Summary: Being a florist isn't easy -- a realization Aya is forced to come to grips with when Valentine's Day and his own overtaxed imagination work together to give him a horrible day followed by an equally disturbing evening.
Warnings: Bad language. Yaoi / Shounen-ai. Some suggestive content.
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
I Love You NOT!
(An un-Valentine's Day fanfiction in four parts)
Part 1
It had been an awful day. No, "awful" didn't even come close to describing it, Aya decided, as he swept up the last few fallen rose petals strewn across the Koneko's floor. He whisked them into a dustpan and, with a weary-sounding sigh, dumped them into the nearby trash can -- a gray, rubber monstrosity he had been dragging around the shop as he cleaned up. This had become a routine task now, but, as he straightened up the disorder and cleared away the trash caused by a busy day in the flower shop, Aya couldn't help but remember when he had first joined Weiss. Compared to the whole "hunter of the night" assassin thing, he had figured the flower shop gig would be a cakewalk. He hadn't expressed it openly, of course. That wasn't his way. Even now, he preferred to keep his emotions and feelings hidden as much as he could, and it had been even more like that when he had first arrived, before he had come to know and trust the other members of the team. Even so, he remembered he had been smug and self-assured, certain being a florist would be one of the easiest jobs he had ever held, and resentful of how lame and stupid Weiss's cover was.
What an idiot he had been. Aya couldn't help laughing a little bit, under his breath, as he thought about how he had believed, back then, that he had everything figured out. And, about how he had been wrong -- very, very wrong.
He had learned that fast enough. One day of getting mauled by the shop fangirls had been more than enough to open his eyes to the true hell of running the Koneko. That first baptism by fire had been followed by more, each day more hellish than the last, until, finally, Aya had gotten used to the controlled chaos that existed within the shop -- girls hanging all over him, girls asking him for dates … and more, girls squealing whenever he (or Yohji, or Ken, or Omi) walked into the room, girls asking him his blood type and astrological sign, and just … girls, girls, girls. Everywhere you looked, on any given day, the Koneko was packed with giggling, squealing, grabbing, pushy girls. Unfortunately, they also seemed to be pretty cheap, so, while it remained crowded and noisy, the flower shop never broke even. Not that Aya cared much if the Koneko succeeded. Kritiker would keep it open, anyhow, just to give Weiss a handy cover. Still, Aya didn't like being associated with a losing proposition, and knowing the Koneko was in the red grated on his nerves, even though he knew the job wasn't for real.
It was a given, something he had, by now, accepted as one of the universal truths governing his life -- every day spent pretending to be a florist held its own challenges. But, only one day each year created a special kind of hell for Aya in his florist guise.
Valentine's Day.
Just the thought of it was enough to make him shudder and, reflexively, seek out a dark, safe place to hide. Because, on Valentine's Day, the shop fangirls weren't just giggly and grabby and ridiculous. They were downright rabid. Couple that with the biggest flower-buying day of the year, and there it was -- a day made all the more hellish because it was real. Real and inescapable.
Today had been bad from the beginning. Aya had rolled out of bed with a sick, twisted feeling of dread curling around his stomach. At first, he had written it off to the fact that it was Valentine's Day. Not just a frantically busy day, but a day he hated with all his being. Something about losing his family, knowing his sister was in a coma, and having to live as an assassin to pay her medical bills made him feel less than generous toward a stupid, made-up holiday dedicated to love. But, the twisted-up, nervous feeling eating at him was too strong, even for a day he hated -- a day he dreaded, all year long.
It hadn't taken long for Aya to realize his gut instincts, as always, were dead-on accurate. Even before he opened the shop, he had known this day was going to be horrid, even for Valentine's Day. As he had rolled up the metal coverings behind the shop's front windows and door, he had found a small gang of girls huddled in a group on the sidewalk, giggling, whispering, and pointing into the Koneko's front window. As soon as they had heard the metal grating open, they had lined up in front of the shop to stare at him through the big, plate glass window. Aya had stared back at them, wondering what they were up to and dreading the moment when he had to unlock the door and let them in. They had all stayed like that for a minute or two, staring at each other, until Yohji had walked into the room, calling out a greeting to Aya as he entered. As soon as Yohji had stopped in front of the window to stand next to Aya, the group of girls had clapped their hands twice, beginning a succession of bows -- obviously praying to the "flower shop gods". Aya had rolled his eyes and glared at them, but Yohji, being the idiot he was, had waved his arms in imitation of a temple priest giving a blessing, causing the girls to scurry away, blushing and giggling.
Yohji should know better than to encourage them. The more you encouraged them, the more they came around, taking up space and wasting oxygen without buying anything. Aya had said as much that morning, as he had watched the girls run off down the street, but Yohji, as always, had laughed it off, calling him an uptight bastard and telling him to loosen up a bit.
Aya frowned at the trashcan as he remembered how Yohji had been so nonchalant about the whole thing -- teasing him by waving and blowing a kiss as he had entered the back room to check on the supplies they would need for their Valentine's Day business. Not that Aya gave a rat's ass about Yohji's opinion on anything. It was just … irritating. That was all. It didn't mean he cared, one way or the other.
At the time, the whole "praying fangirls" thing had been irritating, and it had heralded a bad start to a dreaded day. But Aya had told himself it was a good thing to get the unpleasantness over with early in the day. If that was the worst that happened, he had figured this day would be one to put in the "win" column. That was the most he could hope for, especially on Valentine's Day -- to get through the day with a minimum of fuss, and with his clothing and dignity intact. So, Aya had forced himself to see the impromptu morning prayer as a positive -- a sign that the day would only get better. And, instead of dwelling on it, he had busied himself preparing the shop for their first customers, brushing aside the uneasy feelings the incident had caused.
Aya sighed, fingering the torn sleeve of his shirt as he remembered how very wrong he had been. And, how very foolish. Maybe it wasn't foolish to hope the day would pass in peace and that the shop fangirls would, somehow, remember they were human beings and not a pack of rabid, frothing animals. Somewhere in his heart, Aya knew it wasn't foolish at all. It was normal to hope for the best, and, in a way, it was a good thing he was able to do that. He often believed his job as a member of Weiss had destroyed his humanity, taking away his capacity to feel or hope. But, this proved that wasn't true. It proved that, underneath it all, he was still human. That was a good thing. A very good thing.
Still, he couldn't help feeling a bit irritated with himself for being so wrong about today. In light of the total and complete fiasco the day had been, Aya felt more than a little foolish for the hope he had possessed early that morning.
Foolish or not, Aya's hope had been fleeting. About ten minutes after opening, a bit of a fangirl brawl had broken out in the shop. Squabbles weren't uncommon in the flower shop, especially when it was over-crowded, like it had been today. Most of those girls were very territorial about their crushes, and, when you added in the extra stress of a holiday crowd, spats were bound to erupt. This one, though, had been worse than the usual catfights they had to referee, as it had quickly escalated to physical violence.
Even now, Aya wasn't sure how it had started. From what he had been able to gather, one of the shop girls had created some kind of internet quiz called "Flowershop Soulmates", or something equally as ridiculous. On the quiz, a girl could input her blood type and birth date and answer a few questions, and, then, the computer would calculate which Koneko florist was her "soulmate".
Aya couldn't help feeling a bit perplexed at the thought of the four of them being the subjects of an internet quiz, much less the idea that anyone would want to be his soul mate. Considering the dark and tangled mess that passed for his soul, he would've felt damn sorry for anyone who had qualified for the job. It was more than any regular person should have to bear, and he should know. After all, he lived with it. And, on any ordinary day, the whole quiz thing would have been amusing -- something he joked about with the rest of his teammates after the flower shop had closed. But, today hadn't been an ordinary day. It was Valentine's Day -- a day dedicated to love. Somehow, love had a way of bringing out the worst in people, and today hadn't been any exception to that general rule.
Two fangirls had begun arguing over which of them was better qualified to be his soul mate. Another group of girls, all of whom had, also, taken the quiz and, apparently, qualified as Aya's soul mates, had overheard and joined in on the rather lively discussion. The name calling and insults had increased in volume, until they had carried above the din in the bustling flower shop. By the time Aya had realized there was a full-blown argument going on, several of the older customers had already turned to give the girls disapproving looks. The girls, of course, had ignored the glares and grumbles from the crowd around them. They were soul mates, after all; what did they care about the rest of the world? But, Aya had managed to catch the attention of one of the ringleaders, giving her a glare of irritation that had left little to the imagination. It had been more than enough to encourage his soul mates to bring their voices back down to a normal level. And, Aya had thought that would be the end of it.
It should have been the end of it. He had turned his attention back toward helping a customer, dismissing the ridiculous argument from his mind as nothing more than the normal fangirl idiocy.
Unfortunately, the soul mate love fest had only just begun. Another group of girls had wandered into the shop, all loudly proclaiming themselves as Yohji's soul mates and arguing about who was best suited to claim that vaunted status. Which, in and of itself, was fine. A little bit strange, but fine. After all, they hadn't been bothering anyone, and they had kept their voices and enthusiasm in check enough that they hadn't disturbed the other customers. But, Aya's two groups of soul mates had happened to overhear, and they had been quick to jump into the discussion. Before anyone in the shop had realized it, the fangirls' playful spat had escalated into all-out war, including scratching, biting, and hair pulling, all accompanied by harpy-like shrieks of anger that would have been loud enough to raise the dead.
Aya might have left things alone. After all, the shop had been crowded enough that the girls wouldn't have been able to do much damage to each other. And, even though they had been louder than most of the customers, the general noise level inside the store had drowned them out, for the most part. But, when they had started throwing things, he had felt compelled to intervene, elbowing his way through the crowd in his haste to reach what had become "Soul Mate Smackdown". He had reached the girls, wading into the midst of the squabble and grabbing both of the instigators by the arm so that he could escort them out of the shop.
And, that would have been that, except one of the girls, in trying to struggle away from him, had managed to land a lucky blow to Aya's rib cage, and, in particular, to a rib he had cracked during a mission. It had been a bit over a month, but the injury was still tender. It had been an accident -- a sick twist of fate and nothing more -- but the sensation of a skinny, pointy elbow driving into his injured rib had been enough to cause Aya to let go of his quarry, sending him reeling backward a few steps, clutching at the injured spot, gasping for breath, and seeing little stars pass in front of his vision. It had only taken him a moment or two to regain his composure, but, by that time, Yohji had been there to finish breaking up the fight.
Aya forced his mind away from its recap of the day and cursed under his breath as he crossed from the shop's main sales area into the back room, where they made most of the arrangements and stored their supplies. He dragged the trashcan behind him, pulling it along by one handle, and its bottom made a scraping sound as it rubbed across the store's old tile. He put away the broom and dustpan, and stowed the trashcan in a corner, next to one of their back-up coolers, before crossing the room to a small supply closet, where he found a mop and large, wheeled bucket. He retrieved both items, sticking the mop inside the bucket and using it as a lever to steer everything over toward the deep sink that dominated one wall of the room. He turned on the water, waiting for it to come out of the faucet steaming hot, and, then, lifted the bucket into the sink.
It took a few minutes for it to fill, and Aya let his thoughts wander as he watched the water flow into the mop bucket. He frowned as he remembered the anti-climactic ending to the fangirl fight. He couldn't help feeling more than a bit peeved when he remembered how the girls had turned all docile and giggly almost as soon as Yohji had arrived on the scene. Where he had received an elbow to the ribs, Yohji had gotten only giggles and googly-eyed, adoring looks as he had led both groups of girls to the shop's front door, joking about how he had always wanted his own, personal harem.
Aya lifted the bucket, now heavy from the weight of the water inside it, out of the sink and to the floor. He gasped as a sudden twinge of sharp pain ran through his side, bringing tears to his eyes. He took a couple of deep breaths to ease the sensation and did his best to ignore the dull ache as he wheeled the bucket back out to the front of the shop. The damn rib still hurt, though, and he was pissed about that. The worst part of it was that he had had to suffer through the rest of the day with Yohji teasing him about getting beaten up by a girl. Aya was sure he hadn't heard the last of that very un-funny joke. Once Yohji grabbed hold of something like that, it wasn't in his nature to let up easily, which meant Aya had at least a few more days of suffering coming his way.
Aya sighed in resignation as he began to mop the floor in the shop's front room. He found the slapping sound of the wet mop striking tile comforting. They were familiar sounds that, somehow, reminded him of home and his childhood. They always made him think of his mother -- how she had hummed a favorite song as she had cleaned, and how she had always told him mopping was her favorite household chore. The motions involved in cleaning the floor were mechanical and methodical, requiring no thought on his part, and Aya allowed his mind to continue drifting back over the day's events.
It would have been nice if the whole fangirl thing had been the worst of the day. But, things had continued to go downhill from there.
Twenty girls had purchased flowers, only to turn around and give them back to him as their Valentine's Day tributes. Aya had accepted each bouquet with a slight nod and a rather perplexed-looking frown. As soon as each girl had left the shop, he had taken the bouquets to the back room, where he had disassembled them and returned them to the shop's saleable stock. It had felt a little dishonest, but Aya had reasoned that the flowers were his, to do with as he pleased. The shop always ran short on Valentine's Day, so keeping the flowers had felt like a waste, and, besides, he was around flowers all day long. The last thing he wanted cluttering up his room above the shop was more of the infernal things. And, then, there was that little voice in the back of his mind, always whispering that giving flowers to someone as dirty as him was a waste. Aya hated that little voice, but he always seemed to listen to it, too.
Yohji, Ken, and Omi had all received their fair share of floral offerings, too. Aya had no idea what they did with their bouquets, although he suspected the others had kept them. Ken was too kind to do as Aya did and re-sell flowers given to him by an earnest, innocent girl, no matter how irritating he might find the gesture. Omi, Aya thought, wouldn't want to seem ungrateful. And, Yohji … Of all of them, Aya was the most certain Yohji had kept his offerings of love, as Yohji got no end of pleasure from seeing the physical manifestations of his dazzling effect on the local female population.
Four boys had, also, purchased flowers to give to Aya. They had stammered out their shy offerings of love, holding the flowers out to him with trembling hands, until Yohji had walked by and commented that a real man would wait until White Day, since Valentine's Day was a "girl's holiday". Each time, the boy in question had stared from Aya's frowning face to the flowers and, almost immediately, demanded a refund. Aya had shrugged and refunded the money in each instance, returning the flowers back into the store's stock -- which is where they would have ended up, anyhow. It had saved him from having to put up with accepting even more unwanted gifts, which was a good thing. On the other hand, it had doomed him to having to suffer through this whole, ridiculous scenario again in a month. Aya couldn't help being a little irritated with Yohji over that.
In the early afternoon, Aya had caught Omi and Ken snickering over something in a corner of the shop's front room. They had been standing between the two largest coolers, with their heads almost touching as they bent over something Omi held in his hands. They had looked exactly like two little kids up to no good, and it had raised Aya's suspicions enough that he had ambushed them, demanding to see what was so funny. Omi and Ken had given him two different versions of a deer-in-the-headlights expression and, without saying anything, had handed over a small magazine, printed in black and white.
Aya gave the mop a savage shove. It caused water to slosh and puddle under the cooler closest to the front door, but he didn't seem to notice, lost in the memory of how Omi and Ken had both vanished as soon as they had handed him the book. One second, they had been standing in front of him and the next, they had been nowhere in sight. That, alone, had been enough to make Aya's stomach clench with dread.
And, with good reason. Aya had looked down at the little magazine, at first, flipping through the pages without taking stock of their contents. But, near the end of the book, one image, in particular, had grabbed his full and undivided attention -- a centerfold-type spread showing him and Yohji, doing … well, things he would never even think about doing with that womanizing idiot, even if he had been gay. After all, he had heard enough of Yohji's "conquest" stories to have a pretty good idea of where Yohji had been and who had taken the trip with him. Just that small peek into Yohji's social life was enough to make Aya's toes curl -- and not in a good way, either.
Aya had stared at the detailed image for a long time, so engrossed in the horror of what he was seeing that he forgot all about the hustle and bustle of the shop around him. A couple of customers had approached him, seeking assistance, but he had glared at them until they had scurried off, intimidated into leaving him alone. He had studied the picture, turning the book left, right, and upside-down so that he could look at it from every angle. It had taken several long minutes for his brain to process the true horror of what he was seeing, although it had felt like he had glared at that picture for an eternity and then some -- as if time had stopped as soon as he had laid eyes on it. He could still remember how he had gotten more and more embarrassed, his face flushing red and his skin feeling hot with the stinging emotions the image brought out for him.
After a few minutes, he had forced himself to calm down enough to page through the book at a slower pace, taking the time to read the story and look at the rest of the pictures. Thankfully, none of them was as bad as the full-page spread that had initially gotten his attention, but he had felt despair twisting its way through his insides when he realized what the little magazine was -- one of those fan-made doujinshi-type things, which meant there could be hundreds of copies of it out there, floating around town. It was exactly like the ones he had seen different fangirls carrying in the shop, except this story was about him and Yohji -- two very real people -- and not about anime characters. It was a yaoi story; the centerfold picture had made that painfully clear, even at first glance. And, overall, the story was about how Yohji had fallen in love with him, wooed him, and won his heart, at which point the plot climaxed -- very literally -- in the image of the two of them engaged in very kinky activities that were probably illegal in some parts of Japan.
Even as embarrassed as he had been, Aya had thought the whole thing was stupid. As if he would be won over by something as ridiculous as a home-cooked meal, a fancy dessert, and gaudy jewelry. Aya wasn't sure what he had found more irritating about the damn book -- that he was such a pushover, that he was doing it with Yohji, or that he had been on the bottom. As if that would ever happen, he thought, giving the mop another savage push and scattering even more water across the already flooded floor.
Discovering he was the subject of a ridiculous, fantasy-ridden yaoi doujinshi would have been bad enough. Certainly, it would have been enough to cement this day as the total and complete wreck it was. But, the horror hadn't stopped there.
One of the fangirls, upon noticing him reading the doujinshi, had approached and asked him to autograph her copy.
Aya remembered how he had given the girl a dismayed look, unsure how to respond. His first impulse had been to kill her and take her copy of the damn book, but his mind had quickly nixed that idea. His second gut instinct had been to scream, throw the magazine in her face, and run into the back room to hide. His mind hadn't liked that option, either, so he had settled for staring at the girl for what had seemed like several long moments, unable to do or say anything in response to her request.
Then, he had looked up, past the fangirl, who was still eagerly thrusting her much dog-eared copy of the hated doujinshi toward him, and across the Koneko's crowded front room. He had seen Yohji on the other side of the shop, surrounded by a group of giggling girls. Yohji had been laughing and joking and, even worse, signing copies of the very same doujinshi Aya held crumpled in his clenched fist. Yohji had looked up to see Aya staring at him, and he had winked and blown Aya a kiss, causing the fangirls around him to shriek in delight.
That had been it. Aya had realized he couldn't take any more. If he had stayed in the front of the shop, he would have ended up killing someone for sure, and he had been certain that would be bad for business, not to mention Weiss's cover.
He had shoved both copies of the doujinshi back into the face of the startled girl who had been asking for his autograph, and, as quickly as he could, had retreated into the relative safety of the Koneko's back room, where he had stayed for the rest of the day.
And, that brought him to the here and now, where he was flying solo, cleaning up the wrecked front room. He had had to promise to do this before the other guys would leave him alone.
It was a miserable job, cleaning up the business area of the Koneko. And, it took forever unless a couple of people tackled the task, especially after a day like today. But, he was almost done now. Aya made one last swipe with the mop and backed up until he stood on the threshold between the shop's front and back rooms, dragging the mop bucket behind him as he paused to survey his work.
He had cleaned the counters, cleaned the coolers, and restocked the plants around the counter and the ribbon and tissue paper kept near the cash register. He had counted and totaled the cash register to make sure the day's receipts matched up to the cash in the drawer, although they wouldn't have an official accounting for the day until Omi had finished tallying the credit card receipts. He had cleaned the big front windows before pulling down the metal grating that locked the Koneko off from the outside world, and he had swept and mopped the floor. He was physically and mentally exhausted, and his injured rib ached -- a dull, steady throb that seemed to travel all the way through his body and occasionally ended in a burning sensation that forced him to pause and catch his breath. Even so, he figured the extra work had been worth it. It was a small price to pay for a day of peace. Now, though, he was ready to be done. He was ready to head upstairs so that he could collapse on his bed and find his way into blissful unconsciousness as quickly as possible.
Aya rolled the mop bucket into the back room, groaning as he lifted it up and tipped it over the sink's lip. He leaned against the sink and watched as the dirty, gray water swirled down the drain. That was exactly how he felt, Aya realized -- used up and dirty. It wasn't any kind of startling revelation, but it was an uncomfortable thought that hit him hard. He wasn't sure why it had occurred to him at that moment. Maybe it was because the day had been so exhausting, making it impossible for him to keep his feelings hidden like he normally would. That had to be it. Once he had gotten a decent night's sleep, he would feel better. Things would look better. He had to believe that. Otherwise, he would just make himself crazy thinking about it, and what good would that do?
TBC in Part 2 …