UNEXPECTED WARMTH
by Pirate Burn (pirate_burn@yahoo.com)
Author's notes: Do you mind the ranting of a crazy lunatic? I hope not. Rain DOES bring out the strangeness from within you. I don't own Weiß, okay? Just their 5 cent photocopy.
_______________________________________________________________________
The patter of rain outside was a comfortable backdrop to his thoughts as he sat by the window sill cradling his katana and looking out at nothing in particular. Beside him was his open journal, a blank page ready and waiting for him to fill.
The shop was closed on Sundays except on special orders, so he was particularly glad that he didn't have to go down for his shift. After staying up very late last night, he was still rather fuzzy.
'About staying up late...'
He looked down at his journal and a small smiled touched his lips. In the span of an hour and fifteen minutes he'd managed to write two poems.
'How strange to write words and phrases and nobody reads them'
That started off another thought, so he picked up his pen and wrote a few lines on his pad, carefully sorting out the words in his head and arranging them into prose.
[How strange to write songs
for nobody to sing
How strange to make poetry
that doesn't take wing]
He stopped, tapped the pen to the side of his cheek. The phrases constructed themselves in his mind, but this was where he had to concentrate to sort them out and write them down.
It was very much like deciding which flowers to put in an arrangement for one of the orders. Flowers spoke subtle messages that only the subconscious mind understood. An overbloomed rose would make the arrangement appear a little too suggestive, another tulip still in budding would hint a closed mind.
It was the same way with his poems.
Sometimes a word or a phrase could change the tune of the entire ensemble with an unexpected twist. He had used that technique sometimes, just to amuse himself, or the reader.
Not that he'd blatantly allow anyone to read his journal without undergoing a severe decapitation.
[How strange to write stories
that can never be told]
That got him thinking. Who would he permit to read even just *one* of his poems? Aside from his sister, of course.
/The cat/ he thought, then grinned to himself, remembering how the household feline always, for some queer reason he could not explain, liked to sit by his desk when he was writing. As if it understood.
/Ken?/
He thought up the 'jammin' soccer player in his mind, the easy air Ken seemed to carry about him. The beaming indigo eyes and his brotherly grin. Deep inside although he hated to admit it, Ken was more emotionally stable than he was. Ken was simply not one who could hold darkness for long. The guy probably would not understand all the pain in his prose.
He thought up a line and wrote it down; reread what he just jotted down and frowned, drawing a sure, black line across it. Instead he wrote another phrase before he went back to his mulling.
[Likewise to paint pictures]
/Omi?/
The image of the angelic youngest member came to mind, and despite the fact that he was alone, he supressed a chuckle. The poor kid had just been enlightened rather roughly about his shameful heritage, and without asking he had known that it was very hard for Omi to accept, and personally, to deal with. To have the kid read one of his heavy, angst-ridden poems? Please.
It would be like kicking a wounded little kitten, and he inwardly grimaced. He was only sadistic to those who deserved it. Omi certainly did not.
[No eyes can behold.]
He frowned then, and tried to concentrate on other words, killing the peaceful running of his mind's wheels. There was one other Weiß member to consider, but he pushed the image away, knowing that there was nothing to consider to begin with.
[Yet my pen, it goes on writing
Ignoring command of my will
Taking heed instead from my spirit
Which I know will never still]
He sat back, the knit on his brow deepening. He was stuck in a rut, basically because this was the turning point of the poem. This was the part where every single phrase mattered.
He couldn't think.
/Youji?/
He shook his head. Oh, he didn't have to take Youji's character apart to know the lanky Casanova. Outright he was a happy-go-lucky, devil-may-care tramp who screwed and smoked like there was no tomorrow. Youji sucked compliments like a sponge and managed to ignore even the most barbed comments. He was very critical too; and the fool took for granted that SOMEBODY had the grace to stay up for him in the wee hours he came back from clubbing just so the front door would be locked properly.
How would HE of all people understand poetry, much less poetry by the one person in the world everyone would think of last?
[For I need no eyes to see me
Human hearts only betray
Uncomprehending in their darkness
the changing shades of gray.]
He looked at his tentative finish. It didn't seem right.
Just like the overbloomed rose or the firmly shut tulip, it had converted the essence of the poem entirely. Where it started light and somewhat wistful and melancholy, he had plunged it into an acidic comeback.
It was okay, but he didn't feel like it.
/Damn Youji./ He could imagine Youji clutching his sides in mirth, his burning cig falling unnoticed to the floor in his laughter. At his poem. At him.
Amethyst eyes hardened at the thought. Shit, if that happened, Weiß would be missing its signature playboy.
But then again, his burning thoughts stopped cold. Why did he CARE about what Youji thought, anyway? Why should he--
"Yo."
He was so deep in thought that the sudden interruption caused him to twitch a bit, startled--he was glad he was facing the window. He recognized that voice, and he fought the urge to sneer.
From his reflection on the glass, he saw a tall but slender frame leaning against the doorpost. The blonde was carrying something with both hands, and the house cat was busy trying to trip him at the feet.
Talk about the Devil himself.
"Knock, fool." He turned his head a little sideways and glared at his teammate from the corner of glittering violet eyes. His other hand moved to slowly close his journal.
"The door was open." Youji grinned and invited himself in, bending over to put the tray he was holding on the rectangular coffee table. The cat jumped up to his shoulders suddenly, nails digging into his light green polo shirt for stability.
"Still." He turned away and pretended to study his katana.
"You never seem to mind when the cat comes in uninvited," he shot back, settling himself on one of the attic's comfy old bean bags. "Besides, is that the way you thank a caring teammate?"
Aya turned his head once more and saw that Youji had brought two steaming cups of hot chocolate. Rich and brown and foamy, with tiny marshmellows floating on top. The sweet aroma got into him without warning, and he found himself wanting a drink. How had Youji known that he liked marshmellows on his drink?
"Swiss Miss for Marshmallow Lovers. Found a box at the convenience store the other day." The green eyed assassin reached out for one steaming mug and inhaled its chocolate fragrance.
"And only three pouches left! Out of twelve! The little fool might be behind this, I'll get Omi later on. Or maybe it was Ken." He put on a fierce look and tipped his cup, the cat on his shoulder trying to get a lap.
The quiet one looked away, smirking faintly, knowing he was guilty of the aforementioned crime. He just loved the way the marshmallows melted in his tongue...
/Youji made it./ The thought kept him at bay, and he pretended to be indifferent, still polishing his sword's sheath. But his purple gaze would unconsciously drift back to the steaming mugs.
Youji caught his look and grinned again. "Geez, you're looking as if I was that Schwartz nutcase and I just made you poisoned tea!" He took another long draught from his cup gingerly, and Aya found himself noting the delicate way his soft hair fell back when he tilted his head.
He started, pushing all thoughts of Youji's hair at the back of his mind. His teammate had a point there. Practically speaking, it was plainly a nice gesture by a concerned teammate.
/But if you knew what you made me do, fool, you'd understand./ Right now he felt too relaxed to be angry, and it was a friendly gesture to boot--who was he to turn away a friend?
Shrugging and putting down his sword, he said, "I guess you have a point." He got up and reached for the other mug, faintly aware that green eyes were watching through the rim of Youji's cup.
"What?" He snapped although it souned more annoyed than irritated.
Youji shrugged and put down his cup a moment to stroke the feline on his shoulder. "You just look cold, that's all."
Inwardly, he wished Youji would say something more...more...
/Poetic? Please. Who are you fooling, Fujimiya?/
"I didn't mean literally, of course, the heater's on," he continued, which made the redhead pause in his drinking. "Not stony either, that's your default mode. I mean COLD cold. Uh, shit, how do I say this..." He began to gesture, and Aya shook his head and made his way back to his sill.
"It's like...shit, you know I'm not good at this...like you're COLD, you know, shivering, deprived of warmth. You get my drift?"
Aya blinked. That had somehow struck a nerve. /Cold. Like a theatre without an audience. Without an audience. Without company. Company? Youji is... company?/
He looked at his blinking leader, and mistook his expression for puzzlement. He laughed then, and pulled the squirming cat off his shoulders. "Ah, never mind. It's just me."
There was silence, both concentrating on their drink. Something about warm marshmallow chocolate drinks and what Youji said melted one of the many layers of ice he had constructed around him.
"It's the rain."
An eyebrow raised in surprise. Clearly he did not expect an answer. "Yeah?"
Aya was still facing the window, and his gaze took in the rain-drenched world beneath him. "It makes you remember...think of things you don't want to think about."
/You can't bear to think about/ he thought, facing Youji.
His teammate's green eyes suddenly seemed to liquidate, and the mirth and the funny laughter he'd often see coating them melted to be replaced by a delicateness he did not know Youji was capable of.
"I know."
"Yeah?" The hidden inquiry in his tone was genuine; Aya was curious.
"Yeah. Believe me. I know." He turned his head to tickle the lounging housecat, but the tender, almost pained look in the green eyes remained.
"But," he continued, still not facing Aya, "it makes you think of other things too. Other things you've never thought of before. Not that you don't want to think them. It's just that...you've never considered them before."
He found his heart palpitating to every word Youji had said. "Never considered them before?"
"Hai." Youji pretended to stir the remaining contents of his mug with his teaspoon. That was when he looked up to meet Aya's lavender gaze, and what looked like a sad little smile crinkled his face.
"How does it feel when you come home from a mission?"
In the fuzzy warmth of the room and the hum of the rain outside, it seemed pretty much okay to pry with an otherwise touchy question. In the intimate conversation with a friend, it seemed okay to answer.
"Relieved. That I have another month's pay for Aya-chan in the hospital. And," he hesitated, honestly not knowing if it was the right answer for him or not. "Disgusted. Not at you guys or the mission."
//But at myself and everything I have done.//
"Aa." Youji's simple answer told him that he didn't have to continue because he understood perfectly. "So do I. That's why we try to find what comfort we can."
At that moment, Aya understood.
He understood everything. He understood why he was writing his poems, he understood why Youji had come up to bring him hot chocolate without even being asked. He understood the meaning of his friend's wistful green eyes.
And because he understood, for a teeny, tiny moment, he became Ran again. And it warmed him, and flattered him, like it never warmed him before. And he was a little bit frightened as well.
//But I'm not worth anyone's time.//
"Hey Aya, I..."
He knew what was coming, and he feared he wasn't ready for it. So he reacted automatically the best way he could; he froze up again, involuntarily.
"Hn."
He knew the moment the words left his lips that it was the wrong thing to say. He knew that he deserved a kick for that barbed comment, for pulling back from something he had wanted to succumb to in the first place.
For hurting someone who he just realized was as as scarred as he was.
He turned away, not wanting to see Youji's pained eyes, furthermore not wanting him to see it reflected, amplified, in his violet ones.
"Okay."
He heard the lanky man sigh, very softly, and the soft tinker as the tray was lifted off. Soft feet padded through the carpeting, and he knew he had to let himself go just this once at least, because a roomful of words would not substitute for a friend's silent presence in the room.
"Hey," he called out, whispered, really, but it was all he could seem to manage to do in the moment. His closing throat refused to cooperate, and he sipped his drink again to relax himself.
The footfalls paused. Then they continued out the room.
He let out a sigh. This time he had succeeded in choking himself in his own ice. Fujimiya Aya looked back out into the rain-slicked world, feeling it none the different from the chill inside him.
//Nice try,// he told himself, //But really, you're not worth hanging around for. You really are disgusting. You kill people you don't even know, physically...worse you kill those who really know you as we--//
He started faintly when he heard the soft scrape of plastic on the floor, and turned to see Youji pulling a beanbag over. The tall assassin then plopped down on it comfortably, trackpant-clad legs splayed out, hands still clutching his mug.
The silver tray was by his side on the floor; as Aya sat, blinking, Youji gave him a smirk and settled down. When he leaned against the wall, his shoulders brushed against Aya's side.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the endless patter of rain on the gray June afternoon gently smothering their shallow breathing. Strangely Aya felt more comfortable.
But the voices in his head did not stop their taunting.
"Youji..." he started softly, gathering the butterflies he didn't know existed in the pit of his stomach , turning to the taller Weiß sitting on the beanbag below him.
"Nnnh." Soft lashes on gently closed lids hid the otherwise verdant green eyes, and his chest rose and fell in a sleep-induced rhythm. His empty mug was clasped firmly in his hands, and when Aya shifted a bit to face him, his head nodded to the side and came to rest against his leader's elbow.
His initial reaction was to push Youji away from the sudden contact, but he was glad that his senses were a little muddled. He simply stared at the sleeping man below him, oblivious to the world.
Slowly, he removed his arm, so that the slumbering head now came to rest against his side. Youji wasn't doing this to tease him; he was simply answering to the subconscious need for human warmth.
"You looked cold too, Youji," he murmured in realization, tentatively stroking aside a stray lock that fell on his friend's face.
One of his rare smiles lit his face then.
He knew how to end is poem perfectly.
~~~~~~~~~
"Yo-tan! A-yan! Omittchi! You guys! I got a couple of videos y'all might want to watch since we can't go out because of the small typhoon. I got--"
Ken pulled off his rain boots and left his poncho on the kitchen door's coatrack and rumaged through the plastic bag he held under his jacket.
"I got The Star Wars Trilogy plus Episodes I and II, Face/Off, The Best of J-Lea--this is mine... Tomcats for you, Youji, and ..."
When all he got was silence, Ken frowned. He clutched his haul and went up the stairs. Their rooms were empty too. With a hunch in his mind, Ken made his way up the almost-hidden winding staircase to the loft.
"Guys? You in there? Aya, sorry Crimson Tide's been rented out but I--"
"Shhh!"
Omi was at the doorway of the attic, a silencing finger on his pursed lips. Ken figured that he went looking for the other two Weiß as well, and when Omi beckoned him silently to come over, he knew he found them.
"What?"
"Don't yell around the house." Omi smiled, and opened the door wider.
The redhead was dozing on his perch on the wide window sill, while his taller companion sat on the beanbag, head leaning restfully against the redhead's side.
A pale hand fell protectively against what looked like a journal, and the other held an empty red mug. The housecat was dozing on the sill beside the redhead as well, but the moment Ken and Omi walked in, it blinked a golden eye and leapt up to Ken's arms, purring quietly as if it knew that noise would distrub sleep.
"They look peaceful."
"Hai."
Omi shivered. "Won't they be cold?"
Ken's indigo eyes scanned the two slumbering forms by the window. He smiled to himself and turned Omi around with his free arm.
"Nah. I don't think so. I am though. Let's go make dinner before they wake."
"What makes you say that, Ken?" Omi tried to turn around, but Ken had closed the door softly.
A twinkle in his eye. "I can tell."
~~~~~~~~~~~
[Yet I continue with the thought
That someone knows my silent art
For what words are needed when one
Knows me inside this cold heart?
I need not show you all my soul
Or what it has to say
For words are words and they disappear
But you're the only one who stays.]
Steam continued to rise from the long-since empty mugs of hot chocolate as the two weary little kittens slept peacefully beside each other. Warmed.
##### OWARI #####
Author's notes: *drifts newspaper boats down the rain gutter* Huh? Oh. Gomen. *gets up* Hope you liked that little piece. ^_^ Just a few notes. Star Wars (*_*), Face/Off are two of my favorite movies, and they belong to their owners. So do Tomcats, Crimson Tide and Swiss Miss Marshmallow. (I love.) It's nice if you've read RAIN, a Schwartz fic I've posted up here, because you'll probably get the Crimson Tide thing. ^_~ And the ABYSSINIAN chapter of WHITE KITTENS too. Not to endorse, of course. Love Aya peoples, and I'd love to hear your comments. Now I really gotta go... *looks up at the sky* It looks rather overcast, and I didn't bring an umbrella. Oh yeah. *thinks* before I leave... this one's dedicated to Schuschu and Micchy--you guys know who you are.
by Pirate Burn (pirate_burn@yahoo.com)
Author's notes: Do you mind the ranting of a crazy lunatic? I hope not. Rain DOES bring out the strangeness from within you. I don't own Weiß, okay? Just their 5 cent photocopy.
_______________________________________________________________________
The patter of rain outside was a comfortable backdrop to his thoughts as he sat by the window sill cradling his katana and looking out at nothing in particular. Beside him was his open journal, a blank page ready and waiting for him to fill.
The shop was closed on Sundays except on special orders, so he was particularly glad that he didn't have to go down for his shift. After staying up very late last night, he was still rather fuzzy.
'About staying up late...'
He looked down at his journal and a small smiled touched his lips. In the span of an hour and fifteen minutes he'd managed to write two poems.
'How strange to write words and phrases and nobody reads them'
That started off another thought, so he picked up his pen and wrote a few lines on his pad, carefully sorting out the words in his head and arranging them into prose.
[How strange to write songs
for nobody to sing
How strange to make poetry
that doesn't take wing]
He stopped, tapped the pen to the side of his cheek. The phrases constructed themselves in his mind, but this was where he had to concentrate to sort them out and write them down.
It was very much like deciding which flowers to put in an arrangement for one of the orders. Flowers spoke subtle messages that only the subconscious mind understood. An overbloomed rose would make the arrangement appear a little too suggestive, another tulip still in budding would hint a closed mind.
It was the same way with his poems.
Sometimes a word or a phrase could change the tune of the entire ensemble with an unexpected twist. He had used that technique sometimes, just to amuse himself, or the reader.
Not that he'd blatantly allow anyone to read his journal without undergoing a severe decapitation.
[How strange to write stories
that can never be told]
That got him thinking. Who would he permit to read even just *one* of his poems? Aside from his sister, of course.
/The cat/ he thought, then grinned to himself, remembering how the household feline always, for some queer reason he could not explain, liked to sit by his desk when he was writing. As if it understood.
/Ken?/
He thought up the 'jammin' soccer player in his mind, the easy air Ken seemed to carry about him. The beaming indigo eyes and his brotherly grin. Deep inside although he hated to admit it, Ken was more emotionally stable than he was. Ken was simply not one who could hold darkness for long. The guy probably would not understand all the pain in his prose.
He thought up a line and wrote it down; reread what he just jotted down and frowned, drawing a sure, black line across it. Instead he wrote another phrase before he went back to his mulling.
[Likewise to paint pictures]
/Omi?/
The image of the angelic youngest member came to mind, and despite the fact that he was alone, he supressed a chuckle. The poor kid had just been enlightened rather roughly about his shameful heritage, and without asking he had known that it was very hard for Omi to accept, and personally, to deal with. To have the kid read one of his heavy, angst-ridden poems? Please.
It would be like kicking a wounded little kitten, and he inwardly grimaced. He was only sadistic to those who deserved it. Omi certainly did not.
[No eyes can behold.]
He frowned then, and tried to concentrate on other words, killing the peaceful running of his mind's wheels. There was one other Weiß member to consider, but he pushed the image away, knowing that there was nothing to consider to begin with.
[Yet my pen, it goes on writing
Ignoring command of my will
Taking heed instead from my spirit
Which I know will never still]
He sat back, the knit on his brow deepening. He was stuck in a rut, basically because this was the turning point of the poem. This was the part where every single phrase mattered.
He couldn't think.
/Youji?/
He shook his head. Oh, he didn't have to take Youji's character apart to know the lanky Casanova. Outright he was a happy-go-lucky, devil-may-care tramp who screwed and smoked like there was no tomorrow. Youji sucked compliments like a sponge and managed to ignore even the most barbed comments. He was very critical too; and the fool took for granted that SOMEBODY had the grace to stay up for him in the wee hours he came back from clubbing just so the front door would be locked properly.
How would HE of all people understand poetry, much less poetry by the one person in the world everyone would think of last?
[For I need no eyes to see me
Human hearts only betray
Uncomprehending in their darkness
the changing shades of gray.]
He looked at his tentative finish. It didn't seem right.
Just like the overbloomed rose or the firmly shut tulip, it had converted the essence of the poem entirely. Where it started light and somewhat wistful and melancholy, he had plunged it into an acidic comeback.
It was okay, but he didn't feel like it.
/Damn Youji./ He could imagine Youji clutching his sides in mirth, his burning cig falling unnoticed to the floor in his laughter. At his poem. At him.
Amethyst eyes hardened at the thought. Shit, if that happened, Weiß would be missing its signature playboy.
But then again, his burning thoughts stopped cold. Why did he CARE about what Youji thought, anyway? Why should he--
"Yo."
He was so deep in thought that the sudden interruption caused him to twitch a bit, startled--he was glad he was facing the window. He recognized that voice, and he fought the urge to sneer.
From his reflection on the glass, he saw a tall but slender frame leaning against the doorpost. The blonde was carrying something with both hands, and the house cat was busy trying to trip him at the feet.
Talk about the Devil himself.
"Knock, fool." He turned his head a little sideways and glared at his teammate from the corner of glittering violet eyes. His other hand moved to slowly close his journal.
"The door was open." Youji grinned and invited himself in, bending over to put the tray he was holding on the rectangular coffee table. The cat jumped up to his shoulders suddenly, nails digging into his light green polo shirt for stability.
"Still." He turned away and pretended to study his katana.
"You never seem to mind when the cat comes in uninvited," he shot back, settling himself on one of the attic's comfy old bean bags. "Besides, is that the way you thank a caring teammate?"
Aya turned his head once more and saw that Youji had brought two steaming cups of hot chocolate. Rich and brown and foamy, with tiny marshmellows floating on top. The sweet aroma got into him without warning, and he found himself wanting a drink. How had Youji known that he liked marshmellows on his drink?
"Swiss Miss for Marshmallow Lovers. Found a box at the convenience store the other day." The green eyed assassin reached out for one steaming mug and inhaled its chocolate fragrance.
"And only three pouches left! Out of twelve! The little fool might be behind this, I'll get Omi later on. Or maybe it was Ken." He put on a fierce look and tipped his cup, the cat on his shoulder trying to get a lap.
The quiet one looked away, smirking faintly, knowing he was guilty of the aforementioned crime. He just loved the way the marshmallows melted in his tongue...
/Youji made it./ The thought kept him at bay, and he pretended to be indifferent, still polishing his sword's sheath. But his purple gaze would unconsciously drift back to the steaming mugs.
Youji caught his look and grinned again. "Geez, you're looking as if I was that Schwartz nutcase and I just made you poisoned tea!" He took another long draught from his cup gingerly, and Aya found himself noting the delicate way his soft hair fell back when he tilted his head.
He started, pushing all thoughts of Youji's hair at the back of his mind. His teammate had a point there. Practically speaking, it was plainly a nice gesture by a concerned teammate.
/But if you knew what you made me do, fool, you'd understand./ Right now he felt too relaxed to be angry, and it was a friendly gesture to boot--who was he to turn away a friend?
Shrugging and putting down his sword, he said, "I guess you have a point." He got up and reached for the other mug, faintly aware that green eyes were watching through the rim of Youji's cup.
"What?" He snapped although it souned more annoyed than irritated.
Youji shrugged and put down his cup a moment to stroke the feline on his shoulder. "You just look cold, that's all."
Inwardly, he wished Youji would say something more...more...
/Poetic? Please. Who are you fooling, Fujimiya?/
"I didn't mean literally, of course, the heater's on," he continued, which made the redhead pause in his drinking. "Not stony either, that's your default mode. I mean COLD cold. Uh, shit, how do I say this..." He began to gesture, and Aya shook his head and made his way back to his sill.
"It's like...shit, you know I'm not good at this...like you're COLD, you know, shivering, deprived of warmth. You get my drift?"
Aya blinked. That had somehow struck a nerve. /Cold. Like a theatre without an audience. Without an audience. Without company. Company? Youji is... company?/
He looked at his blinking leader, and mistook his expression for puzzlement. He laughed then, and pulled the squirming cat off his shoulders. "Ah, never mind. It's just me."
There was silence, both concentrating on their drink. Something about warm marshmallow chocolate drinks and what Youji said melted one of the many layers of ice he had constructed around him.
"It's the rain."
An eyebrow raised in surprise. Clearly he did not expect an answer. "Yeah?"
Aya was still facing the window, and his gaze took in the rain-drenched world beneath him. "It makes you remember...think of things you don't want to think about."
/You can't bear to think about/ he thought, facing Youji.
His teammate's green eyes suddenly seemed to liquidate, and the mirth and the funny laughter he'd often see coating them melted to be replaced by a delicateness he did not know Youji was capable of.
"I know."
"Yeah?" The hidden inquiry in his tone was genuine; Aya was curious.
"Yeah. Believe me. I know." He turned his head to tickle the lounging housecat, but the tender, almost pained look in the green eyes remained.
"But," he continued, still not facing Aya, "it makes you think of other things too. Other things you've never thought of before. Not that you don't want to think them. It's just that...you've never considered them before."
He found his heart palpitating to every word Youji had said. "Never considered them before?"
"Hai." Youji pretended to stir the remaining contents of his mug with his teaspoon. That was when he looked up to meet Aya's lavender gaze, and what looked like a sad little smile crinkled his face.
"How does it feel when you come home from a mission?"
In the fuzzy warmth of the room and the hum of the rain outside, it seemed pretty much okay to pry with an otherwise touchy question. In the intimate conversation with a friend, it seemed okay to answer.
"Relieved. That I have another month's pay for Aya-chan in the hospital. And," he hesitated, honestly not knowing if it was the right answer for him or not. "Disgusted. Not at you guys or the mission."
//But at myself and everything I have done.//
"Aa." Youji's simple answer told him that he didn't have to continue because he understood perfectly. "So do I. That's why we try to find what comfort we can."
At that moment, Aya understood.
He understood everything. He understood why he was writing his poems, he understood why Youji had come up to bring him hot chocolate without even being asked. He understood the meaning of his friend's wistful green eyes.
And because he understood, for a teeny, tiny moment, he became Ran again. And it warmed him, and flattered him, like it never warmed him before. And he was a little bit frightened as well.
//But I'm not worth anyone's time.//
"Hey Aya, I..."
He knew what was coming, and he feared he wasn't ready for it. So he reacted automatically the best way he could; he froze up again, involuntarily.
"Hn."
He knew the moment the words left his lips that it was the wrong thing to say. He knew that he deserved a kick for that barbed comment, for pulling back from something he had wanted to succumb to in the first place.
For hurting someone who he just realized was as as scarred as he was.
He turned away, not wanting to see Youji's pained eyes, furthermore not wanting him to see it reflected, amplified, in his violet ones.
"Okay."
He heard the lanky man sigh, very softly, and the soft tinker as the tray was lifted off. Soft feet padded through the carpeting, and he knew he had to let himself go just this once at least, because a roomful of words would not substitute for a friend's silent presence in the room.
"Hey," he called out, whispered, really, but it was all he could seem to manage to do in the moment. His closing throat refused to cooperate, and he sipped his drink again to relax himself.
The footfalls paused. Then they continued out the room.
He let out a sigh. This time he had succeeded in choking himself in his own ice. Fujimiya Aya looked back out into the rain-slicked world, feeling it none the different from the chill inside him.
//Nice try,// he told himself, //But really, you're not worth hanging around for. You really are disgusting. You kill people you don't even know, physically...worse you kill those who really know you as we--//
He started faintly when he heard the soft scrape of plastic on the floor, and turned to see Youji pulling a beanbag over. The tall assassin then plopped down on it comfortably, trackpant-clad legs splayed out, hands still clutching his mug.
The silver tray was by his side on the floor; as Aya sat, blinking, Youji gave him a smirk and settled down. When he leaned against the wall, his shoulders brushed against Aya's side.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the endless patter of rain on the gray June afternoon gently smothering their shallow breathing. Strangely Aya felt more comfortable.
But the voices in his head did not stop their taunting.
"Youji..." he started softly, gathering the butterflies he didn't know existed in the pit of his stomach , turning to the taller Weiß sitting on the beanbag below him.
"Nnnh." Soft lashes on gently closed lids hid the otherwise verdant green eyes, and his chest rose and fell in a sleep-induced rhythm. His empty mug was clasped firmly in his hands, and when Aya shifted a bit to face him, his head nodded to the side and came to rest against his leader's elbow.
His initial reaction was to push Youji away from the sudden contact, but he was glad that his senses were a little muddled. He simply stared at the sleeping man below him, oblivious to the world.
Slowly, he removed his arm, so that the slumbering head now came to rest against his side. Youji wasn't doing this to tease him; he was simply answering to the subconscious need for human warmth.
"You looked cold too, Youji," he murmured in realization, tentatively stroking aside a stray lock that fell on his friend's face.
One of his rare smiles lit his face then.
He knew how to end is poem perfectly.
~~~~~~~~~
"Yo-tan! A-yan! Omittchi! You guys! I got a couple of videos y'all might want to watch since we can't go out because of the small typhoon. I got--"
Ken pulled off his rain boots and left his poncho on the kitchen door's coatrack and rumaged through the plastic bag he held under his jacket.
"I got The Star Wars Trilogy plus Episodes I and II, Face/Off, The Best of J-Lea--this is mine... Tomcats for you, Youji, and ..."
When all he got was silence, Ken frowned. He clutched his haul and went up the stairs. Their rooms were empty too. With a hunch in his mind, Ken made his way up the almost-hidden winding staircase to the loft.
"Guys? You in there? Aya, sorry Crimson Tide's been rented out but I--"
"Shhh!"
Omi was at the doorway of the attic, a silencing finger on his pursed lips. Ken figured that he went looking for the other two Weiß as well, and when Omi beckoned him silently to come over, he knew he found them.
"What?"
"Don't yell around the house." Omi smiled, and opened the door wider.
The redhead was dozing on his perch on the wide window sill, while his taller companion sat on the beanbag, head leaning restfully against the redhead's side.
A pale hand fell protectively against what looked like a journal, and the other held an empty red mug. The housecat was dozing on the sill beside the redhead as well, but the moment Ken and Omi walked in, it blinked a golden eye and leapt up to Ken's arms, purring quietly as if it knew that noise would distrub sleep.
"They look peaceful."
"Hai."
Omi shivered. "Won't they be cold?"
Ken's indigo eyes scanned the two slumbering forms by the window. He smiled to himself and turned Omi around with his free arm.
"Nah. I don't think so. I am though. Let's go make dinner before they wake."
"What makes you say that, Ken?" Omi tried to turn around, but Ken had closed the door softly.
A twinkle in his eye. "I can tell."
~~~~~~~~~~~
[Yet I continue with the thought
That someone knows my silent art
For what words are needed when one
Knows me inside this cold heart?
I need not show you all my soul
Or what it has to say
For words are words and they disappear
But you're the only one who stays.]
Steam continued to rise from the long-since empty mugs of hot chocolate as the two weary little kittens slept peacefully beside each other. Warmed.
##### OWARI #####
Author's notes: *drifts newspaper boats down the rain gutter* Huh? Oh. Gomen. *gets up* Hope you liked that little piece. ^_^ Just a few notes. Star Wars (*_*), Face/Off are two of my favorite movies, and they belong to their owners. So do Tomcats, Crimson Tide and Swiss Miss Marshmallow. (I love.) It's nice if you've read RAIN, a Schwartz fic I've posted up here, because you'll probably get the Crimson Tide thing. ^_~ And the ABYSSINIAN chapter of WHITE KITTENS too. Not to endorse, of course. Love Aya peoples, and I'd love to hear your comments. Now I really gotta go... *looks up at the sky* It looks rather overcast, and I didn't bring an umbrella. Oh yeah. *thinks* before I leave... this one's dedicated to Schuschu and Micchy--you guys know who you are.