A/N: ^^;;; Eh... I am very deeply sorry for being so goddamn slow. Mind you, I wrote this chapter about three times over and was never satisfied. Tells something about how I rarely write from Yoji's POV and the way I am a bit too critical about my own work. This version, anyhow, is the combination of all those three other versions, and I hope it doesn't stink.
Yup, yup. Now go and read it.
~*~*~*~*~
Write It Down
Chapter 3 : Result
A mad Aya was always a funny thing to look at. All that fury that was burning in those eyes was somehow amusing and kind of intimidating at the same time, and yet I had to stare back and grin like an idiot. Of course he shooed me with just one look but I, once again, enjoyed the fact that I had managed to make him pissed. And as a first thing in the morning, too. This was becoming a good day.
It was funny to see how Aya actually bothered to concentrate on my request. It wasn't like I had expected him to write a single word for me. Anyhow, he had promised to, and I was going to take care that he really did. Even if my ass wasn't on the line there, I still would have made sure that Aya wrote every single word very carefully and professionally.
What made this even more entertaining was, that I knew Aya did not write of romantic issues. The man was a walking lump of angst and self-hatred, I had read enough of his supposedly secret little musings to know. It was about time for him to change a little.
As I walked down the stairs I couldn't help but to grin to myself. Since Aya had slept late, I had to take his shift; a little something Aya would never forgive me. Not even after he had ran after me with his precious katana and sliced my head with it. Not that I was too thrilled of having a morning shift, though, but since I was awake I could as well make it. And I would be rewarded with Aya's 'I hate you even in the afterlife, forever'-glare, so it was worth it.
Ken was already downstairs, sweeping the floor as I told him that I would share the shift with him. Truth to be said he was outwardly surprised to see me up this early and about to die when I told him that Aya had slept late. I made a random mocking comment about how the little sleeping beauty had forgotten that one hundred years had already gone by and went to get my apron.
Working from nine o'clock until noon was tiring. I hadn't remembered why I hated the morning shifts above all until I almost fell asleep on the counter sometime before eleven. I stuffed my face with coffee so strong I was afraid that if it attacked it would harm me more than Aya would.
It was difficult staying awake 'til midday but somehow I managed. At exactly twelve o'clock I threw away the apron and headed towards the stairs, the only wish I had in my head being a possibility to get some sleep.
I stumbled down few steps after bumping into Aya who was coming down the stairs. He glared at me just as I had thought he would and told me to get out of his way. I obeyed nicely, and offered the little cranky redhead some room to pass me by. Just before his feet landed onto the floorboard, I remembered something.
"How's my poem coming up?" I asked with a tired smirk.
"It isn't," he retorted and tried to leave it to that.
"I need it tonight, Aya. I need it-" I took a quick look at my watch "- in about seven hours. Do you think you can do that?"
"Who knows," he said apathetically and tried to leave again.
"Aya, the team'll be down by a member if that poem isn't ready by eight," I informed him, hoping that referring to the possible dysfunction of the team would hit the right button. It did.
"Don't come crying when that fluff of yours, pardon me, -mine- doesn't please your friend," he sighed – Had he been doing that a lot lately, or was I just imagining? – and walked off.
I had to smile to myself, once again. When had Aya become so easy to persuade, anyway? Maybe it was the little, silly romantic inside him that had only searched for its chance and had now found it. I snorted at the idea of Aya on his knees below a balcony uttering mindless yadda-yadda of whole-hearted love to the subject of his desires.
Of course, I could have written the damn poem myself, and it probably would have been the right thing to do, but since my poetic side had been crushed years ago at school after the first poem I had ever written and read out loud, I had found it safer to make a talented amateur to write instead of me.
There had also been a chance that I would have snatched one of Aya's books and quoted some of the poets such as Shakespeare, but I knew my ladyfriend was a dedicated friend of poetry and would definitely notice the fraud. That was when my ass would be grass. Sure, I had been an idiot telling her that I was quite a poet myself – a man who writes poetry and deals with flowers attracts women in mysterious ways – but what wouldn't the infamous Kudou Yoji do in order to get what he wanted from a woman?
After another yawn escaped me I remembered that I had been extremely tired few moments ago and wanted to sleep. Now that I had successfully reminded myself about it, I dragged myself up the stairs, feeling more tired after every step and collapsed straight down to my bed once I was close enough to it to do so without missing the mattress.
~
My inner clock woke me up five minutes before seven, just in time to get ready for my date and to go and threaten Aya if he hadn't even started with the piece of lyricism. I headed to shower, then dried my hair and dressed up. After a quick look into the mirror I brushed my hair a couple times more and when satisfied with the gorgeous man staring back at me from the mirror, winked at it and headed to Aya.
On my way there a silly idea hit me and I laughed inside because of it. It was as if I was taking Aya out. Funny.
I knocked on his door and heard him say something. I took it as an invitation and opened the door I knew was never locked, but only closed. I saw Aya sitting on the windowsill, apparently brooding for some Aya-reason. He looked kind of creepy there, like a ghost of some sort.
I coughed. "My poem?"
He lifted a piece of paper between his fore- and indexfinger, without saying a word; only staring out of the window.
I took a couple steps forward and tried to take the paper, but Aya pulled it back. I shot him a mean glare and demanded for an explanation.
"What will you pay me?" he asked, still staring outside, completely ignoring my presence.
"You can get a sense of a job well-done. That's all I can afford," I told him and tried to grasp the paper again. Aya was good at keeping it out of my reach.
"Then you will get a dream of a poem well-written," he said, very bad attempt of a joke there, and squeezed the paper into a tiny ball.
I made a few calculations in my head and decided that my date would have to be satisfied with a bucket of flowers snatched from our shop. I had to hope that Aya wouldn't notice though.
I sighed, the habit had stuck on me, too, because of Aya, and said: "You can have my flowers."
"What?" he asked, now bothering to look at me. Even though a better description would be 'stare at me in disbelief'.
"In cash, of course," I clarified and handed him the yens I had saved for the bucket.
Always so fond of money, he counted the amount and was seemingly satisfied. I could only imagine that he was considering to start a career as a paid writer. Maybe he could start living a triple life; assassin at night, florist in the morning and a writer in the afternoon. The evenings would be sanctified for counting the money.
In exchange for the money, he handed me the scrambled paper. I read it through a couple of times and had a hard time believing Aya had actually written it. It was short, very fluffy, and exactly what I had requested. Just to be sure, I read it out loud and watched Aya's reaction. If he didn't show any sign of recognition towards the text I would suspect he had copied it from someone.
"What is love?
How can one describe it?" I read. Aya turned his face back towards the window and the view outside.
"To me
Love is what I see when I look at you
When I gaze into your eyes
When I admire your delicate figure," I continued. Was that a faint pink hue on Aya's cheeks I saw?
"When the moon illuminates your being
That is when I know
What love is," I finished and had a little dramatic pause before saying anything else.
Aya was apparently seeing something extremely interesting outside, since his eyes were fixed on something that could be seen from the window. Or maybe he was just marveling at the window pane.
"This is very, very tacky, Aya," I told him and he only nodded.
"Isn't that what you requested?"
"Yeah," I mumbled. "Thanks. I'll tell you what she thinks."
"Don't bother," he told me and I took it as a good moment to leave the room.
As I had already walked out of the door, he called after me and said something I couldn't hear properly. I returned and asked him to say it again.
"Don't even think of stealing flowers from the shop," he repeated.
Damn.
~*~
You can only guess how long it takes me to write a poem like that. Believe it or not I am everything else but a romantic (exception for those little stupid moments every now and then) and it takes me quite some time to get settled as someone else and write the way they might write. Except that Aya wouldn't write like that.
Or would he...?
Reviews still appreciated.
Yup, yup. Now go and read it.
~*~*~*~*~
Write It Down
Chapter 3 : Result
A mad Aya was always a funny thing to look at. All that fury that was burning in those eyes was somehow amusing and kind of intimidating at the same time, and yet I had to stare back and grin like an idiot. Of course he shooed me with just one look but I, once again, enjoyed the fact that I had managed to make him pissed. And as a first thing in the morning, too. This was becoming a good day.
It was funny to see how Aya actually bothered to concentrate on my request. It wasn't like I had expected him to write a single word for me. Anyhow, he had promised to, and I was going to take care that he really did. Even if my ass wasn't on the line there, I still would have made sure that Aya wrote every single word very carefully and professionally.
What made this even more entertaining was, that I knew Aya did not write of romantic issues. The man was a walking lump of angst and self-hatred, I had read enough of his supposedly secret little musings to know. It was about time for him to change a little.
As I walked down the stairs I couldn't help but to grin to myself. Since Aya had slept late, I had to take his shift; a little something Aya would never forgive me. Not even after he had ran after me with his precious katana and sliced my head with it. Not that I was too thrilled of having a morning shift, though, but since I was awake I could as well make it. And I would be rewarded with Aya's 'I hate you even in the afterlife, forever'-glare, so it was worth it.
Ken was already downstairs, sweeping the floor as I told him that I would share the shift with him. Truth to be said he was outwardly surprised to see me up this early and about to die when I told him that Aya had slept late. I made a random mocking comment about how the little sleeping beauty had forgotten that one hundred years had already gone by and went to get my apron.
Working from nine o'clock until noon was tiring. I hadn't remembered why I hated the morning shifts above all until I almost fell asleep on the counter sometime before eleven. I stuffed my face with coffee so strong I was afraid that if it attacked it would harm me more than Aya would.
It was difficult staying awake 'til midday but somehow I managed. At exactly twelve o'clock I threw away the apron and headed towards the stairs, the only wish I had in my head being a possibility to get some sleep.
I stumbled down few steps after bumping into Aya who was coming down the stairs. He glared at me just as I had thought he would and told me to get out of his way. I obeyed nicely, and offered the little cranky redhead some room to pass me by. Just before his feet landed onto the floorboard, I remembered something.
"How's my poem coming up?" I asked with a tired smirk.
"It isn't," he retorted and tried to leave it to that.
"I need it tonight, Aya. I need it-" I took a quick look at my watch "- in about seven hours. Do you think you can do that?"
"Who knows," he said apathetically and tried to leave again.
"Aya, the team'll be down by a member if that poem isn't ready by eight," I informed him, hoping that referring to the possible dysfunction of the team would hit the right button. It did.
"Don't come crying when that fluff of yours, pardon me, -mine- doesn't please your friend," he sighed – Had he been doing that a lot lately, or was I just imagining? – and walked off.
I had to smile to myself, once again. When had Aya become so easy to persuade, anyway? Maybe it was the little, silly romantic inside him that had only searched for its chance and had now found it. I snorted at the idea of Aya on his knees below a balcony uttering mindless yadda-yadda of whole-hearted love to the subject of his desires.
Of course, I could have written the damn poem myself, and it probably would have been the right thing to do, but since my poetic side had been crushed years ago at school after the first poem I had ever written and read out loud, I had found it safer to make a talented amateur to write instead of me.
There had also been a chance that I would have snatched one of Aya's books and quoted some of the poets such as Shakespeare, but I knew my ladyfriend was a dedicated friend of poetry and would definitely notice the fraud. That was when my ass would be grass. Sure, I had been an idiot telling her that I was quite a poet myself – a man who writes poetry and deals with flowers attracts women in mysterious ways – but what wouldn't the infamous Kudou Yoji do in order to get what he wanted from a woman?
After another yawn escaped me I remembered that I had been extremely tired few moments ago and wanted to sleep. Now that I had successfully reminded myself about it, I dragged myself up the stairs, feeling more tired after every step and collapsed straight down to my bed once I was close enough to it to do so without missing the mattress.
~
My inner clock woke me up five minutes before seven, just in time to get ready for my date and to go and threaten Aya if he hadn't even started with the piece of lyricism. I headed to shower, then dried my hair and dressed up. After a quick look into the mirror I brushed my hair a couple times more and when satisfied with the gorgeous man staring back at me from the mirror, winked at it and headed to Aya.
On my way there a silly idea hit me and I laughed inside because of it. It was as if I was taking Aya out. Funny.
I knocked on his door and heard him say something. I took it as an invitation and opened the door I knew was never locked, but only closed. I saw Aya sitting on the windowsill, apparently brooding for some Aya-reason. He looked kind of creepy there, like a ghost of some sort.
I coughed. "My poem?"
He lifted a piece of paper between his fore- and indexfinger, without saying a word; only staring out of the window.
I took a couple steps forward and tried to take the paper, but Aya pulled it back. I shot him a mean glare and demanded for an explanation.
"What will you pay me?" he asked, still staring outside, completely ignoring my presence.
"You can get a sense of a job well-done. That's all I can afford," I told him and tried to grasp the paper again. Aya was good at keeping it out of my reach.
"Then you will get a dream of a poem well-written," he said, very bad attempt of a joke there, and squeezed the paper into a tiny ball.
I made a few calculations in my head and decided that my date would have to be satisfied with a bucket of flowers snatched from our shop. I had to hope that Aya wouldn't notice though.
I sighed, the habit had stuck on me, too, because of Aya, and said: "You can have my flowers."
"What?" he asked, now bothering to look at me. Even though a better description would be 'stare at me in disbelief'.
"In cash, of course," I clarified and handed him the yens I had saved for the bucket.
Always so fond of money, he counted the amount and was seemingly satisfied. I could only imagine that he was considering to start a career as a paid writer. Maybe he could start living a triple life; assassin at night, florist in the morning and a writer in the afternoon. The evenings would be sanctified for counting the money.
In exchange for the money, he handed me the scrambled paper. I read it through a couple of times and had a hard time believing Aya had actually written it. It was short, very fluffy, and exactly what I had requested. Just to be sure, I read it out loud and watched Aya's reaction. If he didn't show any sign of recognition towards the text I would suspect he had copied it from someone.
"What is love?
How can one describe it?" I read. Aya turned his face back towards the window and the view outside.
"To me
Love is what I see when I look at you
When I gaze into your eyes
When I admire your delicate figure," I continued. Was that a faint pink hue on Aya's cheeks I saw?
"When the moon illuminates your being
That is when I know
What love is," I finished and had a little dramatic pause before saying anything else.
Aya was apparently seeing something extremely interesting outside, since his eyes were fixed on something that could be seen from the window. Or maybe he was just marveling at the window pane.
"This is very, very tacky, Aya," I told him and he only nodded.
"Isn't that what you requested?"
"Yeah," I mumbled. "Thanks. I'll tell you what she thinks."
"Don't bother," he told me and I took it as a good moment to leave the room.
As I had already walked out of the door, he called after me and said something I couldn't hear properly. I returned and asked him to say it again.
"Don't even think of stealing flowers from the shop," he repeated.
Damn.
~*~
You can only guess how long it takes me to write a poem like that. Believe it or not I am everything else but a romantic (exception for those little stupid moments every now and then) and it takes me quite some time to get settled as someone else and write the way they might write. Except that Aya wouldn't write like that.
Or would he...?
Reviews still appreciated.