Warnings: Swearing. A little abuse of characters. Lots of abuse of punctuation. A hint of religion bashing, nothing severe. Shounen-ai depending on the reader.
Minor edits to the Weiss timeline. Takes place after Kapitel, yet Aya's sister hasn't awakened.
---
So here we are again.
Yohji lifted his head, legs conveniently spread out on either side of him as he was, at the moment, the only occupant of the couch in their small living room. Behind him, Omi ran happily up the stairs with arms full of a bundle of clean, ironed clothes. The boy didn't quite make his escape before Ken emerged from the kitchen, loudly asking for the bottle of laundry detergent. Omi dutifully turned around, almost fell down the stairs as the bundle of clothes threatened to win him over, and gave Ken directions with a cheery smile.
Omi always did chores as if he was unwrapping presents on Christmas.
It was weekend.
It was all a part of the game. A game Ken eagerly adopted and followed along to, though Omi had gradually started it, and extended the whole shit after they ended up stuck here again. A game Yohji personally neither cared much for, nor despised, but found himself playing along with anyway. Omi's family game.
It was ridiculous as nothing else.
It was damn convenient.
And Yohji liked convenient. Convenient meant that Omi would place a small bundle of clean laundry beside each door to their rooms. That Ken would bring in the newspaper while they had lunch. That not a single trace of dust could be found anywhere in the house, though not even normal households used to keep it this clean. It had become the kid's devotion, although Yohji's gut knew that somewhere the greater forces, if there were any, were laughing their asses of them.
Either way, they followed the lead. It was the least they could do to keep the boy smiling, and it was the least they could do for him when he went head over heels doing chores.
"Yohji! Oi, Yohji! Mind moving those long – things – of yours? I kind of need to vacuum under the table."
Ken's voice snapped him out of his little analysis of their current situation, but the reply was cut short when Omi skipped down and tilted his head.
"He is going to. Yohji, it's your turn to do grocery shopping!"
He was handed a white piece of paper, graced by Omi's handwriting. Every time Yohji saw it, his face would contort in a frown. Gods, but the kid wrote like a girl. Then again, what did Omi - not - do which wasn't neat or overly cute by normal standards?
Not in any position to protest, Yohji heaved himself out of the couch, which now had his signature printed on it in the form of the shape of his butt. He did his usual ritual of stretching, yawning, and giving Omi a complaining look, before snatching his prized possessions from the table and stuffing them into his pocket. Then, he decided the world was ready for Yohji Kudoh.
However, as soon as he stepped outside, he realized that apparently Yohji Kudoh was not ready for the world. The midday sun managed to throw him a good punch in the face and make him flinch, squint and push his glasses further up on his nose. A few dry leaves were carried off by the wind, passing his feet and not caring too much about sticking to his shoes. Yohji glanced down; silently giving them a piece of his mind for resisting his charms before he figured it would be an idea to head for the garage.
Silently that was. They were four men, two of which hadn't even reached their twenties, under the official care of a senile old lady who was barely able to remember her cat's name, much less theirs, tending flowers at day, murdering at night, and the last thing Yohji needed was someone catching him in a conversation with fallen leaves. That would just be the final drop.
Throwing himself into the driver's seat of his Super Seven, Yohji took out one of his prized possessions, the car key, and started the vehicle. It was interesting, how the members of Weiss stored what they valued. Omi had everything within their four walls. Ken in his room. Everything Yohji needed in life could be conveniently fit into his two pockets.
The car keys.
Damn if he hadn't spent a fortune on his only love, but she was worth it, her looks made people turn their heads. Hell, she was worth it just because she put up with him during his nightly activities, be it shielding him from bullets, or carrying him to a foreign home even though he could barely make out what was left and right, much less be allowed to drive.
The wallet.
Because you wouldn't get far without, it was simple as that. Because that's where leftover cash from the flower shop business was mingled with leftover cash from his true profession. He could never distinguish it. Like ten guns aiming at a convict sentenced to death. Five of those have bullets, five have not. Because it neutralizes the guilt.
The cigarette pack.
To cope. To cope with staying in a house where the more they tried to make life normal, the more off the wall it became. To cope with staying in a house where the youngest member desperately tried to pretend they were some sort of family, greeting them with a smile every morning as if the world had never seen misery. Where the said member would be overwhelmed when he was allowed to do chores and homework, instead of throwing a fit like any lazy teenager his age should. To cope with living through lame soccer matches on TV and hear ecstatic cries, or outburst of rage every time the "wrong" team advanced. To cope with not being able to live without these things, because they all had damn well tried and failed.
Several times, the flower shop had been closed for good. Several times, they swore to never see each other again. Several times, Weiss was supposed to become a dark memory, never to be brought up again.
Each time, they came back.
Yohji took to the left, gazing absently at the road in front of him, forgetting to pay attention to the red lights now and then. Perhaps he was honked at, but then again, cars honked all the time around here. It was easy enough to pretend the beeping wasn't aimed at him. And if it was – they could see if he cared.
As for why they came back however, was a teller's tale in itself.
He, for the matter, had been living quite a nice life without Weiss. No Weiss meant far less job. Less income as well, perhaps, but Yohji could do fine without getting paid for cutting windpipes. Fewer jobs meant more dates. More clubbing. He would work here and there, assisting at a grocery mall, sweeping floors at some office, and play gentleman at night. He had even been stupid enough to try to deliver the morning newspapers once. Wouldn't repeat that mistake again.
That was what in his eyes could have been regarded as a normal life. The problem was just the time in between. What he would do when he had days off, when there was no extra jobs in store for him, no overtime, no dates. Oh, Yohji had been creative enough. He had even gone as far as getting permanent lady company to keep him from coming back. She had been a sweet thing. The kind that did wonders in bed. That made breakfast every morning and left notes with drawn hearts at the bottom for him.
But it didn't suffice, it never did. The romantic dinners after work became dull. The walks in the park became a chore. In retrospect, he supposed he could have cheated on her and get some variation. But even then, he would still wake up sometimes, sweating and gasping as if he'd been chased by the Devil himself. And though it didn't occur very often, her ever curious eyes and gentle hands wouldn't take this little problem away. Neither would it explain his bizarre reflexes, his tendency to jump into all sorts of fist fights and win, and the sudden urge to grab for his watch every time he felt threatened. Hell, he wished that he could have been beaten up and have his wallet stolen in some dark alley like any normal, unlucky citizen, instead of delivering a few precise punches and walk away while the thugs didn't know what hit them.
Yohji, after going as far as he could go, had realized that for him, displaying only half of his face was impossible.
And so he came back.
Ken had his reasons as well, he knew. Ken was like some animal that never fully grew up and would still follow its mother around, even though she hissed at it. In other words, Ken wasn't really able to
stand on his own legs, claws or no claws. He had too big of a heart, falling too easily into traps that would scorch him and he wouldn't even be able to deal with the pain on his own. Though there was little comfort to find in their so-called family, it had always been enough for him to know that someone else saw the cruelties he saw, felt the way he felt. He was the one who needed to discuss and talk loudly in the aftermath of an exhausting mission, getting it out of his system and into Omi's patient ears. Ken could handle what life in Weiss served him, but he couldn't handle being alone.
And Omi… Omi was the one with most reasons to come back. Yohji was past Omi's phase in life, but he wondered if he would have been able to be what Omi was, had he been in the kid's situation at the age of seventeen. Kids at that age should be concerned with their motorbikes and dates, not taking the roles of a mother and younger brother in an imaginary family. They should argue with their parents over pocket money, not berating their fellow assassin colleague for losing the entrance key after coming home drunk at 4.50 in the morning.
It was ironic, if anything. Omi was every parent's dream, and there wasn't even a family present to value him.
And that was why Omi was the first one to come back. Because he had no one that would give the slightest damn about him. Because Kritiker had set him up living with a nonexistent family consisting of parents, a younger sister and a dog in the official records. Because Omi, being only seventeen, had been given his own apartment and was supposed to take care of everything himself, as well as keeping up his perfect family image at school. Because Omi had to come with excuses after excuses as to why he couldn't bring friends home, and make up the holiday stories he knew never would be reality.
And then… there was the one who was – forced – to come back. The one constant reminder of the fact that their little pretension game was nothing more than a fraud. Aya Fujimiya, the leader of Weiss, the outsider by any other name, crushed Omi's idea of being a substitute family like a frail insect under a heavy leather boot. No surprise there. Yohji never expected anything less.
Oh, Aya was dutiful enough when it came to sharing chores, but that had nothing to do with keeping Omi happy. It had to do something with Aya being a perfectionist to the fingertips. That made so much sense. A guy who enjoyed reading, if Aya could enjoy anything at all, who drank tea, exercised regularly and wore the most horrendous, yet plain clothing. A guy who would cling more to morals than any nun, despite the fact that he smeared his hands in blood every time Kritiker saw it fit. He even wore glasses when he read. Fucking glasses. Yes, it made sense.
Yohji figured he wished Aya to hell.
The Koneko atmosphere and lumps of ice didn't mix, end of story. Aya seemed to think the same, because judging by the facial expression he displayed more and more recently, he seemed to be ready to grab his baggage and lunge out of the house the very second Kritiker permanently dismissed him.
But it wouldn't happen. It wouldn't happen as long as that damn obsession object of his, that damn little girl who has been in comatose for years and would most likely never wake up again, was being taken care of by them. Kritiker had the wire tightened around Aya's puny neck better than Yohji could ever do, and as long as his sister stayed in her current state, Aya would have no other option than wagging his tail every time their superiors whistled. That, of course, meant he had to put up with living with the Weiss team, family games or not. But why were they forced to suffer from his presence?
And so Yohji found himself speculating over yet another unresolved mystery of the world. A mystery he firmly believed in nonetheless – karma.
What a fucked up way of dealing with their existence, Yohji mused as he stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut, looking up at the afternoon sky. A never-ending circle. Crimes led to punishment, which again would lead to crimes, and so it went on. Yohji found it neither very mature, nor very pedagogic. In fact, it resembled little short of cruelty to him. Whatever those morons by names of Adam and Eve had done, it must have pissed off the Gods pretty badly.
It felt good to have an excuse. For the blood he had shed and the hearts he had broken, he very well deserved to be stuck in an imaginary doll house and endure Aya's presence. Aya, that fucker, had stained hands and a personality that could cool off the sun, so it made sense that he would have a sister in comatose and no life otherwise. Omi and Ken, those were harder to find reasons for, but he supposed it was all a part of the bigger karma puzzle that his nicotine-clouded brain wasn't meant to have an overview of.
Sometimes, he would sit on the balcony outside of his room and hope. Hope that the girl would wake up so Kritiker wouldn't have anything on Aya anymore. Those were usually the moments after Aya had, with less than one sentence, brought tears to Omi's eyes, or sent Ken dashing out of the house in rage. He would hope, and at the same time know that his wishes about getting Aya as far away as possible from them would not be granted. But just the thought was worth it.
When it came down to facts, he didn't wish Aya to hell after all. If he went there, they would have to meet up sooner or later, and Yohji had serious doubts about how he could handle that. It was enough to know that he would be accompanied for all eternity by the bastards they once had assassinated; he didn't need the Fujimiya there on top of it. Eternity was a long time. And besides, smoking was probably prohibited down there too.
---
He stepped inside of the store and flipped up Omi's note, scanning the list. It was a typical Omi-note, and it brought a small smile to his lips. Yohji looked up and looked over the rim of his shades, before walking over to fetch the transparent plastic bags for vegetables.
It was amazing how considerate the kid was. Plainly amazing, Yohji thought as he picked several of the best-looking apples he saw. The grocery list was divided into five sections. Not separated by lines or anything, but it was obvious anyway. It started with the general things they needed, like bread, sugar and hand-soap. Then, there was a section for Ken, where Omi had written up several vegetables, orange juice, fruits and snack biscuits the glutton could have when he felt hungry in between the meals. Underneath, there was a Yohji-section, which included pizza and a whole bunch of dishes meant to be warmed up in the microwave oven late at night. For himself, Omi would usually write up cereal, milk and whatever ingredients he needed to make their dinner through the week.
It was amusing that Omi bothered with a section for Aya as well, listing up his favorite tea and ingredients for the less heavy meals Aya preferred.
They all had tastes that made cooking a very complicated task. Four persons, four preferences. Omi had solved the problem rather neatly. Each day, he would make something for dinner, and went for a round when it came to their tastes. First of all, he would force them all to keep the healthy diet he so firmly believed in, and knew Ken needed to keep in shape. They had no right to complain there. In fact, they had no right to complain at all, simply because Omi would never let Ken or Yohji close to the oven for very good reasons. Yohji remembered how he once attempted to make breakfast for himself. That particular action led to Omi doing the unthinkable; teaming up with Aya to yell Yohji's head off his shoulders. It also led to Ken having to buy a new frying pan, as it was impossible to clean the previous one.
Yes, the kid was indeed very fond of things only a rabbit would normally eat. He always made his own lunchbox for school, which contained small pieces of bread, cheese and a random fruit, or an equally small portion of rice with vegetables, spring rolls and the likes.
Ken knew he should like rabbit food too, but his tastes were more similar to Yohji's. If it was greasy and American, it was good.
Aya… Aya had a taste of food that matched his personality. First of all, he dutifully ate everything, like a soldier in some army. Despite that, Omi had somehow figured Aya's preference over the few years they spent together as Weiss. He wondered how, as it wasn't like Aya would ever tell them on his own accord, and it wasn't like they would ever get a decent answer if they asked. Either, the kid had secret mind-reading abilities that would make the telepath-fucker in Schwartz go green with jealousy, or Omi actually had enough patience to experiment and guess. But the result was the same; he got it figured, and at least once a week he would torture the rest of the group with serving traditional Japanese food and other light meals, just to make the redhead pleased.
Waste of time.
Yohji paused by the snack shelves for a moment, his eyebrows coming together before he grabbed a pack of pineapple flavored pocky and continued to the counter to pay. It wasn't listed anywhere, but he would always get Omi something good when he went out for groceries. Their unwritten rule. Perhaps it made Omi feel his efforts were worth something, or perhaps he just had gotten so used to play older brother that it just seemed natural, but it was there.
As he returned to the car, slightly disappointed, he pulled out a cigarette, now and then glancing at the mirror. The new employee hadn't been there today. Her name was Miss Sasaki, and Yohji had been keeping his eyes on her for quite some time. Ken, that idiot, had no idea what he was talking about when he claimed Yohji only needed to snap his fingers to get a girl into his lap. It was an intricate game that required detailed planning and advanced tactics, and there were lots of unexpected surprises behind every corner. Of course, the whole operation could be set off within the time-span of one night if he wished, but courting was just as fun. At least it gave him an excuse when he needed to get out of the house.
But today, she hadn't been there. Instead, he had been met by a sour male in his mid-forties that had been staring at Yohji's pockets as if he expected them to be filled with stolen food.
"How fair is that?" Yohji mumbled with the cigarette in between his teeth, inhaling the tobacco powder as he raced down the road without bothering to light it. Unless it was necessary, Yohji wouldn't dream of stealing as much as a crumb of bread. He would rather not think about what this karma could do to him if he did so, but he knew it would be far from pleasant. At its worst, he would probably be forced to share room with Aya for an indefinite amount of time. Besides, Omi would throw a fit if common police knocked on their door one day. And besides, why on earth should he bother when his bank account was already stuffed with money he just wished could catch fire and disappear?
No, stealing was out of the option at least. The old man could rest easy.
He parked his Seven in the driveway and made his way to the luggage locker, picking up the first two bags and placing them in each arm, squeezing the third one in between. This could be a very awkward walk, he soon realized. The third bag threatened to slip all the time, and then he would be in deep shit. As considerate as Omi could be, Yohji was surprised he didn't leave the small wheelbarrow from their shop here for him. It would be typical Omi.
But obviously, the kid hadn't thought so far. Yohji also realized after the first ten steps that he could have been more considerate as well. For instance, he could have left the third bag in the car and then return for it with empty hands, but that was just not worth the effort. So it was either making it to the Koneko in one piece, or face the consequences if he failed. Swallowing heavily, Yohji drew a theatrical breath and kept walking, but alas, fate decided to show mercy today.
Two of their regular customers ran to his rescue. He recognized them instantly, even though they didn't wear their school uniforms today. School uniforms weren't necessary when he heard the all-too-familiar, high-pitched greeting.
" Yohji-san! Good afternoon, Yohji-san!" A giggle followed. "Have you been shopping groceries?"
Yohji's lips curled into the most satisfied smile the world had ever seen.
"Why, good afternoon sweeties!" He lowered the bags, leaning down to reach their eye level with a very happy face. "You might say so. I have been making sure the guys won't starve for the next few days. At least it wasn't my turn to vacuum today."
The girls turned to each other briefly, their cheeks already burning red under his intense glare, before they burst out giggling. Yohji could only guess what kind of scenes he would find inside their pretty heads, and it made him smirk. Yeah yeah, four boys sharing a home. It could make everyone curious, but to schoolgirls with over-active hormones, it was pure entertainment. They had an excuse for that one too. Something about being related, being students, being whatever Omi could make up.
"But what are you two doing here, hm? You both know very well that the Koneko is closed today." He laughed playfully. "Came here to spy, or just couldn't wait for Monday to see me again?"
The girls blushed furiously this time, being handed one bag each as Yohji ended up with the smallest one. He made them put them down at the top of the stairs, opening the door before he turned to them both. Their eyes started shining as they tried to see behind him without seeming too impolite, probably expecting to see the sex scene of their life right in the corridor. He barely managed to keep his laughter back. The Koneko was not that type of cat house.
"Um…" One of the girls blinked up at him. He looked down at her, mild eyes questioning insecure ones. Her friend pushed her a few steps forward, a sign to continue.
"Is… Aya-san home?"
Yohji's face fell. Yes, Aya was home. Where else would he be, unless Kritiker had developed very sudden need for him during Yohji's absence. Which was highly unlikely. Or unless he was visiting his sister, which he never did during weekends. Yes, Aya was home. No, he didn't plan on calling him; spending five minutes outside his door to persuade him to see these girls only to have him slam the door in their innocent faces. The girls didn't need to witness that, and neither did he.
"Yeah… yeah, Aya's somewhere around. But… he's got this huge test coming up on Monday. Been locking himself up for the entire weekend…"
Both girls put up expressions of pure distress, but he just shook his head.
"Sorry girls, shit luck."
The one who had asked for Aya nodded slowly, then produced a small, folded note from her bag and handed it to him. She blushed crimson, averting her gaze.
"Please give this to him, Yohji-san." She chirped, immediately disappearing behind her supporting friend. Yohji made a noise of approval, properly wishing them goodbye as he closed the door.
A note to Aya. It seemed that spraying perfumes on these types of notes never went out of fashion. He sighed. Might as well throw this already and save himself from an extra glare. Those poor notes from those poor girls. He had no clue what Aya did to them when he received them, but he was sure as hell that Aya didn't read them. Somewhere in his mind, he saw Aya sitting in his room at night, dipping the notes in black ink and piercing them with his katana. The image lasted for a mere second, before he shook it away with an impish little laugh. Then, he picked up the bags and went inside.
"Ladies, I'm home!"
"Yohji, you were gone for so long!" Omi magically appeared on top of the staircase and whined in a cheery voice, running down the stairs like a child whose father came home late from work.
"Aa, I had to decide which porn magazine issue I lacked this month…" Yohji ruffled the kid's hair, throwing him the pocky that Omi already knew he would get. The boy looked up at him and huffed, his mouth forming into a perfect pout.
"Yohji…"
"You wanted me to buy one for you as well?" The older man leaned on Omi's shoulder and grinned falsely, fully expecting the blush and the shove that soon followed.
"Oi, oi! Yohji, that's enough, man. Stop picking on the kid already." Ken stuck his head out of the kitchen with both arms occupied by plants. That didn't stop him from elbowing Yohji in the gut for emphasis.
"No worries, Ken." Yohji turned around and pulled up his sleeves as he walked into the kitchen, a smug look on his face. "I know Omi-kun has enough of those under his bed."
He didn't need to turn around to guess what Omi's face looked like.
---
Home was not a bad word after all, when you sat in the kitchen and waited for your reward for getting the groceries. Omi had, somewhere along the way, figured that he should try to teach Ken how to cook. That was why the little room was currently filled with noise, orders and stupid questions blending. Hey, he wouldn't know if the questions were stupid. For him, it sounded like Omi was teaching away advanced mathematics or intricate laws of nature. But judging by the kid's small sighs every time Ken opened his mouth, he guessed it was simpler than it looked like.
Yohji placed both hands behind his head and stretched out his neck, sending Ken a compassionate glance before he went back to reading the newspaper from yesterday.
Newspapers were something all members of Weiss both hated and needed. Every time Yohji picked up one, something inside him scrunched up. For what could have been a shocking, non-personal tragedy for common citizens, would soon be solid reality for them. Each new incident people would whisper about could bring Manx or Birman to their doorstep. And yet, they found themselves unable to avoid the media. They even had the news channel on while they worked at the flower shop, and that said enough. It made them feel prepared, in a way. On the other hand, each time it was a nerve-tormenting guessing game. The speculations would silently go on as they wondered whether they would get a new assignment, if Kritiker would let it pass, or if they would use other agents.
This time, the newspaper brought him nothing. The pages were the usual, smeared with politics, economy and culture. Some burglars were caught robbing a jewelry store, a former rape victim was found dead, the prime minister said… Yohji put the paper away as Omi placed a plate in front of him and peered down at the sandwich. Ken had already taken out two cans of coke from the fridge, looking very ready for food. He let Yohji catch one before slumping down on the opposite side, properly thanking Omi. The boy smiled back, tilting his head to look at the front page of the newspaper for a moment before he waved them goodbye and rushed out. Yohji placed his elbow on the seat back and turned in time to see him vanish, shaking his head.
"Does he ever grow tired?"
Ken didn't answer anything coherent, his mouth full of sandwich, but he nodded vigorously.
After some chewing, he cleared his throat and grabbed the coke.
"Like the energizer bunny. You know, goes on and on and on."
Yohji choked on his own drink, putting it down to wipe his mouth. But the laugh left a bitter taste in his mouth, as he often had come home late at night and peered curiously into Omi's lit-up room only to find the boy asleep behind his computer. Those were the times when Yohji particularly felt like an older brother, draping Omi's blanket over his shoulders and tucking a pillow under his head. The kid would get severe back pains when he got older, that was for sure. Omi already complained about stiff neck muscles, coaxing Ken into massaging his shoulders in exchange for a snack. But then again, Yohji wasn't the one to talk. How often hadn't he woken up in the mornings, suffering from a sore back and aching scars and old bullet wounds? Yohji wrinkled his nose at the thought, but then shrugged in defeat. He was on a good way to become a grandpa, and didn't have much choice in the matter.
With a wry look, Yohji eyed the cigarette pack on the table and made a face, then shook his head. Those probably didn't help the matter, but it was too late. And besides, it was either his looks and age, or his sanity.
Ken stood up and brought his dish to the sink, quickly washing and drying it before he put it away. No need to have it piling up, they had spent hours cleaning an already too neat house after all. Yohji followed him with his eyes as he went out and picked up a sports magazine before hurrying upstairs. Sports were boring enough to play, he couldn't comprehend how it was possible to read about it as well, but that was their Ken for you. Yohji remembered that at one point in his life, he used to like exercising. Now it was just duty, for Kritiker expected them to be in shape. The positive side was, of course, the pleased female audience.
Standing up, Yohji stretched his legs and walked out in their living room, purposely leaving his plate on the table. He was surprised enough to find out that he wasn't alone, and it kind of killed his plans about watching the TV while occupying the entire couch.
The redhead was reading, silent as the grave. He was curled up in the classic Fujimiya-pose ; long legs crossed and knees drawn up to his chest, as if he was in defense against some unseen enemies. The glasses were ever present, reflecting the light coming in through the window. Plain glasses, Yohji noted to himself. The narrow kind, with a boring metal frame. Matched his white shirt and the casual denim jeans.
Yohji found himself leaning on the doorstep with one hand resting on his hip, examining the obstacle until Aya lifted his head and eyed him with a small frown. It lasted for a moment or two, before the attention was taken off Yohji and given to the book again. So much for the warm greeting by their fourth family member.
As he realized he wouldn't get more attention than that, Yohji decided to take fate in his own hands and coughed to clear his throat. Then he walked up to Aya, greeting him casually. It didn't seem like the redhead expected to be spoken to, because he lifted his head with a raised eyebrow.
"There is a note for you." Yohji said in a matter-of-factly voice and placed the small, white slip of paper on the table, watching as Aya stretched out his hand to take it. He seemed to look at it for a moment, before dropping it. Without as much as a thank you, he went back to reading his interesting book. Yohji ran a hand through his hair. He remembered how he used to pester stray cats in the neighborhood as a kid, poking them with a stick until they hissed at him, but discarded the idea of settling down uninvited beside mister Ferocious here. Instead, he took a few paces across the room, finding a comfortable spot by the window.
Damn but if the house wasn't neat. Not a single spot could be found anywhere, despite the fact that they would run in without taking off their shoes on busy workdays at the flower shop, or the fact that they would limp inside, wounded and bleeding all over after a mission gone bad.
Ken had done an excellent job vacuuming and mopping the floor, as usual. Their carpets were, much conveniently, in dark colors. That way, it was easier to hide stains that were harder to remove. Yohji looked at the carpet in front of him, knowing it had seen quite a few interesting things since being handed to them by Kritiker. Everyone in the group left their impressions on it, be it Ken's cocoa or Aya's blood. Now that it was mentioned, Yohji was pretty sure he'd left something else on it once, never quite making it to the bedroom that night. He was smart enough to clean it up himself afterwards, as he'd rather not have the youngest Weiss member involved in the affair.
But Omi was devoted to cleaning the carpets, just like he was concerning everything else. Even close up, one couldn't notice that these carpets had been suffering much. And every time one of them stepped on it with their shoes on, Omi would give a high-pitched whine, worse than any alarm on earth.
"Kudoh."
Yohji blinked, turning around from the window. The hell? As far as he knew, they all went by their first names in this house, and no one had ever told him otherwise. He regarded Aya for a moment, raising an eyebrow when he was only met with a cold, hard glare.
"That's me, yeah. What's up, Aya?"
The redhead didn't put away his book, eyeing Yohji up and down a few times before looking him straight in the eyes.
"If you ever leave a mess in the laundry room and it has to be cleaned up, I will personally deal with you. Make sure it won't happen again."
The voice was flat and impassive; Aya didn't bother to look at him to check if the message had come across properly. Yohji just stood there with his mouth half-open, not entirely sure he was following. Mess? Laundry room? Well, their back entrance was connected to the laundry room, where they threw their dirty clothes in a large heap. Tidiness had its limits, and none of the four boys bothered to sort the clothes before they were washed. Yohji could recall that he had used the entrance many times in the middle of the night… could even recall that he had ended up in the pile of clothes with an overeager lady… that was quite recently, in fact. But mess? That couldn't have been his mess anyway. He suddenly remembered that the lady had thrown up sometime during that night, not having Yohji's endurance for alcohol. And he had been trying to clean up, but doing any cleaning when the whole room was wobbly was probably not very effective. Instead, Aya had most likely gotten a very nasty surprise when Omi sent him down. There, that must have been it.
Yohji's confused face turned into one of annoyance. He knew more than well enough that he should have let it pass, giving Aya some apology and keeping the warning in mind so he wouldn't repeat it. But for some reason, Yohji found out he would feel way guiltier if it had been Omi cleaning that up. With Aya, it didn't really matter. So he decided on replying something else.
"Afraid to get a little dirt under your nails, Fujimiya? Should have thought about that before you took up the katana, I think."
Wow, that came out more malicious than he had intended. Had Ken put something in his coke or what? He'd been making a great work of avoiding these verbal clashes with their silent cactus for months, and suddenly his mouth spit out that as if it acted on its own accord. Aya looked up slowly, meeting his teasing smirk with a frown. He waited a moment, before looking down again and turning a page.
"Don't speak to me of dirt, Kudoh. I'm not the one who lives the pathetic nightlife of a whore."
The voice was still impassive. Yohji started picking on the petals of a flower standing on their windowsill, looking outside. He chuckled and ripped out one of the pink petals, rolling it between his fingers. It was too late to withdraw now, and when he thought about it, he realized that he didn't want to either. Aya could make his blood boil by just moving those lips of his, he didn't need to back off and take it.
"My my, are you envious? That's quite a shame actually, as we're constantly surrounded by women at our daytime work. Unless you're hiding something that would make a man feel pity for you, you could easily hook up with an admirer anytime."
Aya flipped another page. He seemed to be reading twice as fast now, licking his finger briefly as he went on.
"Envious of a man who sleeps with every female being on two legs, chasing a ghost of the past? Wrong guess, Kudoh."
Well, ouch.
That one stung, a definite low blow even by Aya's standards. Yohji wasn't affected immediately, too surprised at first. But then, he turned abruptly, voice raised loud enough to alert the two boys upstairs. Goodbye control.
"Fuck you, Aya! If everything bothers you here so much, then why don't you just get your ass out? You have no idea how much of a relief it would be!"
Aya looked at him as if he had asked a very stupid thing. He read another line or two before he decided it was worth to answer, probably feeling that Yohji deserved the mercy of enlightenment after all.
"Weiss." He said simply. "Missions, the money for my sister. Nothing else."
Yohji laughed then, taking off his shades before he placed them on the windowsill. He walked towards the couch, finding a spot between the table and an armchair.
"Weiss?" He said, his voice containing clear disbelief. "We are Weiss." He pointed at himself, then in the direction of the stairs. "You, however, are not Weiss. You are nothing, Fujimiya, but a painful thorn in the side of everyone you come across. Ken, Omi and I are Weiss! You don't even know the true meaning of the word, locking yourself up in your own room and happily ignoring our existence when you don't need us. So fuck you, Aya. Don't get the wrong ideas."
He was yelling now and didn't care. But the effect wasn't there. Aya was staring at him with the typical "tell-me-something-new" look of his. He stared at Yohji for a while to see if the other male was done, before looking down once again.
It was frustrating as all hell. Yohji glared down at Aya as if he was some kind of snake, wondering if it was possible to despise someone as much as he despised him that very moment. If he had his wires here, he knew it could never have ended in a good way. He could scream or hiss or roar and none of his words ever reached that prick on their couch. And while Aya didn't even need to lift a finger to set Yohji off, his counters would be deflected with ease. It just wasn't fair. Yohji's lips drew into a tight line. Fairness could go and fuck itself. If Aya wanted to play rough, there was no reason for him to hold back either.
With an elaborate sigh, Yohji turned to the window and folded his hands behind him. It was still quite bright outside, as if the sun had no plans of setting tonight. A young lady passed on the opposite side of the pavement, the wind playing with her scarf.
"You shouldn't speak of pathetic, Aya." He began, suddenly wearing a very innocent expression. "If we're picking up on that topic, then what would you call a man who decided to waste away his life on some half-dead corpse in the hospital? It's quite sad actually. There are real girls running out there, and all he cares about is a lifeless thing that doesn't seem to plan on waking up, just because it gains him to play the victimized hero."
There. It was said, if not in the nicest way possible. Yohji knew the blow was coming, he knew already as the last word left his mouth. He just badly misjudged the swiftness. There was hardly enough time to turn halfway to face the threat, before fierce pain exploded across his chest and the world went white for a moment. He lost his balance, the impact throwing him backwards over the chair, and he wasn't even present enough to prevent his head from slamming into the floor with a jarring force.
It all went so fast. Yohji wasn't even aware of the flow of events until he realized he was on the floor with his legs in the air, supported by their armchair. Aya was merely inches from his face, barely restrained by a screaming Ken. Omi was there too, staring at him with wide eyes.
Yohji blinked. Blinked, then tried to gulp in some air. Ken was the only one who made any noise; Aya was silent, apart from the grunts he made as he fought to free himself. Yohji squirmed to put enough distance between him and Aya before he dared to stand up. Omi was still staring at him, his hands tightened into fists.
"Now what?" He said simply, locking his watering eyes on Yohji. The voice held a painful mix of anger and misery. When no answer came after several endless moments, he promptly turned around and walked away. Ken had managed to calm Aya down, but the man kept staring at Yohji still, eyes full of disbelief and promises of death. Then, he too whirled around and ran upstairs without as much as another word. For a moment, the only sound that could be heard was the heavy breathing of the two remaining men as they waited. But nothing more happened. Aya didn't come down to go berserk with his katana or what worse was. Finally, Ken turned to him, accusation written all over his face.
"Nice job." He muttered, turning his back to the oldest Weiss member before he hesitantly started walking upstairs.
Yohji was left behind, still collecting himself and standing like an idiot in the middle of the room. He lifted his hand hesitantly and rubbed his chest, before bringing it up to touch his bleeding nose. Until five minutes ago, he hadn't been aware of that it was even possible to move at such inhuman speed. Well, he was aware now, for what it was worth. Blinking the last black spots out of his vision, Yohji picked up the lighter that had fallen out of his pocket and marched into the hallway, slamming the entrance door shut with all his strenght.