. Aya felt the anxiety and anger of the past week fade away into nothing. Yohji was fine. Everything was fine.
For a moment, Yohji seemed to glance in Aya's direction. Although his eyes were hidden beneath the dark lenses of his sunglasses, he paused in the doorway to scan the crowd. It was almost as if he was looking for someone, but Aya figured it was a force of habit for Yohji, just as much as finding a "safe" place to wait was for him. There was a moment when Yohji seemed to look right at him, and Aya, thinking Yohji had spotted him, pushed off from the wall and began to make his way through the milling passengers.
He hadn't made it very far when Yohji turned away from him, apparently looking for someone else in the crowd. Aya paused, surprised that Yohji hadn't seen him, or, maybe, dismayed that Yohji had seen him and chose to ignore him. Aya stopped and watched newly-arrived passengers greet their friends and family members with tears and hugs. People milled around him, bumping him from all sides, but Aya ignored them. He wondered how he had been so wrong about the whole thing. He had thought, if he could see and talk to Yohji, everything would be all right between them. Now, he wasn't so sure.
Aya heard someone call Yohji's name. He looked in the direction of the sound and saw a woman -- young, attractively curvy, wearing tight jeans and a low-cut top. She jumped up and down and called Yohji's name again. Yohji saw her and smiled, waving back at her and immediately shoving his way through the people milling around him. She did the same, and they met halfway. She laughed and threw herself into Yohji's arms. He laughed, too, sweeping her up and swinging her around as he hugged her. He buried his face in her long, black hair so that he could whisper something to her as he nibbled on her ear. She blushed and giggled, hugging him even tighter.
Of course, Yohji would have made arrangements for his arrival at the airport. It wasn't like the chain-smoking playboy to catch a cab or a bus -- not if he could be chauffeured home in style by one of his many ladies.
Aya stared at them. He felt ridiculous and stupid, but it was more than that. It was the same as with that elderly couple earlier. He felt cheap and dirty, like he was watching something he shouldn't see. No matter that Yohji and the woman were putting their affection on public display. Aya still felt guilty for watching. Like he was standing on the outside of a building, spying through a picture window. Always on the outside, looking in.
Suddenly, Aya realized he didn't need to be there. More than that, he needed not to be there. He was embarrassed and felt foolish, although he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why. He had seen Yohji. Yohji was fine. Everything was fine. Why did he feel like such a first-class idiot? He didn't know; he didn't care. He just wanted to get the hell out of Dodge, and he wanted to do it immediately -- if not sooner.
He whirled away from the scene, shoving his way through the press of people around him. He didn't pay attention to where he was going; he could only think of moving forward, of getting away from there. He didn't try to work his way into the crowd; instead, he bulled past the people in his path, elbowing them out of the way when they didn't move quickly enough to suit him. He hadn't gone more than ten steps when he found himself faced with an impassable obstacle -- a large family, all hugging and chattering. They were right in his path, and there were too many of them for him to shove them aside. He decided to avoid them, but he stumbled into a trash can as he went around the group. Aya's reflexes were quick. He managed to sidestep the falling container and stay on his feet, but the trash can fell to the floor with a loud crash, spewing trash on everyone in the immediate vicinity. The din in the terminal stopped as everyone turned to look in the direction of the noise. It felt like every head in the concourse turned to look at him, and Aya froze for a second or two, feeling like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights of a hundred oncoming cars.
He glanced in Yohji's direction, hoping against hope that he might go unnoticed. Not likely, considering the racket he had just made, but, even so, the tiny shred of hope was there. It wasn't to be. He saw Yohji staring at him, and he cringed. He felt his face flush hot, and he knew he was blushing like a complete moron. For a brief few seconds, Aya wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole. It would be better than this embarrassment.
"Who is that?" the woman asked Yohji. Her voice seemed to echo in the sudden quiet.
Yohji grinned and waved at Aya as he replied, "No one, really. And, in a way, everyone."
Aya nodded a quick apology at the people nearest him. As calmly as he could, he stepped over the fallen trash can, managing to avoid most of the debris scattered across the floor. He didn't look back at Yohji again; he couldn't. He was too embarrassed, and he felt too stupid. For what he had just done, but for more than that. For coming here, in the first place. For thinking that, maybe, Yohji would be glad to see him. And, for needing to see Yohji so badly that it had almost hurt. Aya wished he could go back and change all of that, but he couldn't. So, he did the one thing he could do. He ran away. As quickly as he could manage while still salvaging a small amount of his dignity.
"I don't understand," the woman said, giving Yohji a puzzled look.
"Believe me, I don't, either," Yohji replied.
Their voices echoed out in Aya's wake as he fled the area. He thought he heard Yohji call out his name, but he didn't stop or look back. He just kept walking.
*********************
"Aya! Aya! Come on, man. Wait the fuck up!" Yohji called.
He had been jogging after Aya ever since spotting the younger man in the terminal. He couldn't believe how quickly Aya had managed to negotiate the crowds and exit the airport. They were halfway to the parking garage already, and he had only just caught up to Aya. He wasn't far away now, and he knew Aya heard him. But, for a sick second or two, Yohji thought Aya wasn't going to stop. He didn't want to resort to bringing the younger man down with a flying tackle -- not in a crowded place like this. Not to mention the carpet. Yohji eyed it warily, thinking that it would cause one hell of a rug burn. Still, he would do it if he had to. Maybe, Yohji thought, he could bring Aya down by aiming for his knees with the duffel bag.
Luckily, he didn't have to resort to either of those drastic methods to stop his teammate. Aya slowed down and, then, after a few more steps, stopped. He kept his back turned as Yohji approached. Yohji tried to gauge the level of Aya's embarrassment and irritation as he walked up to the younger man. Judging from Aya's stiff, rigid posture, he guessed Aya was stuck somewhere between wanting the earth to swallow him up and lashing out at the next unfortunate soul to cross his path. It was just his crappy luck to be that next person, Yohji thought, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. He was huffing and out of breath from the chase, but he managed to give Aya a friendly punch in the shoulder once they stood next to each other.
"Shit, Aya. What the fuck is wrong with you? I've been yelling at you all the way down the terminal. Why didn't you stop?" Yohji asked. His words came out all in a jumble as he rushed through the sentences, trying to catch his breath.
Aya didn't answer, but Yohji glanced over in time to see the muscles in his jaw tighten. He figured that was all the reply he would get to this particular question, so he decided to try a different subject.
"What're you doing here, anyhow?" Yohji asked. "I wasn't expecting anyone to pick me up. I didn't even know anyone knew when I was coming in."
At first, Aya didn't say anything. He stared at the floor for what felt like a long time. Just when Yohji was getting uncomfortable enough with the silence to say something else, Aya spoke, cutting him off short.
"I … I asked Omi when your flight was getting in," Aya said, his voice so low that Yohji had to strain to hear it over the other noises around them. "So, I thought … you know … I would come pick you up."
He sounded small and embarrassed. Yohji frowned. He hated hearing Aya like this. It made him want to comfort Aya somehow, but, as with most things concerning his temperamental friend, Yohji wasn't sure what to say or do. He had an idea why Aya had come for him. He remembered the angry words they had parted with a week ago, although he couldn't remember what had started the argument, or why he had been so mad. It had been bothering him for the whole week he had been gone, and he was willing to bet it had been eating away at Aya, too. But, he knew he had to be careful. Aya was hurting and embarrassed, and Yohji could feel the balance between them. It was stretched tight and thin, and it wouldn't take much to set them at each other's throats again -- even though neither of them wanted to fight. He had the eerie sense of standing in a room filled with gunpowder, holding a lit match, and he took a deep breath, trying to buy himself some time to figure out what to say … and how to say it.
"But you hate the airport," Yohji blurted out.
He cringed at how lame it sounded. He wanted to tell Aya how sorry he was for their fight. He wanted to say that he didn't remember what had set him off, or why he had been angry. He wanted to hug Aya, even though Aya would complain about it, and tell him that he had missed him during the week they had been apart. He wanted to tell Aya that, as far as he was concerned, everything was fine between them. But, what came out of his mouth? A lame statement about how much Aya hated the airport. It was true, but, still … Yohji couldn't help wishing he had been able to come up with something a bit more meaningful.
Aya laughed, much to Yohji's relief. Maybe, he had managed to say the right thing, after all.
Aya turned and looked at Yohji. Now that they were standing so close together, he could see a small cut over Yohji's eye. It was almost hidden behind his sunglasses, but Aya could see the tell-tale edge of the stitches sticking out over the top of the frames. He frowned, pointing at the injury.
"What happened?" Aya asked.
Yohji shrugged, "Eh. No big deal. Small little snafu. Not worth mentioning, although I intend to bitch at Omi, because the information our employers gave me for this job wasn't exactly complete. And, the job wasn't as easy as they said it would be."
"It went OK, though?" Aya asked, concern in his voice.
"Yeah, it was fine," Yohji replied, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. "It's just a small cut. Nothing major. And you?"
He nodded toward the black eye Aya was sporting. It was barely visible under the sunglasses Aya had used to protect himself from prying eyes in the airport.
Aya shrugged. "Ken," he said, as if that explained everything.
"Ah," Yohji said, smiling. "Knowing you, you probably deserved it."
Aya chuckled, almost under his breath, and nodded. "Yeah, I guess I did."
"Look," Yohji said, after a short pause, "I'm … I'm sorry. You know, for the fight and everything. I don't even remember why I was so mad. I never should have left things that way."
Aya shook his head. "No," he said, blushing, "I … it's my fault, too."
"Nah," Yohji said, with a sigh, "I'm the one who threw the vase at you. I don't remember why I was so fucking pissed, even." He paused for a moment, before continuing, "Anyhow … so, we okay?"
Aya smiled, a crooked half-grin that, somehow, seemed both out of place and perfectly at home on his face at the same time. "Yeah," he said, "We're good."
Yohji felt relieved. He had been happy to see Aya there. It had made him think that, maybe, things between them were fine. But, he had known he wouldn't feel satisfied until he heard it out loud from Aya.
"What happened to your friend?" Aya asked, breaking into Yohji's thoughts.
"Oh, Kana," Yohji replied, chuckling. "I told her I already had a ride. I'll meet up with her later."
He gave Aya a teasing grin and a wink, leaning over to drape his arm across the younger man's shoulders. He moved in close, until his lips almost brushed Aya's ear.
"So," Yohji whispered, his breath stirring Aya's earring, "I know what I was going to get from Kana, if I rode home with her. What do you have to offer?"
Aya stepped to the side, shoving Yohji away from him with a well-placed shoulder to the chest. He still held the paper bag clenched in his hand. He had been in such a hurry to get away from the gate that he hadn't thought to toss it away. Now, he shoved it at Yohji, refusing even to look at the older man. Yohji laughed at Aya's discomfort, juggling the bag for a moment, before he managed to get his hands around it. The paper crinkled as he peered inside.
"Oooh! Pineapple soda! And a new pack of ciggies!" Yohji exclaimed, sounding just like a schoolgirl who has gotten a brand new pair of knee socks. He pulled Aya to him in a quick hug, releasing him before Aya had a chance to complain, and, then, gave Aya a lecherous grin. "So, you really did miss me, didn't you, you little shit?"
Aya glared at Yohji for about a nanosecond before he turned away, quickly, to hide the blush spreading across his face.
"I never said that," Aya mumbled.
But, as he walked away, Yohji was certain he saw Aya smile. Yohji smiled in return. He stuffed the new box of cigarettes in his coat pocket and opened his pineapple soda. Then, he followed Aya out of the airport, content that everything was, once again, right with the world. Or, at least, his little corner of it, anyhow.
~end
Warnings: Bad Language.
Summary: Sometimes, the hardest thing about friendship is having to say you're sorry. But caring and small gestures can go a long way toward helping a person express what is in their heart, as Aya discovers during a frustrating trip to the airport.
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.
Inspired By: A fic prompt: "Pineapple"
Aya cursed under his breath as he circled the parking garage -- again. The Porsche's tires squealed as he gunned the engine, bringing it around a tight turn and onto the straight-away that led to the next level. The noise echoed away from him, reverberating off of concrete pillars and buttresses to join the rest of the cacophony -- tires squealing in the distance, the throbbing roar of cars driving overhead, honking horns, and the shouted curses of drivers who had grown impatient with the gridlock inside the garage. Aya shared their frustration. He fumed and tapped the steering wheel, beating out an impatient, staccato rhythm with his fingers. It felt like he had been sitting on this stupid ramp for an eternity, and he was ready to be done with this whole ordeal, already. Aya struggled to reign in his irritation. If he started honking, he wouldn't stop -- at least, not until he had rid himself of every angry impulse he had at the moment, and that might take a while. Instead, he settled for glaring at the car in front of him. It had a smiley face bumper sticker. For some reason, that pissed Aya off even more, and he had to fight down the urge to get out of his car and beat the crap out of the other driver. He reminded himself that was not acceptable public conduct, and, instead, settled for entertaining himself with daydreams of slicing and dicing that stupid, simpering, smiling yellow ball -- and the guy who owned it. No one in their right mind should put something that idiotically cheerful on the back of their car; Aya figured the guy was pretty much asking to have the crap kicked out of him.
The car in front of him began to move. It backfired, belching a little cloud of exhaust in Aya's general direction, as the driver stepped on the gas -- almost as if the car had decided to have the last word on Aya's thoughts about its bumper sticker. He sneezed and coughed at the noxious smell of it, feeling sick at the bitter, acrid taste it left in the back of his throat. Life would have been so much better if he could have rolled up his windows and relied on the Porsche's AC, but he had been sitting in this traffic jam for so long that he was afraid the car might overheat. At this point, there was nothing he could do but grin and bear it. Or, scowl and bear it -- as it were.
He hated this stupid parking garage. He hated the too-tight turns and the vertigo-inducing way it wound up and up and up -- until he thought he was going to vomit from the endless circling. He hated the stifling heat and the choking smells of exhaust. He hated how claustrophobic this place made him feel, like he would be buried under tons of concrete and steel at any moment -- probably the unhappy after-effect of being caught in one too many exploding or burning buildings. It was a hazard of the trade, he supposed. Unavoidable. But that didn't make being here any easier. And, he hated the airport, in general. It was always overcrowded with people who were too frazzled and rushed to remember things like common courtesy. Being in a hurry seemed to turn most people stupid. The garage was just the beginning. Aya wasn't looking forward to braving the hazards of rolling luggage, lost travelers, and screaming children that he knew awaited him inside the building.
The car in front of him pulled into a parking space, leaving what appeared to be a clear path in front of Aya. He shifted the Porsche into a higher gear and stepped on the gas, feeling a surge of relief when the engine growled and the car jumped forward in response to the slight pressure of his foot. He was sick of crawling along at this snail's pace. It made his teeth itch, and not in a good way. He sped forward, sending the car careening around another curve and toward the next uphill ramp. The Porsche's tires squealed, leaving the scent of burning rubber in his wake, as he peeled around the turn and, again, stepped on the gas, alternating it with the clutch to shift into an even higher gear.
Yohji always gave him a hard time about his driving. Aya couldn't help smiling as he thought about that. Yohji was always saying he didn't have to worry about buying it on a mission, because he must be destined to die in a traffic accident. Aya couldn't figure out what the big deal was; he was an excellent driver. Even Yohji had to admit that, when pressed. He just happened to enjoy being an excellent driver while going fast. Really fast. It wasn't like Yohji obeyed every traffic law, either. As far as Aya was concerned, Yohji had no room to criticize.
Suddenly, a car loomed up in front of him -- not moving, but stuck in yet another traffic crawl on the ramp. He was so lost in thought that he almost didn't see it in time. He stomped on the brakes and the clutch, downshifting as quickly as he could without tearing the engine to shreds. The Porsche fishtailed, and Aya twisted the steering wheel, trying to turn into the skid. It didn't take more than a couple of seconds, but it felt like an eternity before he managed to bring the car to a safe stop, smoke and the heavy scent of burning rubber spewing from its overheated tires and brakes.
That had been almost too close for comfort. Aya took a deep gulp of air and let it out on a long, sighing breath as he leaned forward, resting his head on the steering wheel, and tried to calm the run-away rhythm of his heart. He had had a paper sack sitting on the passenger seat, and, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of it on the floorboard. It must have fallen during the Porsche's crazy, sliding skid.
He took another deep breath and reached over to rescue the bag. The paper crinkled beneath his fingers as he peered inside to check the contents -- a small bottle of pineapple soda and a pack of Yohji's favorite brand of cigarettes. He was relieved to find the bottle unbroken and the pack of cigs still in pristine condition. The cigarettes hadn't been hard to get, but he had been forced to run all over town looking for that stupid soda. It was Yohji's favorite. Unfortunately, there were only two stores in Tokyo that sold the damn stuff. One was near the Koneko, but they had been out of stock. He hadn't had any other choice but to drive all the way across town to the other store. He had gotten stuck in a traffic jam on the way there, and, by the time he had arrived, the store had been closed for lunch, requiring him to wait for half an hour until the owners had returned. The store was in one of the rougher parts of town, and he had had to discourage two kids from keying the Porsche and one from slashing its tires. Needless to say, it had been a frustrating shopping experience. Aya figured it was a good thing the soda was undamaged. If it hadn't been, he probably would have lost it. But, the soda and the cigs were both fine, and the shopping trip from hell was a distant memory. Besides, Yohji loved that soda. It was worth the effort if it made him happy. Not that he cared about Yohji's happiness, Aya reminded himself, frowning at his reflection in the rearview mirror.
Memories of his shopping expedition inevitably led him to think about the last time he had seen Yohji. They had fought. It had seemed so important at the time, but, now, Aya couldn't remember who had said what or what had started the argument. What he did remember was that things were said -- things a man shouldn't say to someone who meant as much to them as Yohji meant to him. Feelings were hurt, on both sides, and they had almost ended up coming to blows. Not that physical fights were anything unusual around the Koneko, but, somehow, this had been different. Aya couldn't explain it, even to himself, but it had felt different. It had felt -- wrong. And final. And horrible.
Yohji had put one of the vases through the big cooler in the back room, shattering both the vase and the cooler door, and Aya had only just managed to restrain himself before the fight had escalated even more. He had left the shop, slamming the door behind him, and he had stayed away for the next couple of days. When he had returned, Yohji had been gone -- sent away on some recon mission for Kritiker. It had been surprising, because the assignment seemed to have come up so suddenly. Plus, they didn't get sent out of Japan very often, although it did happen from time to time.
A cold band of fear had settled around Aya's chest upon learning of Yohji's departure, and the reasons for it. He didn't want to admit it, but the thought of Yohji going out on a solo mission scared the crap out of him. Even under the best of circumstances. And, the way they had left things … well, it made it that much worse, in Aya's mind. He didn't want to worry. He didn't want to care. But, he did. If anything had happened to Yohji, and they had left things like that -- angry, bitter, and full of hatred -- Aya knew he would never be able to forgive himself.
No. Nothing would happen to Yohji. Nothing could happen to Yohji. Aya couldn't think about that. He didn't want to think about it. So, he pushed it out of his mind. Or, he tried to push it away, at least. It was still there -- a nagging, worrisome little voice in the back of his head. Aya wanted to tell it to shut the hell up, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. Yohji had been gone for a week, and that stupid voice hadn't stopped nattering at him for even a single damn minute, which had led to a lot of sleepless nights and an endless string of very foul moods and temper tantrums.
The traffic moved again, and Aya followed -- at a more reasonable pace this time. He was almost at the level where he wanted to park, anyhow. He drove up the ramp and pulled into the first empty space he could find. He wasn't looking forward to fighting his way through the airport, but he had to admit he would be glad to get out of this damn car.
************************
The airport was filled to the brim with people -- and then some. Aya had expected as much, but, even so, he felt his stomach clench with dread at the thought of having to work his way through the bustling crowd. There were people everywhere -- lost tourists toting rolling suitcases and huge cameras, and wearing sunglasses and perplexed expressions; parents running after screaming, overly-stimulated children; business men walking with a brisk, no-nonsense pace, looking irritated, and carrying leather briefcases; flight crew personnel dodging in and out of the straggling crowd, just trying to make it to their next gate on time; and thousands of people who seemed to dawdle along, as if they had nowhere in particular to be and all the time in the world in which to get there. And the noise was almost as bad. Footsteps and voices echoed from every part of the huge, cavernous building. The din rose and fell, although it maintained a steady, almost mind-numbing buzz that made thinking all but impossible.
Aya paused in the doorway, frowning as he surveyed the scene before him. He had removed his sunglasses upon entering the building, but, now, he put them back on, shoving them into place with his index finger. Forcing himself to push his way through the crowd was going to be hard enough. But, somehow, it would be worse if all these strangers could see his eyes. It was silly, and Aya felt a bit foolish. Even so, he felt a lot more comfortable with the sunglasses on. He decided not to overthink his desire for anonymity and, instead, entered the crowd as soon as he saw a pause in the steady stream of humanity flowing past him. Now wasn't the time for soul searching. Or the place. If he let himself think about things too much, he knew he wouldn't go through with this. He would turn around and go home, and he didn't want to do that. He thought about the parking garage, and his eyes narrowed in irritation. No. Going home now was out of the question. Every mission had a point of no return, and Aya knew he had passed it eons ago on this particular outing. He tightened his grip on the soda bottle's neck. The paper bag crinkled beneath his fingers. It felt soft, almost like old leather, and Aya welcomed the odd sensation; it anchored him, somehow, reminding him why he was here in a place that he hated so much.
Once he was in the crowd, he moved quickly. He found it easy to work his way past the people around him -- dodging the slow walkers, avoiding the gawkers, steering clear of the screaming children. After he had traveled a short distance past the doors and, then, away from the security and check-in lines, Aya found he could move freely. He sped up, feeling satisfied and more content as he watched the floor in front of him disappear beneath him with every quick stride. At the same time, he couldn't help but feel uncertain and a little nervous because each step carried him closer to his destination.
Without warning, he had to stop short to keep from tripping over a suitcase an elderly couple dragged into his path. Of course, neither of them was paying any attention to where they were going, or to who or what was around them. They were lost in their own world, and, in a way, lost in each other. The woman dropped the handle of her suitcase, and her husband stooped to pick it up for her. When he handed it back to her, she smiled and laid her hand on his cheek. He took it in his hand and kissed her palm.
Aya, lost in his own thoughts, barely managed to keep from running them over. He avoided them, but not without banging his shin on the woman's bag. They both called out to him, asking if he was all right, but Aya hurried on, unwilling to stop. The intimate scene had made him uncomfortable. He felt dirty and cheap, like a voyeur looking in on something special and precious, something the rest of the world had no right to view.
"I hate the airport," Aya muttered, under his breath. He slowed his pace, hesitating as he neared his destination.
What was he doing here? This had to be the most idiotic thing he had done in … well, a long time. He hated putting himself out here like this -- he felt off-balance and vulnerable. It was too much like showing he cared, and Aya hated that, most of all.
He shouldn't be doing this. If he had any sense, he would turn around and leave. No one would ever know. Yohji hadn't expected anyone to pick him up at the airport, and he would be none the wiser. And, Aya would have protected himself from getting hurt -- something he had sworn to do, ever since that night when he had seen his parents die and his sister lying injured on the ground. Getting too close -- especially considering what he did for a living -- hurt too much. Somehow, Yohji had wormed his way into Aya's life. To the point where Aya couldn't think about a life without Yohji in it in some way. He didn't even want to think about it -- even though the realization scared him to death.
And that brought him full circle. That was the reason he was here, and he knew it. No matter how much the knowledge ate at him, he was enough of a realist to admit it was the truth. He wanted to see Yohji. He needed to see Yohji. It made no sense, but he felt like everything in his world would be back in place, once he saw Yohji in person. And, that was all there was to it.
Aya sighed in resignation, pausing to read the signs over the corridors branching out from the airport's main walkway. He saw the one he wanted -- indicating the area where deplaning passengers would exit security to find transportation or locate their baggage -- and, taking a deep breath to steel himself against the possibly colossal mistake he was about to make, stepped away from the crowd. He found an inconspicuous place to wait, across from the exit. It was the perfect strategic position -- directly across from the exit, so that he would be sure to see everyone coming out of the doorway, separated from the crowd enough that no one would notice him unless they were looking for him, and with his back to a clear space on the wall, so that no one could approach him unawares. He did it unconsciously, although he felt safer and more secure once he had found the perfect place in which to wait. Aya tried not to analyze it, shrugging it off as a case of his night job bleeding over into his daytime existence. It was either that, or he really had become his work -- which was not an acceptable possibility. Even the thought of that made him want to cringe inside.
He didn't have to wait long. Five minutes, maybe ten. He saw Yohji exit the doorway, carrying a small duffel bag, and wearing his sunglasses and a grin that told Aya, even at first glance, that Yohji, likely, had just had his hand down the shirt of one of the flight attendants. In his mind, Aya scoffed at what a lecherous idiot Yohji was. Or, at least, he tried to. But, really, the sight of his friend -- so normal and happy … so very Yohji ... made Aya's heart skip a beat. He was relieved. Much more relieved than he would have liked to have been. And, he was glad. He didn't want to admit that, but it was true. He was glad to see Yohji. Aya felt the anxiety and anger of the past week fade away into nothing. Yohji was fine. Everything was fine.
For a moment, Yohji seemed to glance in Aya's direction. Although his eyes were hidden beneath the dark lenses of his sunglasses, he paused in the doorway to scan the crowd. It was almost as if he was looking for someone, but Aya figured it was a force of habit for Yohji, just as much as finding a "safe" place to wait was for him. There was a moment when Yohji seemed to look right at him, and Aya, thinking Yohji had spotted him, pushed off from the wall and began to make his way through the milling passengers.
He hadn't made it very far when Yohji turned away from him, apparently looking for someone else in the crowd. Aya paused, surprised that Yohji hadn't seen him, or, maybe, dismayed that Yohji had seen him and chose to ignore him. Aya stopped and watched newly-arrived passengers greet their friends and family members with tears and hugs. People milled around him, bumping him from all sides, but Aya ignored them. He wondered how he had been so wrong about the whole thing. He had thought, if he could see and talk to Yohji, everything would be all right between them. Now, he wasn't so sure.
Aya heard someone call Yohji's name. He looked in the direction of the sound and saw a woman -- young, attractively curvy, wearing tight jeans and a low-cut top. She jumped up and down and called Yohji's name again. Yohji saw her and smiled, waving back at her and immediately shoving his way through the people milling around him. She did the same, and they met halfway. She laughed and threw herself into Yohji's arms. He laughed, too, sweeping her up and swinging her around as he hugged her. He buried his face in her long, black hair so that he could whisper something to her as he nibbled on her ear. She blushed and giggled, hugging him even tighter.
Of course, Yohji would have made arrangements for his arrival at the airport. It wasn't like the chain-smoking playboy to catch a cab or a bus -- not if he could be chauffeured home in style by one of his many ladies.
Aya stared at them. He felt ridiculous and stupid, but it was more than that. It was the same as with that elderly couple earlier. He felt cheap and dirty, like he was watching something he shouldn't see. No matter that Yohji and the woman were putting their affection on public display. Aya still felt guilty for watching. Like he was standing on the outside of a building, spying through a picture window. Always on the outside, looking in.
Suddenly, Aya realized he didn't need to be there. More than that, he needed not to be there. He was embarrassed and felt foolish, although he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why. He had seen Yohji. Yohji was fine. Everything was fine. Why did he feel like such a first-class idiot? He didn't know; he didn't care. He just wanted to get the hell out of Dodge, and he wanted to do it immediately -- if not sooner.
He whirled away from the scene, shoving his way through the press of people around him. He didn't pay attention to where he was going; he could only think of moving forward, of getting away from there. He didn't try to work his way into the crowd; instead, he bulled past the people in his path, elbowing them out of the way when they didn't move quickly enough to suit him. He hadn't gone more than ten steps when he found himself faced with an impassable obstacle -- a large family, all hugging and chattering. They were right in his path, and there were too many of them for him to shove them aside. He decided to avoid them, but he stumbled into a trash can as he went around the group. Aya's reflexes were quick. He managed to sidestep the falling container and stay on his feet, but the trash can fell to the floor with a loud crash, spewing trash on everyone in the immediate vicinity. The din in the terminal stopped as everyone turned to look in the direction of the noise. It felt like every head in the concourse turned to look at him, and Aya froze for a second or two, feeling like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights of a hundred oncoming cars.
He glanced in Yohji's direction, hoping against hope that he might go unnoticed. Not likely, considering the racket he had just made, but, even so, the tiny shred of hope was there. It wasn't to be. He saw Yohji staring at him, and he cringed. He felt his face flush hot, and he knew he was blushing like a complete moron. For a brief few seconds, Aya wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole. It would be better than this embarrassment.
"Who is that?" the woman asked Yohji. Her voice seemed to echo in the sudden quiet.
Yohji grinned and waved at Aya as he replied, "No one, really. And, in a way, everyone."
Aya nodded a quick apology at the people nearest him. As calmly as he could, he stepped over the fallen trash can, managing to avoid most of the debris scattered across the floor. He didn't look back at Yohji again; he couldn't. He was too embarrassed, and he felt too stupid. For what he had just done, but for more than that. For coming here, in the first place. For thinking that, maybe, Yohji would be glad to see him. And, for needing to see Yohji so badly that it had almost hurt. Aya wished he could go back and change all of that, but he couldn't. So, he did the one thing he could do. He ran away. As quickly as he could manage while still salvaging a small amount of his dignity.
"I don't understand," the woman said, giving Yohji a puzzled look.
"Believe me, I don't, either," Yohji replied.
Their voices echoed out in Aya's wake as he fled the area. He thought he heard Yohji call out his name, but he didn't stop or look back. He just kept walking.
*********************
"Aya! Aya! Come on, man. Wait the fuck up!" Yohji called.
He had been jogging after Aya ever since spotting the younger man in the terminal. He couldn't believe how quickly Aya had managed to negotiate the crowds and exit the airport. They were halfway to the parking garage already, and he had only just caught up to Aya. He wasn't far away now, and he knew Aya heard him. But, for a sick second or two, Yohji thought Aya wasn't going to stop. He didn't want to resort to bringing the younger man down with a flying tackle -- not in a crowded place like this. Not to mention the carpet. Yohji eyed it warily, thinking that it would cause one hell of a rug burn. Still, he would do it if he had to. Maybe, Yohji thought, he could bring Aya down by aiming for his knees with the duffel bag.
Luckily, he didn't have to resort to either of those drastic methods to stop his teammate. Aya slowed down and, then, after a few more steps, stopped. He kept his back turned as Yohji approached. Yohji tried to gauge the level of Aya's embarrassment and irritation as he walked up to the younger man. Judging from Aya's stiff, rigid posture, he guessed Aya was stuck somewhere between wanting the earth to swallow him up and lashing out at the next unfortunate soul to cross his path. It was just his crappy luck to be that next person, Yohji thought, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. He was huffing and out of breath from the chase, but he managed to give Aya a friendly punch in the shoulder once they stood next to each other.
"Shit, Aya. What the fuck is wrong with you? I've been yelling at you all the way down the terminal. Why didn't you stop?" Yohji asked. His words came out all in a jumble as he rushed through the sentences, trying to catch his breath.
Aya didn't answer, but Yohji glanced over in time to see the muscles in his jaw tighten. He figured that was all the reply he would get to this particular question, so he decided to try a different subject.
"What're you doing here, anyhow?" Yohji asked. "I wasn't expecting anyone to pick me up. I didn't even know anyone knew when I was coming in."
At first, Aya didn't say anything. He stared at the floor for what felt like a long time. Just when Yohji was getting uncomfortable enough with the silence to say something else, Aya spoke, cutting him off short.
"I … I asked Omi when your flight was getting in," Aya said, his voice so low that Yohji had to strain to hear it over the other noises around them. "So, I thought … you know … I would come pick you up."
He sounded small and embarrassed. Yohji frowned. He hated hearing Aya like this. It made him want to comfort Aya somehow, but, as with most things concerning his temperamental friend, Yohji wasn't sure what to say or do. He had an idea why Aya had come for him. He remembered the angry words they had parted with a week ago, although he couldn't remember what had started the argument, or why he had been so mad. It had been bothering him for the whole week he had been gone, and he was willing to bet it had been eating away at Aya, too. But, he knew he had to be careful. Aya was hurting and embarrassed, and Yohji could feel the balance between them. It was stretched tight and thin, and it wouldn't take much to set them at each other's throats again -- even though neither of them wanted to fight. He had the eerie sense of standing in a room filled with gunpowder, holding a lit match, and he took a deep breath, trying to buy himself some time to figure out what to say … and how to say it.
"But you hate the airport," Yohji blurted out.
He cringed at how lame it sounded. He wanted to tell Aya how sorry he was for their fight. He wanted to say that he didn't remember what had set him off, or why he had been angry. He wanted to hug Aya, even though Aya would complain about it, and tell him that he had missed him during the week they had been apart. He wanted to tell Aya that, as far as he was concerned, everything was fine between them. But, what came out of his mouth? A lame statement about how much Aya hated the airport. It was true, but, still … Yohji couldn't help wishing he had been able to come up with something a bit more meaningful.
Aya laughed, much to Yohji's relief. Maybe, he had managed to say the right thing, after all.
Aya turned and looked at Yohji. Now that they were standing so close together, he could see a small cut over Yohji's eye. It was almost hidden behind his sunglasses, but Aya could see the tell-tale edge of the stitches sticking out over the top of the frames. He frowned, pointing at the injury.
"What happened?" Aya asked.
Yohji shrugged, "Eh. No big deal. Small little snafu. Not worth mentioning, although I intend to bitch at Omi, because the information our employers gave me for this job wasn't exactly complete. And, the job wasn't as easy as they said it would be."
"It went OK, though?" Aya asked, concern in his voice.
"Yeah, it was fine," Yohji replied, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. "It's just a small cut. Nothing major. And you?"
He nodded toward the black eye Aya was sporting. It was barely visible under the sunglasses Aya had used to protect himself from prying eyes in the airport.
Aya shrugged. "Ken," he said, as if that explained everything.
"Ah," Yohji said, smiling. "Knowing you, you probably deserved it."
Aya chuckled, almost under his breath, and nodded. "Yeah, I guess I did."
"Look," Yohji said, after a short pause, "I'm … I'm sorry. You know, for the fight and everything. I don't even remember why I was so mad. I never should have left things that way."
Aya shook his head. "No," he said, blushing, "I … it's my fault, too."
"Nah," Yohji said, with a sigh, "I'm the one who threw the vase at you. I don't remember why I was so fucking pissed, even." He paused for a moment, before continuing, "Anyhow … so, we okay?"
Aya smiled, a crooked half-grin that, somehow, seemed both out of place and perfectly at home on his face at the same time. "Yeah," he said, "We're good."
Yohji felt relieved. He had been happy to see Aya there. It had made him think that, maybe, things between them were fine. But, he had known he wouldn't feel satisfied until he heard it out loud from Aya.
"What happened to your friend?" Aya asked, breaking into Yohji's thoughts.
"Oh, Kana," Yohji replied, chuckling. "I told her I already had a ride. I'll meet up with her later."
He gave Aya a teasing grin and a wink, leaning over to drape his arm across the younger man's shoulders. He moved in close, until his lips almost brushed Aya's ear.
"So," Yohji whispered, his breath stirring Aya's earring, "I know what I was going to get from Kana, if I rode home with her. What do you have to offer?"
Aya stepped to the side, shoving Yohji away from him with a well-placed shoulder to the chest. He still held the paper bag clenched in his hand. He had been in such a hurry to get away from the gate that he hadn't thought to toss it away. Now, he shoved it at Yohji, refusing even to look at the older man. Yohji laughed at Aya's discomfort, juggling the bag for a moment, before he managed to get his hands around it. The paper crinkled as he peered inside.
"Oooh! Pineapple soda! And a new pack of ciggies!" Yohji exclaimed, sounding just like a schoolgirl who has gotten a brand new pair of knee socks. He pulled Aya to him in a quick hug, releasing him before Aya had a chance to complain, and, then, gave Aya a lecherous grin. "So, you really did miss me, didn't you, you little shit?"
Aya glared at Yohji for about a nanosecond before he turned away, quickly, to hide the blush spreading across his face.
"I never said that," Aya mumbled.
But, as he walked away, Yohji was certain he saw Aya smile. Yohji smiled in return. He stuffed the new box of cigarettes in his coat pocket and opened his pineapple soda. Then, he followed Aya out of the airport, content that everything was, once again, right with the world. Or, at least, his little corner of it, anyhow.
~end