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

Author's note is at the end of the chapter.

Aya.

There's something about proximity, living in close quarters with someone and knowing their peculiar habits. I know the strangest, most minute details about Youji. Utterly ridiculous things. Like, the fact that he enjoys black coffee, the coarser the better, with three-quarters of a sugar packet. I know that he's the type of person to eat his favourite thing on the plate first and then sullenly pick at the leftovers until he loses interest. He doesn't often read but I found a dog eared copy of Nabokov's Invitation to a Beheading lying around at the chalet, with a hastily scrawled note on the inside cover signed, Asuka. I know what kind of sheets he sleeps in, dressed his wounds, seen habits and interests come and go like paramours in the night. He's cocky as hell but after a nightmare sleeps downstairs in the glow of the TV for the company. I can tell when he's really sad, even if he's laughing. He hates tomatoes but loves spaghetti.

It isn't until a while ago, when he got shot during a mission that I begin to realize the tragedy of possibly never seeing that stale cup of coffee by the cash at the Koneko or his completely unnecessary array of salon hair products cluttering the bathroom. I don't know why. Perhaps it just became a part of the routine, the peripheral landscape I have grown accustomed to. We are complete opposites in the most uncomplimentary way. Our worlds are paralleled – they never meet. But at the same time, he is probably the only Weiss member I can truly identify with.

The problem really begins after that mission. The injury was negligible and Youji thoroughly enjoyed the downtime, bandaged leg up on the coffee table and all the ice cream he could eat. He was like a kid whose tonsils just came out with mother Omi at his beck and call. I didn't really check up on him myself but Ken offered daily reports. Occasionally I'd run into him if I'd dare venture into the living room and finally, after a week and a half of one-word conversations, I apologized for not being there to protect him. He shrugged it off and thanked me for the vacation. That's Youji for you.

It's close to 8 a.m. and I discover a passed out Youji in a crumpled heap outside my bedroom door. I have no idea what to do with him. The man's impossible. Excruciatingly arrogant. I crouch down next to him and narrow my eyes. I can't tell who is more pathetic. I drag him up off the floor and he unsteadily gets to his feet. He gives me the most sheepish of glances.

"Aya, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me," He rubs the back of his head and I'm amazed to see, for the first time, Kudou Youji awkward.

"It's nothing new." I try to remain expressionless as always and by the judge of the look on his face I've succeeded. He hides behind decadence while I hide behind someone else's name, a fake identity carved for the sole purpose of self-preservation.

He sighs, "I need coffee," and starts making his way downstairs still dressed in last night's clothes. I stand in the doorway and am about to go back inside when he stops and turns around. "You coming?"

I hesitate. I'm still irritated by the fact that he had the gall to get shitfaced and then wake up the entire neighbourhood.

"No," I shrug and turn to go back into my room when I feel the weight of his hand on my shoulder.

"It wasn't meant as a question." He has an uncharacteristically serious look on his face and I begin to feel the regret for confiding to him resurface, as it has done repeatedly over the past two days.

I don't normally drink coffee but it seemed easier to accept the steaming mug than say no as Youji hands it to me. The situation has an oddly surreal quality to it, and I suddenly feel a familiar ache returning in the pit of my stomach. I don't know why I told Youji what I did. I suppose even I have my limits. I was alone that night. I had just left the antiseptic-green walls and glossy linoleum floors of the hospital. The faint echo of my sister's heart monitor was ringing in my ears and it suddenly seemed better to lose it all than taste the bitterness of being on my own. That night I decided I would rather hit rock bottom than live in the monotone agony of this every day routine.

Youji's baritone drawl interrupts my thoughts, "Look, Aya, I know I can be an egotistical asshole most of the time and I certainly fit the role last night and maybe the night before but I'm sorry. I didn't really think about what you told me until afterward. I didn't really get it. I still don't. Not entirely."

I look away and opt to stare at the cat-shaped clock on the far end of the wall; its paws awkwardly contorting to indicate the time. I can feel Youji staring at me as I softly reply, "Then what would you rather have me say?"

He drags his chair closer across the black and white vinyl floor and leans in close enough that I can feel his arm brush against mine, "I don't know. Why don't you get past that hardened shell and express some feeling for once?"

I glace at him, at his unruly brown hair, the black smudges under his grey-green eyes, the unnaturally serious expression on his angular face. I think, never be this way. Never be serious. You're better when you're not serious.

He raises his eyebrows and briefly looks taken aback. He says, "I always thought you hated the fact that I'm always messing around."

I swallow thickly and realize I said what I was thinking out loud. I'm getting careless. A low flush rises to my cheeks but I don't think it's too noticeable, "I don't know why I said that."

He replies, in his most disarming way, "I like that you said that." After a long pause he continues, "Tell me why."

"Why what?"

"Why you told me what you did. Why you interrupted my date with Yuri. Why you didn't skewer me with your katana when I went charging to your room last night."

I stay silent for a while, turning over a number of thoughts in my mind. I can barely make sense of it myself. "What's the point in sleeping with all those people?"

He rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his coffee, "Leave it to you to answer a question with a question." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a rumpled pack of cigarettes and a silver zippo. He slides one out and lights it up, inhales with a look of almost gratefulness of his face and then turns back to me, "I fuck around for the same reasons you keep to yourself. You like to hide from reality by being alone. I like to hide with company."

I wrinkle my nose at the long curl of white, acrid smoke. He gives me a typically Youji look in response and takes another drag. I start absentmindedly playing with a spoon on the kitchen table. I fail to understand why someone who is so utterly irritating has this effect on me. I initially blamed proximity but it's more than that.

"You still haven't answered my questions," He leans his chair back on its two hind legs.

I quickly point out, "You'll ruin the floor."

"Aya," he sighs, "have you ever taken a look at this kitchen? Look at it! Underneath the peeling yellow paint and ancient appliances, I doubt a few scuffs on this hideous floor will be at all noticeable."

"Maybe that's why I interrupted your date."

His chair falls back onto its four feet and he leans in close again, "What do you mean?"

"Underneath everything, I didn't think a few scuffs would be noticeable," I search for words to explain what I want to say. I stall by drinking more coffee. I hate coffee. "Youji, look. What happened that night won't happen again. I…" Words fail me. I can't bring myself to say it. He's looking at me so expectantly but it's too much of a risk. Maybe in another life, under another name I could tell him how I feel. I've spent too long putting these walls up. They may have faltered that night but I'm trying to reinforce them now.

He draws himself even closer, so close that I can faintly smell last night's drinking binge on his breath, in his clothes. I wonder if he's feeling hung over.

"What would you do if I kissed you?"

My shoulders stiffen and my brows furrow in confusion, "Are you still drunk?"

He's only a few inches from me now, "Have you ever been kissed before?"

I try to smooth my expression into one of complete disgust but I can immediately feel the betrayal of my burning cheeks. I want to get up and leave or grab him in a chokehold but instead the hold is on me.

His voice takes on an entirely different tone. It's soft and teasing all at the same time, "I'll take that as a 'no', A-yan?"

I finally manage to pull myself back together as anger gradually swells inside me. I harden my gaze at him and spit, "Don't mock me."

He falters slightly but continues nonetheless, "I'm not."

"I don't believe you," I start to stand up but he's too quick for me. Before I completely get to my feet, his lips engulf mine. We're both half-standing, his lanky frame practically crouching so his face is level with mine. I am initially stunned into complacency as a wiry arm wraps itself around my thin shoulders. His other hand cups my cheek. My lips don't exactly respond, I don't know what to do. I refuse to admit that this really is my first kiss.

I pull away but he still holds me there. I'm overwhelmed with conflict as I try to keep my voice even, "Don't, Kudou. Just don't."

"Why?" He has this plaintive look in his eyes. I hate it.

I push him back and this time he complies, "Because you'll get bored and we have the team to think of." I turn and start walking out of the kitchen.

"You can't tell me you didn't feel anything," he shouts after me, "because I could tell. You can lie to yourself all you want…" I am almost upstairs but I can still hear him yelling, "…but you can't lie to me!"

I slam my bedroom door behind me and lean back against it. I can still feel his lips on me as the back of my eyes burn with a feeling I had almost completely forgotten. I manage to compose myself before any tears fall.

AN: Before you ask me what the hell I'm thinking, I have to say I don't know. I'm half-tempted to rewrite this part but I really wanted to get Aya's thoughts out there and I didn't know how else to go about it. Overall, I think the story is progressing as planned; my only concern really is how Youji managed to bounce back so well after drinking so much the night before. It's a bit implausible but hey, we're talking about Youji here and I think if anyone can hold their liquor it's him. I find the hardest part about writing Weiss fan fiction is making Aya seem like himself but not like an asshole.

Question to you, the reader: is this switch of POV ok? Or shall I go back to the origins of the story and only talk from Youji's POV?