------
Ten
------
Youji stretched under the thin blankets on his bed, the angle of the sun through his bedroom window promising a late morning. The shop was closed for the day, he remembered muzzily and rolled over, burying his head between his arm and the pillow, blocking out the cloud filtered rays of sickening brightness.
He slipped back into a light doze, mind drifting as his body started to wake. Fuzzy images of the dream he'd been having floated back to him. The dreams had been the same for the past few nights. Nightmares had woken him more than once, and fantasies found him awake in the morning with a rock hard erection that was not just a typical example of morning wood.
Since Aya had left, Youji had found his sleep haunted by the redhead.
Half awake, Youji grasped at the remains of the dream that had been shattered by the screech of tires and the sound of breaking glass outside his window on the busy street adjacent to the koneko. The images did not return, leaving the blonde with only a vague impression of what had played through his mind.
He knew it had involved Aya, like most of his dreams over the past nights. And judging by the hardness he was pressing into the mattress, it had been a rather pleasant experience. No sense in wasting it he thought as he rolled over, kicking the covers aside as he turned.
Youji skimmed his hands over his chest, banishing all thoughts from his mind, focusing only on giving himself pleasure. Nothing existed beyond himself and his bed, the world outside fading away as he slowly increased his own arousal. His fingers danced over his chest, tracing the lines of his ribs, perhaps too visible under his skin, the faint line of a scar from a knife, a more obvious scar where he'd caught the edge of a katana when he'd been a bit careless and it's wielder too deep in righteous murderous rage.
Down to his belly button, body growing tense and damp, Youji skimmed his palms down his thighs, then brought one back to up to his chest as the other gently fisted around his erection, moaning as he gave in to one firm, satisfying stroke, before leaving off. He wanted to enjoy it.
Youji drew his feet up, planting them on the mattress, knees bent, allowing his hips to arch against the teasing strokes of his hand. He'd used that same touch on Aya, light, fleeting passes that never failed to set the swordsman squirming. With his free hand he groped under his head for the lube he knew was lurking there. His busy hand drifted down to caress his balls when he produced the fat tube, a soft groan escaping his lips as he fondled himself.
With the pad of his thumb, Youji flipped the cap on the tube, squeezing from the top of the tube until a line appeared on his finger while he stroked himself with his other hand. He tossed the tube aside and smeared the lube over his hand, reaching down to the silk-sheathed hardness between his legs.
He left off the teasing, his slicked hand easily gliding over his erection, long firm strokes from root to tip, a nudge to push aside the foreskin, a swirl over the leaking head to spread the clear fluid, another stroke. Slowly Youji increased his pace, his hips arching up to meet his hand on every downward stroke.
Youji came with a grunt, ribbons of white splattering his chest and hand. Limply, he flopped back against the soft mattress, hands falling to his sides while he regained his breath. It only took a moment, wide green eyes staring up at the ceiling, too sated even to reach for the cigarettes on the table next to the bed.
It was good, the release. Almost every morning for the past several he'd woken himself up that way, but it didn't seem to help, only brought reality crashing down around him again. Aya was gone. Youji had no one but himself to blame, and the indulgence in a little morning wank was just a poignant reminder of what he was missing. What he had driven away.
And yet he did it anyway. Maybe it was torture, maybe it was a reminder. His tattoo read "When You Gonna Learn?" Apparently, he still hadn't.
With a sigh, Youji pulled himself up to sitting, running his clean hand through his hair and over his face. He frowned at the drying mess on his torso, reaching for a cigarette and his lighter. He lit it up and inhaled deeply, blowing the smoke up toward the ceiling. He smoked without thinking until the cigarette was burned down, mesmerized by the ladder of smoke curling up to the ceiling.
Nicotine fix satisfied, Youji headed for the shower. The rest of the house was quiet. It was late in the morning, Omi already packed off for school, Ken out and about somewhere. They had agreed to close the shop for the day, making something of a three day weekend.
Manx had come by at closing, just like she always did, the day Aya had left. Ken had just gotten home from practice and Youji hadn't had the chance to tell him what had happened before Manx gave them the details.
Aya had been reassigned. Youji wondered if Aya'd requested it, but didn't ask and Manx didn't say. While Kritiker decided what to do with them the three remaining assassins were on something of a break. No missions, no reports, no shifts in the shop if they could work it out amongst themselves. Persia's secretary had given them the go ahead to take an actual vacation.
Part of Youji wondered what the break was all about. Were they going to find a replacement for Aya? Sure, Ken, Omi and he had worked as a good team before, but Aya had made them better, had given them the leadership that they'd needed to become an actual team. And it was true that they had managed the shop before, without Aya, but adding the redhead to the mix, someone with an eye for flowers and design, as well as business and accounting, had made the small cover business flourish, and Youji was working twice as hard as he'd ever had to before, since they'd become so popular.
He stood under the hot spray, letting the heat melt away some of the tension in his shoulders. He had been working hard, working double shifts, and for once not minding. Keeping busy kept him from thinking. Keeping busy kept him too tired to go out and drink at night. So he drank alone in his room, sitting at the window, blowing smoke outside, drowning his memories, fears, and anger in whatever he could pick up at the market down the street on his "lunch break".
Flipping the taps off with one hand, Youji reached for his towel, scrubbing it over his hair before wrapping it around his waist. He stepped out of the shower, puddling the floor where he dripped, crossing to the mirror over the sink. With a damp palm, Youji wiped some of the fog off the mirror, staring at his reflection.
He growled at the tired man looking back at him before sticking his toothbrush in his mouth and avoiding his gaze in the polished silver. He scrubbed away the fuzz of the previous night's binge; it worried him that he couldn't quite remember what he had drank. But at least it had been at home, with no danger of hurting anyone when he tried to drive home.
Youji left the door to the bathroom open to vent as he padded back down the hall to his room. He had plans for his day off. He needed to blow off some steam. His plans included shopping, wandering, and just being out of the house for the day. He pulled on a pair of tight fitting, low slung jeans, the only type he owned except for one pair at the back of his closet. A black turtleneck in deference to the chill autumn air and his boots finished off the ensemble.
Cigarettes, lighter, and keys found his way into his pockets. A wad of cash joined them. Youji didn't like to carry a wallet; they were too bulky and cumbersome for his tastes. Since he was walking, he left his I.D. where he'd discarded it the night before. No sense in carrying around more than he had to. He pulled a light jacket from his closet, draping it over his arm as he pulled his bedroom door shut behind him.
Passing up the kitchen in favor of grabbing something out, Youji headed out the back door, ever present sunglasses slid on to block the sun. Taking a deep breath of the crisp fall air, Youji set out on his day of wandering.
The koneko was part of the local business district, set toward the middle of the shops. Youji picked a direction and leisurely strolled, ducking into whatever shops looked interesting, some actually on his mental list of places to go.
Several productive hours later, bags dangling from his wrist, Youji fished in his pocket for his cigarettes, lighting one up before zipping his light jacket and resuming his idle roaming. He let his mind wander as he walked, not thinking of anything in particular, and trying not to think of someone in particular. Eyes hidden behind sunglasses flickered from side to side, the paranoid assassin within him keeping track of his surroundings at all times.
He paused at a street corner, waiting for the light to turn in his favor. Youji glanced around the people out on the streets, scanning out of habit. His heart skipped a beat when he passed over a shock of red hair, a familiar orange sweater.
Aya.
He hadn't expected to see Aya in Tokyo. Youji had expected the prick to have left the city, maybe even the country.
The redhead was going in a direction perpendicular to Youji's own, headed out of the shopping district. On impulse, Youji stepped into the street and followed, not really knowing why. Aya was easy enough to tail, standing out the way he did. Strangely enough, he didn't appear to be worried about being tailed, either, as Youji, though he was prepared to, never had to duck into a shop or alley to not be seen.
Youji was still angry with Aya, still internally seething that he could get up and walk away without a word to his teammates. He wanted to know why Aya had left, wanted to shake him, demand a reason why he had walked out on them, on him.
He followed Aya to the Magic Bus hospital. It was Kritiker's hospital, more or less. Weiss knew they could go there for medical attention, none of the normal questions asked, which was good, when you considered most of their injuries. But why was Aya going to the hospital? Had he been holding out on them? Not telling the team about something, some health problem that could have put all of their lives in danger?
Youji felt himself grow angry again. If the prick had endangered Ken and Omi by not disclosing information –
At the same instant, a trill of fear ran down his spine. What if something was wrong with Aya? Why hadn't he told them?
Youji pulled away from that line of thinking, bolstering up the anger to override the fear. Aya didn't care about him or the rest of the team; he'd proven that when he'd walked out without a word. Why should Youji waste his energy wondering what the prick was trying to hide?
As he loitered in the waiting area, Youji noticed that Aya breezed past the security and nurses station. Was he that familiar to them that they didn't even look up at the unusual coloring? Youji himself waited a moment, until a concerned visitor approached the nurses station and started asking questions. With the single nurse on duty, Youji just pretended to know where he was going and wasn't stopped. He followed Aya up two flights of stairs, lingering at the top before stepping into the hall while Aya ducked into a room.
Youji ventured out, crossing the hallway in a few long strides. The name plate on the door read Fujimiya Aya.
"The bastard," Youji muttered under his breath. The fuck. The nerve. Youji peeked around the edge of the large window set in the door.
And stared.
A young girl was stretched out on a bed, blue-black hair laying in braids over her shoulders, the ends rising and falling with each breath. The familiar head of red hair was held in pale hands, elbows propped on the edge of the girl's bed as Aya sat in a chair.
Youji spun away from the window, slouching slightly against the wall. Aya wasn't Aya? The blonde suddenly craved a cigarette, but couldn't fathom moving away from the door. Who was the girl and why did she have the same name as his sword wielding teammate? Why was Aya sitting so dejectedly at her bedside?
He turned back to the window, looking just past the frame set in the door. Aya had moved, holding the girls hand in his own, rather than propping up his head. Youji could see, even from the bad angle, the faint working of Aya's jaw.
Who was this girl that Aya could talk to? A girlfriend, relative – wife? Youji pulled back from the window once more, wishing even more for a smoke. How was it that Aya, who never talked to anyone if he could help it, could talk to this girl, when the people he lived with would go days at a time without hearing the sound of his voice?
Why did Youji care? Why did his heart go out to the man sitting in that bleak room, why, against Youji's better judgment did he want to draw Aya into his arms and tell him that no matter what everything would be okay?
Why, with every day that went by, did the anger slip farther away, leaving only an empty hole within him?
Ten
------
Youji stretched under the thin blankets on his bed, the angle of the sun through his bedroom window promising a late morning. The shop was closed for the day, he remembered muzzily and rolled over, burying his head between his arm and the pillow, blocking out the cloud filtered rays of sickening brightness.
He slipped back into a light doze, mind drifting as his body started to wake. Fuzzy images of the dream he'd been having floated back to him. The dreams had been the same for the past few nights. Nightmares had woken him more than once, and fantasies found him awake in the morning with a rock hard erection that was not just a typical example of morning wood.
Since Aya had left, Youji had found his sleep haunted by the redhead.
Half awake, Youji grasped at the remains of the dream that had been shattered by the screech of tires and the sound of breaking glass outside his window on the busy street adjacent to the koneko. The images did not return, leaving the blonde with only a vague impression of what had played through his mind.
He knew it had involved Aya, like most of his dreams over the past nights. And judging by the hardness he was pressing into the mattress, it had been a rather pleasant experience. No sense in wasting it he thought as he rolled over, kicking the covers aside as he turned.
Youji skimmed his hands over his chest, banishing all thoughts from his mind, focusing only on giving himself pleasure. Nothing existed beyond himself and his bed, the world outside fading away as he slowly increased his own arousal. His fingers danced over his chest, tracing the lines of his ribs, perhaps too visible under his skin, the faint line of a scar from a knife, a more obvious scar where he'd caught the edge of a katana when he'd been a bit careless and it's wielder too deep in righteous murderous rage.
Down to his belly button, body growing tense and damp, Youji skimmed his palms down his thighs, then brought one back to up to his chest as the other gently fisted around his erection, moaning as he gave in to one firm, satisfying stroke, before leaving off. He wanted to enjoy it.
Youji drew his feet up, planting them on the mattress, knees bent, allowing his hips to arch against the teasing strokes of his hand. He'd used that same touch on Aya, light, fleeting passes that never failed to set the swordsman squirming. With his free hand he groped under his head for the lube he knew was lurking there. His busy hand drifted down to caress his balls when he produced the fat tube, a soft groan escaping his lips as he fondled himself.
With the pad of his thumb, Youji flipped the cap on the tube, squeezing from the top of the tube until a line appeared on his finger while he stroked himself with his other hand. He tossed the tube aside and smeared the lube over his hand, reaching down to the silk-sheathed hardness between his legs.
He left off the teasing, his slicked hand easily gliding over his erection, long firm strokes from root to tip, a nudge to push aside the foreskin, a swirl over the leaking head to spread the clear fluid, another stroke. Slowly Youji increased his pace, his hips arching up to meet his hand on every downward stroke.
Youji came with a grunt, ribbons of white splattering his chest and hand. Limply, he flopped back against the soft mattress, hands falling to his sides while he regained his breath. It only took a moment, wide green eyes staring up at the ceiling, too sated even to reach for the cigarettes on the table next to the bed.
It was good, the release. Almost every morning for the past several he'd woken himself up that way, but it didn't seem to help, only brought reality crashing down around him again. Aya was gone. Youji had no one but himself to blame, and the indulgence in a little morning wank was just a poignant reminder of what he was missing. What he had driven away.
And yet he did it anyway. Maybe it was torture, maybe it was a reminder. His tattoo read "When You Gonna Learn?" Apparently, he still hadn't.
With a sigh, Youji pulled himself up to sitting, running his clean hand through his hair and over his face. He frowned at the drying mess on his torso, reaching for a cigarette and his lighter. He lit it up and inhaled deeply, blowing the smoke up toward the ceiling. He smoked without thinking until the cigarette was burned down, mesmerized by the ladder of smoke curling up to the ceiling.
Nicotine fix satisfied, Youji headed for the shower. The rest of the house was quiet. It was late in the morning, Omi already packed off for school, Ken out and about somewhere. They had agreed to close the shop for the day, making something of a three day weekend.
Manx had come by at closing, just like she always did, the day Aya had left. Ken had just gotten home from practice and Youji hadn't had the chance to tell him what had happened before Manx gave them the details.
Aya had been reassigned. Youji wondered if Aya'd requested it, but didn't ask and Manx didn't say. While Kritiker decided what to do with them the three remaining assassins were on something of a break. No missions, no reports, no shifts in the shop if they could work it out amongst themselves. Persia's secretary had given them the go ahead to take an actual vacation.
Part of Youji wondered what the break was all about. Were they going to find a replacement for Aya? Sure, Ken, Omi and he had worked as a good team before, but Aya had made them better, had given them the leadership that they'd needed to become an actual team. And it was true that they had managed the shop before, without Aya, but adding the redhead to the mix, someone with an eye for flowers and design, as well as business and accounting, had made the small cover business flourish, and Youji was working twice as hard as he'd ever had to before, since they'd become so popular.
He stood under the hot spray, letting the heat melt away some of the tension in his shoulders. He had been working hard, working double shifts, and for once not minding. Keeping busy kept him from thinking. Keeping busy kept him too tired to go out and drink at night. So he drank alone in his room, sitting at the window, blowing smoke outside, drowning his memories, fears, and anger in whatever he could pick up at the market down the street on his "lunch break".
Flipping the taps off with one hand, Youji reached for his towel, scrubbing it over his hair before wrapping it around his waist. He stepped out of the shower, puddling the floor where he dripped, crossing to the mirror over the sink. With a damp palm, Youji wiped some of the fog off the mirror, staring at his reflection.
He growled at the tired man looking back at him before sticking his toothbrush in his mouth and avoiding his gaze in the polished silver. He scrubbed away the fuzz of the previous night's binge; it worried him that he couldn't quite remember what he had drank. But at least it had been at home, with no danger of hurting anyone when he tried to drive home.
Youji left the door to the bathroom open to vent as he padded back down the hall to his room. He had plans for his day off. He needed to blow off some steam. His plans included shopping, wandering, and just being out of the house for the day. He pulled on a pair of tight fitting, low slung jeans, the only type he owned except for one pair at the back of his closet. A black turtleneck in deference to the chill autumn air and his boots finished off the ensemble.
Cigarettes, lighter, and keys found his way into his pockets. A wad of cash joined them. Youji didn't like to carry a wallet; they were too bulky and cumbersome for his tastes. Since he was walking, he left his I.D. where he'd discarded it the night before. No sense in carrying around more than he had to. He pulled a light jacket from his closet, draping it over his arm as he pulled his bedroom door shut behind him.
Passing up the kitchen in favor of grabbing something out, Youji headed out the back door, ever present sunglasses slid on to block the sun. Taking a deep breath of the crisp fall air, Youji set out on his day of wandering.
The koneko was part of the local business district, set toward the middle of the shops. Youji picked a direction and leisurely strolled, ducking into whatever shops looked interesting, some actually on his mental list of places to go.
Several productive hours later, bags dangling from his wrist, Youji fished in his pocket for his cigarettes, lighting one up before zipping his light jacket and resuming his idle roaming. He let his mind wander as he walked, not thinking of anything in particular, and trying not to think of someone in particular. Eyes hidden behind sunglasses flickered from side to side, the paranoid assassin within him keeping track of his surroundings at all times.
He paused at a street corner, waiting for the light to turn in his favor. Youji glanced around the people out on the streets, scanning out of habit. His heart skipped a beat when he passed over a shock of red hair, a familiar orange sweater.
Aya.
He hadn't expected to see Aya in Tokyo. Youji had expected the prick to have left the city, maybe even the country.
The redhead was going in a direction perpendicular to Youji's own, headed out of the shopping district. On impulse, Youji stepped into the street and followed, not really knowing why. Aya was easy enough to tail, standing out the way he did. Strangely enough, he didn't appear to be worried about being tailed, either, as Youji, though he was prepared to, never had to duck into a shop or alley to not be seen.
Youji was still angry with Aya, still internally seething that he could get up and walk away without a word to his teammates. He wanted to know why Aya had left, wanted to shake him, demand a reason why he had walked out on them, on him.
He followed Aya to the Magic Bus hospital. It was Kritiker's hospital, more or less. Weiss knew they could go there for medical attention, none of the normal questions asked, which was good, when you considered most of their injuries. But why was Aya going to the hospital? Had he been holding out on them? Not telling the team about something, some health problem that could have put all of their lives in danger?
Youji felt himself grow angry again. If the prick had endangered Ken and Omi by not disclosing information –
At the same instant, a trill of fear ran down his spine. What if something was wrong with Aya? Why hadn't he told them?
Youji pulled away from that line of thinking, bolstering up the anger to override the fear. Aya didn't care about him or the rest of the team; he'd proven that when he'd walked out without a word. Why should Youji waste his energy wondering what the prick was trying to hide?
As he loitered in the waiting area, Youji noticed that Aya breezed past the security and nurses station. Was he that familiar to them that they didn't even look up at the unusual coloring? Youji himself waited a moment, until a concerned visitor approached the nurses station and started asking questions. With the single nurse on duty, Youji just pretended to know where he was going and wasn't stopped. He followed Aya up two flights of stairs, lingering at the top before stepping into the hall while Aya ducked into a room.
Youji ventured out, crossing the hallway in a few long strides. The name plate on the door read Fujimiya Aya.
"The bastard," Youji muttered under his breath. The fuck. The nerve. Youji peeked around the edge of the large window set in the door.
And stared.
A young girl was stretched out on a bed, blue-black hair laying in braids over her shoulders, the ends rising and falling with each breath. The familiar head of red hair was held in pale hands, elbows propped on the edge of the girl's bed as Aya sat in a chair.
Youji spun away from the window, slouching slightly against the wall. Aya wasn't Aya? The blonde suddenly craved a cigarette, but couldn't fathom moving away from the door. Who was the girl and why did she have the same name as his sword wielding teammate? Why was Aya sitting so dejectedly at her bedside?
He turned back to the window, looking just past the frame set in the door. Aya had moved, holding the girls hand in his own, rather than propping up his head. Youji could see, even from the bad angle, the faint working of Aya's jaw.
Who was this girl that Aya could talk to? A girlfriend, relative – wife? Youji pulled back from the window once more, wishing even more for a smoke. How was it that Aya, who never talked to anyone if he could help it, could talk to this girl, when the people he lived with would go days at a time without hearing the sound of his voice?
Why did Youji care? Why did his heart go out to the man sitting in that bleak room, why, against Youji's better judgment did he want to draw Aya into his arms and tell him that no matter what everything would be okay?
Why, with every day that went by, did the anger slip farther away, leaving only an empty hole within him?