Pairing: YohjixKen.
Author's note: My first WK fic to be sent out -- please go easy? C&C/Reviews will cause sender to be adored and revered. I'm sure Y&K are both OOC, and it's practically unbetaed, and it's stupid... ^_^;; but this made me happy.
----~Follow, pt 1~----
Yohji propped himself up on his elbows, peering over the edge of the fire escape and munching contentedly. A cigarette dangled precariously from one hand, a fork held loosely in the other. A half-eaten tin of pineapple sat between his elbows, sharing the edge. Yohji speared another chunk of the yellow fruit with his fork, tucking it into his mouth with a sated sigh. He rolled the pulpy, juicy pineapple around on his tongue, savoring the stinging tartness of the fruit before he swallowed and took another drag of his cigarette. //This... this is the closest I'm going to get to heaven.// He inhaled from his cigarette again, ashing over the edge of the metal he lay on as he exhaled.
The sun was glaring at him from the horizon, lost in the muddy haze of a city sunset. It had been baking him for some time now, leaving the hair that tumbled around his ears surprisingly warm. Yohji took one last drag, stubbing out the glowing end of the cigarette in a little sputter of sparks. He poked his hand through the bars lining the rim of the fire escape, flicking away the butt, aiming for the squatting sun. He grinned when it fell short, tumbling end over end down to the street below. Another cigarette was tapped out and between his fingers before the butt had finished rolling down into the gutter.
This cigarette was the last one in the once half-full pack he'd brought out here with him, and the chunk of pineapple his fork was aimlessly fishing for was the last one left in the tin. He'd stretched his snack supply and his cigarettes for long enough, basking here in the untroubled anonymity of the fire escape. Soon there would be a ring from his phone, Aya's voice on the other end, demanding his presence in the shop and breaking his comfortably buzzed mood with a few ice-cold syllables. Soon, he would bounce down the stairs, submerge himself in the flood of fangirls and his own flirting poses, drown himself in the bright smell of cut flowers. Soon enough. He lit the last cigarette one-handed, the other hand finally capturing the last piece of pineapple. He sucked on the cigarette, feeling the last rush of nicotine hitting his lungs before he exhaled and put the fruit onto his tongue. The sun had become a little rent of light in the sky, a lozenge of orange brilliance against a swiftly darkening blue. The fruit reduced to pulp under his teeth. His cigarette slowly fumed itself into ash. Soon enough, it would be time to move from here. //Just want it to last a bit...//
He smiled at his weakness, appropriate to this day, and let his fork clatter into the pineapple tin. He nudged the can to the side with his elbow and laid his arms down on the fire escape's floor, resting his chin on one wrist. He raised his hand a little and ducked his head to put the cigarette between his lips, and left it there as his chin rested against his arm once again. The sun was almost gone, now, frightening how quick it could disappear when you weren't paying attention. Its light was just a stain on the blue-black night now, and although his face was still warm, his hair had already begun to cool from its previous sun-bathed temperature. He sighed around his cigarette before inhaling from it again, puffing out the smoke through one corner of his mouth. //Soon.//
The telephone's jangle proved him right, finally, and he groaned. He pushed himself up stiffly, pulling himself into an upright position by inches. The phone was on its last ring when he got to it, palming the receiver and plucking his cigarette from his lips. "Yohji's Sex Shop -- we serve your orders," he purred, the habitual playboy's smirk stretching across his lips. It felt unnatural for only a moment, as if he were in a too-tight costume, but then the fabric stretched and his spine relaxed, the sense of lazy sensuality coming back to him.
He heard a little breath of laughter on the other end of the line in response to his opening crack, and decided he'd been wrong. It wouldn't be Aya that called him downstairs, but Ken. It was a nice surprise, the cheerful voice on the other end letting him enjoy the loose-limbed feeling he'd found on the fire escape for a few moments longer.
Ken's voice was upbeat but a little embarrassed, obviously hoping he hadn't been catching Yohji at one of his more censurable activities. "Yohji, your shift started a half-hour ago. You're late, again." Yohji could hear Ken tucking the phone under his chin for a moment as he tended to a customer, the rattle and chirp of the cash register audible even over the fuzzy phone line. Ken laughed at something Omi said and returned his mouth to the phone. "Omi would also like to officially request your presence." There was that little breath of laughter again. Yohji couldn't bring himself to speak, not yet. Ken's voice had dropped to a whisper. "Before he throttles the girls."
Yohji found his voice finally, laughing smugly, making his usual flirting assurances, dropping the phone back into the cradle before Ken could get in his parting shot. His cigarette had all but burned out while he'd been on the phone, forgotten in his right hand, the tobacco burned to useless ash. He cursed at it – he was never distracted enough to let one of his precious cigarettes go unnoticed for that long -- and stubbed it out in the overflowing ashtray by the bed, pulling a fresh pack from the carton that was laying on the floor. He pulled his shades from the bureau last of all, sliding them into position low on his nose before slipping out the door and downstairs to his routine. He squared his shoulders at the top of the stairs, his smirk firmly in place. //Anniversary or no, Aya'll kick my ass.// He trotted down the stairs quickly, humming something high-pitched and annoying.
The window remained open, a draft of cool air circling the room, the sun having disappeared behind the skyline. Alone on the edge of the fire escape, the fork and pineapple tin, the only evidence of Yohji's afternoon, were slowly hidden in the darkness.
--TBC--
sinsense
-for life's not a paragraph
and death i think is no parenthesis-
-e.e. cummings-
tot no miko
champion of ken and kento