So we worked our shifts, and barely talked – usually, I had my hands full with the children who came to admire Aya's raw beauty and beg flowers of me at discount prices to suit their pocket money. I liked it. They cheered me up, all those hopeful eyes and smiles, shy and happy, or brazen and glowing, looking for their first taste of love. Aya could be rather abrasive, and I felt sorry for them – what did they know of our darkness? They deserved a bit of sunshine. The flavour of life and happiness, for who knew what the future held for them?
We should know. We who had no future. We who stole the future from others.
But Aya did not want to understand.
And one day, I snapped when we were ready to lock up for the evening and I closed the door behind a sobbing girl who clutched a potted rose to her chest. "Man, Aya, can't you the fuck ease up a bit? You didn't have to tell her that we're no charity, and your tone, hell, like you were at the pinnacle of formality – we're a flower shop, not some boardroom!"
He misted the flowers in the window display and lowered the flimsy inner blinds, before turning and nailing me with a blank stare. "And what's wrong with keeping some manners?"
"Nothing, but did you know she was buying the flowers for her brother who's sick?"
He paled a bit, his white skin taking on an ashen hue, and carefully set down the mister. "Iie," he said quietly.
"Thought so." I began to tot up the register. Aya stood still, watching me with an odd expression that made me feel uncomfortably scrutinised. So I flashed him a smile. "I told her you're an old crank, and gave her the pot for free."
He is predictable. "You should not-"
"I felt sorry for her. And for you." I knew that would get to him. He is so intent on proving how tough he is, and he hates kindness 'cos to him, it's the same as weakness.
"I do not need your pity," he spat, badly rattled, and turned to let the outside metal blinds crash down. The shop was plunged into darkness, and I knocked the tray with coins and bills off the counter.
"Hey! Now I gotta start counting the lot again," I protested, a moment before he flicked the light on.
He stood by the door and gave me a glare that looked a little owlish and the tiniest bit lost. "I apologise. I should help you..."
I knelt and began to scoop up the money that lay scattered over the floor. My hands full with bills, I shook my head. "Nah, is ok. You're just so damn jumpy, Ayan. You don't allow yourself any breathers. No pleasures, no easing up... everyone needs a break sometimes, yanno."
He began to untie his apron. "You make up for me in that department," he replied quietly as he walked across to hang the thing on the peg by the backdoor.
It hit me like a blow to the stomach, and that got me angry. He was being mean, and I shouldn't have given a fig about it, but- "You got a problem with that?" I said as I got up and sorted the money back onto the tray.
He shrugged and turned away. "Should I?" He paused for a moment by the door, then nodded at the register. "I would not mind-"
"No, I'm fine," I retorted, because I was cross, he now made me nervous and uneasy, and I would finish much quicker without him distracting me. I knew it would take me longer than him – he is a natural when dealing with money matters – but I have my pride too. I am blond, not dumb.
He shrugged and left without gracing me with a reply, his firm, fast steps fading in the hallway.
I needed a cigarette.
xxx
"Where is he?" I asked Omi and Ken when Aya did not turn up for dinner.
They exchanged a meaningful glance, before Ken bent over his bowl of ramen again, and Omi gave me his most brilliant, most false chibi smile. "In his room. Would you like to take him some food? Before it's all gone."
I ruffled his hair. "Stop that. He wouldn't have it-"
"Hai, 'cos he'd think we'd poison him," Ken jabbed in, and I nodded, though that was not what I had meant. Aya was too proud to accept someone getting him his food and too prissy about what he ate. They should have gathered that by now.
Still, I could see no point breaking their easy mood, so I said, "Yeah, and in your case, he might be right. Besides, his bowl isn't on the shelf, that means he's taken some already."
Omi dropped his silly grin and made a pout. The boy really knows how to pull all registers; he can look so damn innocent that it would fool anyone, but when he plays around with this sort of face, he worries me. "Yohji, you're a spoilsport."
"Yeah, is my job."
Ken grinned into his bowl and rolled his eyes. "Not you too," he mumbled around a mouthful of noodles.
I chose to ignore that, wedged a cigarette between my lips and picked through the dirty dishes in the sink for something I could use as an ashtray, when a thought occurred to me. "But he hasn't had tea yet, has he?"
Ken choked on a spoonful of broth, spluttered and flushed the nicest shade of crimson. Omi kindly patted his back. "Now, now, Kenken... man, Yohji, if you can manage to make tea he'll actually drink, I'll eat my shorts."
I winked at him. "I'd like to see that."
Omi stopped patting Ken and instead began to rub soothing circles on his back. "Bet?"
Ken tried to clear his throat and gleamed from Omi to me and back from beneath brown bangs. I could see him smile broadly, and it annoyed me that this smile said, Kudoh you're stupid... Omi tends to win any bet and any game. It is annoying, really. "Hai, betcha, chibi." That would have been my runaway tongue plus a helping of jarred pride, both well ahead of my brains.
"What do we get when you lose?" Ken chipped in, and Omi gave me a confirming grin while he kept coddling his boyfriend.
I filled the kettle and switched it on. "We? As in the pair of you? And watcha mean, 'when'? IF I lose..." I scratched my head. "Hm, lemme think..." I needed to be careful what I offered, or they'd have my butt.
"Will you kiss us, Yohji?" Omi chirped, all blue-eyed innocence and wicked smirk, and Ken nearly had another coughing fit, but Omi yanked him close and hugged him against his narrow chest so that he had to fight for air instead. He still found time to leer.
"The heck," I growled and turned to watch the kettle, "behave yourselves."
"Well, will you?" Ken seconded, a bit breathless now, his voice muffled against Omi's tee no doubt. "We're legal, yanno."
"No!" Kettle boiled, take mug – not any old mug but Aya's mug – plonk in teabag and fill up water. Tea in bags was as much of a concession as Aya would make to modern life; on festival days he would brew it the traditional way, in a kind of highly private mini tea ceremony, conducted in the altar corner of his room where he kept the utensils in a cardboard box. I knew because I had watched him through the keyhole of his door.
"You know he takes sugar," Ken goaded.
"He does not," I snapped over my shoulder, "now stop it."
"Oh," Omi said, in a tone of deepest disappointment. "I really thought..."
"You shouldn't be gambling," I broke in while swirling the teabag about a bit, trying to remember whether the tea should be weak or strong "Betting is gambling." It looked too watery, so I squeezed the teabag hard before tossing it into the bin.
"We can't help it," Ken piped up, "it's all down to influence. Leading by example, yanno."
"Oh? So, Omitchi, tell me 'bout examples," I said at the barely suppressed laughter in Ken's voice. It made me smile. They could still laugh. They could still play and have fun. They still had hopes and dreams and perhaps even a future to live for, and this eased the pressure that had settled in my chest this afternoon, after the argument with Aya.
"What, me? You're the eldest here," Omi countered smugly. "All we know we learned from you, Yohji-kun."
Indeed... I heaved a stage sigh and turned, mug in hand. "Right. I refuse to be held liable, but you can have a couple of my magazines IF I lose."
Omi pushed out his lower lip. Ken buried his face at Omi's chest and shook with laughter.
"We've seen them all," Omi sulked, combing his small, thin fingers through Ken's hair.
"Tough," I said, "but you will have to eat your shorts anyway when I come back down here."
Omi leisurely laced his hand through thick brown stands. "Yeah, yeah." Blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "But really, Yotan, we didn't think you'd chicken out of a kiss that quickly. Are you scared of us?"
I looked from one to the other, Ken cradled in Omi's arms and still puffed up with barely contained mirth, hazel eyes sparkling brightly; Omi with a sly look on his soft face and a way too sultry smile on his lips. Gods, they really should not know about these things, at least not the way they did. "Hell, yeah," I told them, "you'd scare anyone shitless."
"So we really can't convince you?" Omi prodded sweetly, enjoying the teasing entirely too much.
Ken tugged free and grabbed his upper arm. "Hey," he said, a slight scowl darkening his eyes.
Omi leaned against him. "Just joking, Kenken. Really, you know that."
Well, I thought it better to get out of the kitchen while I still could.
xxx
"Aya?" The mug was hot, steam curling softly into the air. I knocked cautiously at Aya's bedroom door. His inner sanctum. His private space that might as well have been located on another planet for all we had seen of it so far.
No answer, but I could hear the soft, cool swish-swish of him polishing his sword. Close to the door. Long, regular motions... I could imagine him sitting on the floor, the blade across his lap, muscles playing subtly under white skin as he bent and straightened, his arms stretching out, pulling closer again, evenly, smoothly, with the same singleminded purpose he applied to everything he did. But why did I picture him with bare arms?
"Aya?" I kocked a bit firmer. The hot ceramic began to scald my knuckles. "I know you're in, so open up now, will ya?" I meant to get ready to go out that evening, and he was wasting my time. "Oh, fuck it," I said, beginning to feel pissed off and wondering why I had bothered in the first place, but the moment I turned away, the door swung open with a flourish, and Aya stood there.
Some things we will always remember, no matter what happens to us in life. Some of those memories we'd rather forget, others we cherish to the day we die.
It was one of those, and I could not help but stare. At his trim form, wrapped primly into a dark grey yukata, his hair a red halo against the mellow light that flowed through the open window, his bare feet. Small, firm feet with dainty toes and fine, hard ankles. Incredibly white beneath the dark hem of his garment and against the pale green tatami.
"What is it?" he snapped.
I tore my gaze from his feet and held the mug out to him. He spared it a glance, then looked back at me. "It's too strong."
Well, I lost. The chibis would not let me live this down in a while. "You ever happy with anything, Ayan?" I grouched as I prepared to leave. I had a date, she was pretty, looked a bit like Asuka, had met her in one of the bars downtown... They always look a bit like Asuka.
"I'll have it anyway," Aya said, reaching for the mug. He hesitated a little, and then, with a clear effort, he said, "Would you like to come in for a moment?"
I started down the hallway to my place before his words sank in and I stopped. "What?"
He still stood in the door, the mug in one hand, a rag in the other. He frowned. "I said, would you care to come in... for a moment?" And he stepped aside just enough to make room for me to pass by him, a tiny motion that was Aya's equivalent to banging a big gong and yelling out an invitation across the street.
I must have looked a bit off because he began to glare, quite probably annoyed with himself; now I had to decide whether to rush off so I could primp properly before going out, or spend a moment... one special, rare, incredibly surreal moment... in his room.
With him.
Alone.
He shrugged, opened his mouth, and before he could withdraw his offer, I stalked back and past him into his room.
xxx
Next chapter: Bolder