Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss, I just like to play with them once in a while. My work is always pro bono.

My watch tells me it's 6:57 pm and as if she read my mind Yuri makes her breathtaking entrance. I'm standing in the hall of La Rose Obscure leaning against the marbled wall. I'm smoking. Not because of any craving but because it completes my look. I pull my sunglasses down to the edge of my nose and peer over them to get a better look at her.

Gorgeous.

She has a swan-like neck, long and pale. Her shoulders are broad but small. She has the posture of a dancer but without looking too rigid. Her jet-black hair is spilling down from a long, sleek ponytail. Her lips are pouty with just the right amount of pampered pretentiousness in her smile. Her eyebrows have a perfect arch. Her nose is thin. She is wearing a black cocktail dress that falls just below the knees. Let it be said that there is nothing dull or typical about the little black dress. Personally, I like to think of myself as its biggest fan.

I ran into her on a reconnaissance mission. Nothing too serious, just scoping the place out. While it's the general policy – especially in my profession – not to mix business with pleasure, I like to make a point of it, especially when the pleasure is with someone who looks like Yuri.

I gently take her hand and with my most charming smile whisper, "Happy Valentine's Day."

My lips gently brush the soft skin on her knuckles and inside her palm is where I place her gift. She pauses, feigning surprise as she feels the cool sensation of metal prickling her. When she looks at what she received, her eyes widen.

"Youji…" She gasps.

I pull her closer by wrapping my other arm around her trim waist, "Let me put it on you."

The moment is like something out of a bad commercial for a jewellery store. I got her a very elegant looking diamond choker. There was something about her neck that made me really want to adorn it. I think I outdid myself this time. Before I know it her lips are on mine. She smells like a mixture of vanilla and menthol cigarettes and it's utterly delicious. She's soft and pliant underneath me. I pull her further into an adjacent hall for some privacy. My tongue runs along the inside of her lower lip, politely asking for more. She's hesitant but skilled. I know it's a game and it arouses me just like she wants.

"We should eat…" I chuckle softly into her neck.

She leans her head back and I can hear the smile in her voice, "It can wait, can't it?"

"We made reservations for seven." I gently kiss that small space behind her ear and I can feel her silver hoop earring cold on my cheek.

"Kudou." It's not a recognition but a command and the sound of Aya's voice makes me stiffen instantly.

I ease away from Yuri but maintain my hold over her waist. With an exasperated sigh I say, "What is it Fujimiya? And how did you know where I am?"

He folds his arms over his chest, a familiar scowl tarnishing his sculpted features, "You're easier to find than you think. I need to talk to you."

My brows furrow. I'm definitely annoyed. Yuri's eyes nervously dart from me to Aya, obviously concerned that the date might be cancelled by some random emergency. "Can't it wait?"

"No."

I walk over to him, leaving just enough space between Yuri and us so that she can't hear our conversation. I whisper heatedly, "You do realize this is Valentine's Day and that I have been planning this for weeks, right?"

For once he looks vaguely uncertain and he shuffles from one foot to the other before responding, "I apologize for the inconvenience but it can't be helped."

My face darkens, "It's not a mission, is it? Because I would fucking hate that on today of all days!"

"No. It's not a mission."

"Then it's something Kritiker related?"

"No."

"Schwartz?"

"No."

"Did someone die then? Because nothing else is worth calling off this date."

He pauses briefly only to once again say, "No."

I plant my hands on my hips and tap my foot as if that would convince Aya to leave me alone, "So what is it? I have reservations for seven and it's already quarter past."

Something indiscernible flashes in his eyes and I find myself unable to say no when he insists on talking to me. How this one man has so much power over me is beyond my comprehension. Yuri is infuriated and I get the feeling I won't be hearing from her again. As she storms off all I can think is that she's even hotter when she's mad.

"You hungry?" I grumble.

He shrugs, which stinks of his typical stubbornness.

"Well, I still have my reservation," I sigh.

And that's how we got here. I haven't really bothered to ask to him elaborate. I know that he will only talk at his own obstinate pace. There's a part of me that's actually curious about what's so important for someone as unnoticeable as Fujimiya to actually step out and request something. This is highly unusual and unusual things intrigue me.

That's why I went after Yuri. I inwardly sigh at the memory.

"I'm sorry for any trouble I may have caused you…" his voice trails off as he stares into his glass of water. He's in one of the most trendy gourmet restaurants in Shibuya and of course he orders only water and a house salad. He insults my wallet.

"Will you please stop saying that?" I pick at my rice flaked foie gras and crispy quail. I'm beginning to lose interest. "We're here now, you might as well tell me what's going on."

He looks up at me and a part of me is stunned by the look on his face. The most animated I've ever seen Aya is when the name 'Takatori' comes up and it is certainly not pretty. In fact, I find myself quite weary of our self-imposed leader. I've never known what to make of him, other than the fact that I can completely forget that he's in the room until he barks at another customer to buy something or leave. I find him always straining politeness under thinly veiled impatience. I like to see him ill at ease, even fail at times. You may think that's wrong of me but it's the truth.

Yet the way he's looking at me now is from a side of him I am unfamiliar with. His expression has softened somewhat. He seems troubled and full of uncertainty. Something tells me that how I react to whatever he says will have a profound effect on him. I'm curious and full of anticipation for what he's going to say.

"What if I told you I knew something that is consistently putting Weiss in unnecessary danger?" His face is pale. His voice is quiet.

I lean closer to him, feeling an overwhelming sense of uncertainty, "What do you mean?"

He fidgets with his white cotton napkin. I can't tell how much time passes before he responds and I decide not to push him either. There's a fragility to this moment that I can't quite describe. Somehow I instinctively know what's coming but am still unprepared for it when he tells me. The shock of it initially amuses me. It's just so laughably ridiculous, so utterly impossible it takes everything in me to bite back the words "you're joking!" Once it gradually sinks in, I'm in the restaurant alone with a full ashtray and an empty espresso cup, a swirl of brown sludge caked on the bottom.

After that conversation I don't quite know what to do with myself so I'm hitting the rain-slicked streets of Roppongi, garish neon signs illuminating the path to my regular hot spots. Tonight I have a renewed thirst for debauchery. I eye a few strip joints, a couple of trendy bars but instead step into an old favourite. The entrance is a barely noticeable rusty iron staircase that resembles a defunct fire exit with a grime coated metal front door. I enter into a haze of smoke, the stench of alcohol weighing down the air.

The bartender is an old friend. His lips hide underneath a wispy moustache, the hair on the crown of his head is starting to thin. He blinks a few times in disbelief behind a pair of black, thick-rimmed glasses and breaks out into a huge grin when he recognizes me, "Youji! Long time no see."

My lips curve into a half smile as I take a seat on a tattered leather barstool, "Hey there Tanaka, how's it going?"

"Not bad. What'll it be? The usual?"

"Damn straight and keep 'em coming."

Before I get my coat off, there's a vodka on ice in front of me. I contemplate just getting a bottle and drinking myself into oblivion but I can't quite bring myself to do it. As much as I loathe the idea, I realize I need to think. I'm grateful that I don't need to make small talk since Tanaka is entertaining a few people – a group of middle aged salary men in dull, ill-fitting black suits and starched white shirts, probably all wearing their "Friday" tie and their "Friday" briefs, skulking away from their wives and children to escape into a glass of scotch. It's a depressing sight that suits my mood fine. Sometimes I ache for the simplicity, the monotony of their lives.

The exact words escape me but small details of my conversation with Aya come back with an alarming lucidity. The dark circles underneath his unnaturally light eyes; the fraying cuffs of an orange sweater; thin white fingers drumming nervously on an immaculate table cloth; the scent of flowers and something else, something vaguely like antiseptic, like a hospital; cold coffee; the aftertaste of too many cigarettes.

I was alarmed by two things after that conversation. One being Aya's most artful skill at concealing his emotions. I pride myself on my ability to read people, it's what allows me to so audaciously take advantage of others. Yet Aya was able to keep this from me, for how long I don't know. It's no secret that I like to bed both sexes, that I enjoy the taste of a man as much as that of a woman. I don't think Aya would have come forward had he not known that. Of course the second thing that alarmed me is the fact that of all people, of all the ludicrous situations I've run into, nothing seems less believable than the fact that Fujimiya Aya, Abysinnian, the leader of Weiss and stoic assassin extraordinaire is in love with me, Kudou Youji.

I knock down my fifth glass, cold ice hitting my hot, wet mouth. I grimace as I feel the burn ease down my oesophagus. I'm almost at that point where the alcohol goes down like water, teetering on that dangerous point where I can just keep going until I'm a useless heap on the floor. I have an urge to talk to Aya, to make sense of this. I clumsily light a smoke. The toxins almost instantly calm me and the fact that I'm opening shop tomorrow with the redhead is just a distant abstraction.