Sometime in the middle of the night Schuldig had been able to worm across the living room and turn the television off with his toes. In the straight jacket he didn't have the reach to turn the power off the VCR Farfarello had left on to run into gray fuzz, and frankly... he was sick of all the noise. He didn't bother to crawl back onto the couch, instead collapsing against it, head angled against his shoulder, hair shadowing his face. Looking like a broken doll.
Or a puppet without strings.
Now the only color that dotted the lonely space was the two or three streams of city lights that snaked through the window blinds, highlighting random objects: the ash tray on the coffee table. Crawford's reading lamp. A corner of the book shelf. The apartment was too high up to hear the roar of the city. Nothing to remind Schuldig that anyone out there was still alive.
And the walls were thick.
Maybe, he thought somewhere between midnight and a nightmare, everyone left and died and I'm going to be stuck here alone until I fucking rot. Maybe that was Crawford's idea.
Maybe Crawford really was sick of him and this evening antics; maybe this practical joke of a punishment had been played with more malice than Schuldig had originally picked up on. Maybe Crawford picked up Takatori on the way to the airport and was now on his way with Nagi and Farfarello for a week long vacation in Osaka. Maybe Crawford wanted to abandon him and, perfect timing, had a sudden hankering to see mommy and daddy in America.
It was late, wasn't it? They should have been back by now. Nagi wasn't coming back, was he?
Oh well, Schuldig almost said out loud - because when he said things out loud he wasn't so alone - at least I still have the flower shop.
"...where the fuck did that come from?"
Yohji Kudoh, huh? Schuldig was not falling for that sex pot. He wouldn't give that hormonal lunatic with a piano wire the satisfaction... the status of having the Mastermind's affection. Or passing thoughts. Nothing beyond maiming or raping anyway. He felt degraded enough giving Crawford a reason to brag about bedding the great German, he sure as hell wasn't about to extend the same pleasure to that bastard Kudoh.
Schuldig drew his knees up to his chest the way he'd seen Farfarello do a thousand times before. It looked uncomfortable... but the tight ball actually seemed to grip at some of the despair in his stomach and hold it in.
What was going on? It was way after midnight... had Crawford forgot him?
He didn't like to be left alone for very long.
He didn't like to be left alone to his own thoughts for very long.
Crawford knew he didn't like to be left alone for very long.
...Why didn't Crawford KNOW he didn't like to be left alone for very long?
Schuldig buried his face in his knees and slipped into the nightmare.
*
Strong hands took him by the shoulders and drew him forward. This was a familiar sensation, but not familiar enough to alert the sleeping body on whether this was a 'good touch' or a 'bad touch.' Jade eyes peeked upon under heavy lids. His mind was filled with the smell of light cologne, Crawford's scent, only heavy enough to cover the stench of sweat, gunpowder, and blood. Subtle. Everything about Crawford was subtle.
The tension in his shoulders gave way with the straps binding Farfarello's white jacket. Schuldig let loose a noise that was somewhere between a purr and a groan, he creened his neck.
"Punishment's over." The American's words were familiar and laced with a bitter and amused irony. At the same time the words, the touch, was strangely soft. Unusual for Crawford. In one desperate, exhausted moment Schuldig allowed himself a lazy smile and felt safe in the Oracle's arms.
Can we kiss and make-up and make all those bad, bad fights go away? Forever.
They stood up together, Schuldig secure in Crawford's grasp, head buried under his leader, his lover's chin. The jacket slipped lifelessly to the floor. Crawford stroked Schuldig's back, murmured 'snapdragon' into his hair.
What had come over the American to put him in such a gentle mood? Had he finally decided to off Abyssinian? Maybe he sedated previous his pissy mood by letting Farfarello take on and shred that Takatori brat, Bombay, into ribbons. Ha. That'd make anybody's day brighter.
Maybe these stories really did have happy endings.
Then Schuldig remembered that Crawford had left him alone in a straight jacket for nearly six hours. Then Schuldig remembered how much he hated fairy tales.
Then Schuldig drew up his leg and kneed Crawford in the crotch.
A slew of English and German erupted from both parties as they tore away from each other, filled with an indescribable rage, hatred, pain, and panic that neither could understand.
Schuldig was the first to pull himself back into Japanese, arms waving wildly in an almost hysteric gesture, " --ist mir scheißegal -- YOU CAN'T JUST LEAVE ME LIKE THAT FOR SIX FUCKING HOURS - DO YOU KNOW THE HUMILATION ---"
Crawford charged forward with such force that his glasses slipped off the bridge of his nose. With one quick swiping gesture he seized the spectacles and cast them across the room. Schuldig was stuck dumb with shock, unable to move as one powerful hand clawed into his shoulder, as the skin on Crawford's knuckle scraped off across the German's face.
Schuldig grabbed the collar of Crawford's suit to keep from flying backwards. Heeding the white agony that suddenly exploded in his already fractured nose he lifted his gaze and bellowed, "I HATE BEING LEFT ALONE." The German's voice cracked with the scream, shattering into an edge of insanity and hysteria that nearly through Crawford out of his rage.
Nearly.
His body hit the opposing wall with a sharp crack, arms and legs flying in every which direction. Dark jade eyes stared forward, glazed, in disbelief. The back of his head exploded into a dozen stars of blinding pain followed by a quick cool blood rush of numbness. His neck fell to the side, ear resting soundly on his shoulder.
Crawford loomed over him, so far gone that he didn't react to the fact that for a moment Schuldig looked as if the fall had broken his neck and killed him. "Don't you ever...ever do that again."
And Schuldig smiled and made a frantic flight for the apartment door.
*
He pushed talk before the silver case rang a second time.
"...yeah?"
"Nagi. I need you to pick up Farfarello. He was injured last night and kept overnight for observation. You know where to find him."
He sighed into the phone and reached for his jacket. "Yeah."
The voice on the other line faded and was replaced by a dial tone.
*
Y'know, Yohji had been straight before getting a job at the flower shop. But working around so many squealing, salivating, ravenous girls was enough to scare anyone gay. Yes, Yohji had never felt true disgust and disinterest for these mundane creatures until they decided to form their own fan club. In his high school days he had been adamantly straight. The thought of joining the rainbow rollercoaster or being associated with anyone riding the rainbow coaster was enough to tie his stomach up in knots. God created Adam and Eve, for Chris sakes, not Adam and Steve. Yes, Yohji was a high flying, proud, bigoted, gay-basher. And there had been nothing to change his mind.
But...
"Oh Yohji! YOHJI!!!"
"They're so cute!"
"I want to marry them!"
"I want to clone them!"
"I want to have their children!"
"Sexy! Lucky!"
This was enough to make anyone throw in the towel and cheerfully join the pink team. Cheerfully, huh? Yohji stared down at a group of short high school girls who were pawing at his chest for attention. Ha, he thought. Cheerfully. Maybe that's where they got the term "gay" from.
"Ladies. Ladies." He brushed through them easily, wagging his ass in a sure-fire attempt to raise their blood pressure and flaunt something they'd never HAVE. Bwah-ha. "No need to be pushy. There's enough of Yohji for everyone."
Across the shop a pair of cold purple eyes narrowed.
"Now which one of you are over 18?"
"H-hey, Aya! Aya!" Omi leapt through the mob, shaking his red haired friend out of his jealous glaring. "Be careful, Aya!"
The stoic swordfighter raised an eyebrow than glanced down to the plant he was watering. The small clay plot bubbled and overflowed, a thick speckled brown puddle forming around his feet. Aya snarled.
"Oh! Aya's so scary!" One girl giggled.
"Ahhh, don't worry about him." Yohji called lazily from the cash register. "We're taking him to obedience lessons and thinking about either getting him a muzzle or getting him castrated."
Stupid laughter followed.
Aya's face flushed crimson, encouraging more giggles. The water can in his hand trembled, he'd get Balinese back for that one later.
*
Nagi held his hands at his hips, head shaking lightly from one side to another. His stance was received by a blank, amber stare. To which the teenager answered with a disappointed click of the tongue. "Do you always have to be so careless?"
Farfarello seemed to consider this, than nodded. "Yes. Absolutely."
The nurse at his side gently patted Nagi's elbow with the instruction booklet she had been trying explain. "Please, Prodigy. Remember to inform your leader that this medication needs to be taken every six hours. That's one tablet every six hours. And his wounds need to be cleaned every 12. Berserker should avoid the shower until his wounds are more tightly healed because the jets could reopen or damage something. But soaking in a bath is okay. If there is any discoloration around the---"
Nagi snapped the pamphlet out of her hands. "Nurse." He asked, his tone taking on a nasal quality that signaled to anyone who knew him that he was slipping into the depths of annoyance. "How long have you been in... this profession?"
The confused woman batted her eyes, "Almost two years. Wh--"
"Well...*Nurse*...I've worked with Berserker for almost five years and I can safely say I have more experience attending to an injured person than you do based on that fact alone. I know how to take care of my teammate. Spare the lecture for someone who needs it."
Farfarello smirked.
"Ex-excuse me, young man, but--"
"Farf. Let's go."
The albino stood up, knees still shaking from the blood loss. For a moment Nagi's gut quenched in fear that the baffled nurse would surge forward and demand Farfarello stayed for another few hours, or at least long enough to get another packet of hemoglobin in him. They needed to escape fast.
"Hey, wait a minute. Look at you, you're in no condition to walk out of--"
She was again cut off as Farfarello raised a fist at her. The poor Este worker could only stare in mute fascination as Farfarello's hand slowly unfolded to reveal a small sowing needle. Nagi paused in his stride and sighed. Farfarello, grin manic, slowly dragged the needle along the length of his middle finger, the skin opening up and dripping thick spheres of blood as the Berserker gracefully curled all his fingers back but the damaged one to flip the nurse off.
"I hate hospitals."
A loud whack bounced off the walls as an invisible hand smacked the scarred boy upside the head.
"Enough dramatics, Farf, we're going to miss the bus."
*
"Crawford," Nagi was speaking before he even walked through the door. "Do you have any idea how much public transportation sucks?" The slim teen threw off his shoes and tossed his keys on the key rack. Farfarello trailed behind him like a shadow. "Couldn't you buy me a car or something? We're rich, right? I want a limo."
The man seated at the dining room table didn't reply.
Oh well, Nagi wasn't really paying attention. The fifteen-year-old mother hen whipped around and gave an adamant jab at the mud Farfarello was tracking through the landing. "Shoes. Off. Now."
Farfarello glared.
"Yeah. Welcome to Japan."
Mumbling something about 'killing them all' Farfarello squatted and began unlacing his precious combats.
Nagi turned back to their leader. "Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. Food. I'm hungry. We need to order lots of food. I packed some serious snacks at Nagora's house. But I'm hungry again. And I'm in a good mood. We crushed another team's kingdom on Vanaquest and some bitch nurse tried to talk to me like I was a four-year-old needing to take his Flintstone vitamins. But we put her in her place, right Farf? Uh...Crawford, are you okay?"
With his fingers laced together pressed against the bottom of his lip, Crawford stared blankly at the table surface.
It became terribly silent.
Farfarello ambled into the dining room, taking a quick inventory of who was present and who was missing. His pale lips twitched upward in a quick snarl.
"...Where's Schuldig?"
*
The door to Aya's bedroom slammed shut. The walls vibrated and a picture fell down, glass pane face down, cracking in two places. Yohji leaned seething against his door frame, summoning enough restraint to scream out, "IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, WHY ARE YOU FUCKING ME???"
The closed door didn't answer him.
"YEAH. FINE!!!"
Yohji attempted to end with the same dramatic slamming, but he threw his door forward so quickly that it bounced back and hit him in the side. The playboy threw out a few choice curses and tried again, this time with less force. He succeeded but the effect was ruined, now he just looked stupid.
Stuuuuuuuuuupid Aya.
What the hell was his problem? Accusing him of lusting after those good-for-nothing school girls. He knew it was all a game. What was Yohji suppose to do, hold a katana over his head hissing "buy something or get out?" Yeah, right. That tactic only worked for cold hearted bastards... LIKE icicle-stuck-up-his-ass-Aya-Fujimiya.
God, how stupid. How utterly stupid. Aya was dating Yohji Kudoh. Yohji fucking Kudoh. Yohji who when firstly described was always fitted with the adjectives "slutty," "loose," "easy," and "possibly a hooker." Yohji who breathed sex like it was air, drank it like it was water, and clung to it like it was a lifetime. Yohji was a flirt, always had been and always would be. Aya had known that from the moment he met him.
Why would he get into a relationship with the playboy if he didn't accept that kind of behavior?
Yohji threw himself on his bed and dragged a hand through his bangs.
What, was Aya try to "tame" him or something? Good luck.
He was just getting so defensive. Ugh. Stupid Aya. Stupid Aya Fujimiya who Yohji had nearly spit-up his beer for the first time he ever laid eyes on him. Stupid Aya Fujimiya who he had secretly lusted for the last few years thinking the man was a fricking brick of ice who would never return his feelings.
Stupid Aya who suddenly jumped him one lonely night after a mission, mixing the blood of the katana's victims with the blood of the wire's victims as the drenched assassins smeared flesh against flesh in savage desperation. Stupid Aya who made all his wet dreams come true by licking his lips and spreading his legs and suddenly wanted to be fucking committed.
And protective. And defensive. And jealous.
This isn't how the game was played. Yohji needed a smoke. He turned and reached for his dresser, the one facing the window.
And a shadow with a purple and black face sat there on the cushioned window seal and winked at him.
Yohji's blood ran cold.
"Hey sexy. Want to give the icicle a reason to be jealous?"
Or a puppet without strings.
Now the only color that dotted the lonely space was the two or three streams of city lights that snaked through the window blinds, highlighting random objects: the ash tray on the coffee table. Crawford's reading lamp. A corner of the book shelf. The apartment was too high up to hear the roar of the city. Nothing to remind Schuldig that anyone out there was still alive.
And the walls were thick.
Maybe, he thought somewhere between midnight and a nightmare, everyone left and died and I'm going to be stuck here alone until I fucking rot. Maybe that was Crawford's idea.
Maybe Crawford really was sick of him and this evening antics; maybe this practical joke of a punishment had been played with more malice than Schuldig had originally picked up on. Maybe Crawford picked up Takatori on the way to the airport and was now on his way with Nagi and Farfarello for a week long vacation in Osaka. Maybe Crawford wanted to abandon him and, perfect timing, had a sudden hankering to see mommy and daddy in America.
It was late, wasn't it? They should have been back by now. Nagi wasn't coming back, was he?
Oh well, Schuldig almost said out loud - because when he said things out loud he wasn't so alone - at least I still have the flower shop.
"...where the fuck did that come from?"
Yohji Kudoh, huh? Schuldig was not falling for that sex pot. He wouldn't give that hormonal lunatic with a piano wire the satisfaction... the status of having the Mastermind's affection. Or passing thoughts. Nothing beyond maiming or raping anyway. He felt degraded enough giving Crawford a reason to brag about bedding the great German, he sure as hell wasn't about to extend the same pleasure to that bastard Kudoh.
Schuldig drew his knees up to his chest the way he'd seen Farfarello do a thousand times before. It looked uncomfortable... but the tight ball actually seemed to grip at some of the despair in his stomach and hold it in.
What was going on? It was way after midnight... had Crawford forgot him?
He didn't like to be left alone for very long.
He didn't like to be left alone to his own thoughts for very long.
Crawford knew he didn't like to be left alone for very long.
...Why didn't Crawford KNOW he didn't like to be left alone for very long?
Schuldig buried his face in his knees and slipped into the nightmare.
*
Strong hands took him by the shoulders and drew him forward. This was a familiar sensation, but not familiar enough to alert the sleeping body on whether this was a 'good touch' or a 'bad touch.' Jade eyes peeked upon under heavy lids. His mind was filled with the smell of light cologne, Crawford's scent, only heavy enough to cover the stench of sweat, gunpowder, and blood. Subtle. Everything about Crawford was subtle.
The tension in his shoulders gave way with the straps binding Farfarello's white jacket. Schuldig let loose a noise that was somewhere between a purr and a groan, he creened his neck.
"Punishment's over." The American's words were familiar and laced with a bitter and amused irony. At the same time the words, the touch, was strangely soft. Unusual for Crawford. In one desperate, exhausted moment Schuldig allowed himself a lazy smile and felt safe in the Oracle's arms.
Can we kiss and make-up and make all those bad, bad fights go away? Forever.
They stood up together, Schuldig secure in Crawford's grasp, head buried under his leader, his lover's chin. The jacket slipped lifelessly to the floor. Crawford stroked Schuldig's back, murmured 'snapdragon' into his hair.
What had come over the American to put him in such a gentle mood? Had he finally decided to off Abyssinian? Maybe he sedated previous his pissy mood by letting Farfarello take on and shred that Takatori brat, Bombay, into ribbons. Ha. That'd make anybody's day brighter.
Maybe these stories really did have happy endings.
Then Schuldig remembered that Crawford had left him alone in a straight jacket for nearly six hours. Then Schuldig remembered how much he hated fairy tales.
Then Schuldig drew up his leg and kneed Crawford in the crotch.
A slew of English and German erupted from both parties as they tore away from each other, filled with an indescribable rage, hatred, pain, and panic that neither could understand.
Schuldig was the first to pull himself back into Japanese, arms waving wildly in an almost hysteric gesture, " --ist mir scheißegal -- YOU CAN'T JUST LEAVE ME LIKE THAT FOR SIX FUCKING HOURS - DO YOU KNOW THE HUMILATION ---"
Crawford charged forward with such force that his glasses slipped off the bridge of his nose. With one quick swiping gesture he seized the spectacles and cast them across the room. Schuldig was stuck dumb with shock, unable to move as one powerful hand clawed into his shoulder, as the skin on Crawford's knuckle scraped off across the German's face.
Schuldig grabbed the collar of Crawford's suit to keep from flying backwards. Heeding the white agony that suddenly exploded in his already fractured nose he lifted his gaze and bellowed, "I HATE BEING LEFT ALONE." The German's voice cracked with the scream, shattering into an edge of insanity and hysteria that nearly through Crawford out of his rage.
Nearly.
His body hit the opposing wall with a sharp crack, arms and legs flying in every which direction. Dark jade eyes stared forward, glazed, in disbelief. The back of his head exploded into a dozen stars of blinding pain followed by a quick cool blood rush of numbness. His neck fell to the side, ear resting soundly on his shoulder.
Crawford loomed over him, so far gone that he didn't react to the fact that for a moment Schuldig looked as if the fall had broken his neck and killed him. "Don't you ever...ever do that again."
And Schuldig smiled and made a frantic flight for the apartment door.
*
He pushed talk before the silver case rang a second time.
"...yeah?"
"Nagi. I need you to pick up Farfarello. He was injured last night and kept overnight for observation. You know where to find him."
He sighed into the phone and reached for his jacket. "Yeah."
The voice on the other line faded and was replaced by a dial tone.
*
Y'know, Yohji had been straight before getting a job at the flower shop. But working around so many squealing, salivating, ravenous girls was enough to scare anyone gay. Yes, Yohji had never felt true disgust and disinterest for these mundane creatures until they decided to form their own fan club. In his high school days he had been adamantly straight. The thought of joining the rainbow rollercoaster or being associated with anyone riding the rainbow coaster was enough to tie his stomach up in knots. God created Adam and Eve, for Chris sakes, not Adam and Steve. Yes, Yohji was a high flying, proud, bigoted, gay-basher. And there had been nothing to change his mind.
But...
"Oh Yohji! YOHJI!!!"
"They're so cute!"
"I want to marry them!"
"I want to clone them!"
"I want to have their children!"
"Sexy! Lucky!"
This was enough to make anyone throw in the towel and cheerfully join the pink team. Cheerfully, huh? Yohji stared down at a group of short high school girls who were pawing at his chest for attention. Ha, he thought. Cheerfully. Maybe that's where they got the term "gay" from.
"Ladies. Ladies." He brushed through them easily, wagging his ass in a sure-fire attempt to raise their blood pressure and flaunt something they'd never HAVE. Bwah-ha. "No need to be pushy. There's enough of Yohji for everyone."
Across the shop a pair of cold purple eyes narrowed.
"Now which one of you are over 18?"
"H-hey, Aya! Aya!" Omi leapt through the mob, shaking his red haired friend out of his jealous glaring. "Be careful, Aya!"
The stoic swordfighter raised an eyebrow than glanced down to the plant he was watering. The small clay plot bubbled and overflowed, a thick speckled brown puddle forming around his feet. Aya snarled.
"Oh! Aya's so scary!" One girl giggled.
"Ahhh, don't worry about him." Yohji called lazily from the cash register. "We're taking him to obedience lessons and thinking about either getting him a muzzle or getting him castrated."
Stupid laughter followed.
Aya's face flushed crimson, encouraging more giggles. The water can in his hand trembled, he'd get Balinese back for that one later.
*
Nagi held his hands at his hips, head shaking lightly from one side to another. His stance was received by a blank, amber stare. To which the teenager answered with a disappointed click of the tongue. "Do you always have to be so careless?"
Farfarello seemed to consider this, than nodded. "Yes. Absolutely."
The nurse at his side gently patted Nagi's elbow with the instruction booklet she had been trying explain. "Please, Prodigy. Remember to inform your leader that this medication needs to be taken every six hours. That's one tablet every six hours. And his wounds need to be cleaned every 12. Berserker should avoid the shower until his wounds are more tightly healed because the jets could reopen or damage something. But soaking in a bath is okay. If there is any discoloration around the---"
Nagi snapped the pamphlet out of her hands. "Nurse." He asked, his tone taking on a nasal quality that signaled to anyone who knew him that he was slipping into the depths of annoyance. "How long have you been in... this profession?"
The confused woman batted her eyes, "Almost two years. Wh--"
"Well...*Nurse*...I've worked with Berserker for almost five years and I can safely say I have more experience attending to an injured person than you do based on that fact alone. I know how to take care of my teammate. Spare the lecture for someone who needs it."
Farfarello smirked.
"Ex-excuse me, young man, but--"
"Farf. Let's go."
The albino stood up, knees still shaking from the blood loss. For a moment Nagi's gut quenched in fear that the baffled nurse would surge forward and demand Farfarello stayed for another few hours, or at least long enough to get another packet of hemoglobin in him. They needed to escape fast.
"Hey, wait a minute. Look at you, you're in no condition to walk out of--"
She was again cut off as Farfarello raised a fist at her. The poor Este worker could only stare in mute fascination as Farfarello's hand slowly unfolded to reveal a small sowing needle. Nagi paused in his stride and sighed. Farfarello, grin manic, slowly dragged the needle along the length of his middle finger, the skin opening up and dripping thick spheres of blood as the Berserker gracefully curled all his fingers back but the damaged one to flip the nurse off.
"I hate hospitals."
A loud whack bounced off the walls as an invisible hand smacked the scarred boy upside the head.
"Enough dramatics, Farf, we're going to miss the bus."
*
"Crawford," Nagi was speaking before he even walked through the door. "Do you have any idea how much public transportation sucks?" The slim teen threw off his shoes and tossed his keys on the key rack. Farfarello trailed behind him like a shadow. "Couldn't you buy me a car or something? We're rich, right? I want a limo."
The man seated at the dining room table didn't reply.
Oh well, Nagi wasn't really paying attention. The fifteen-year-old mother hen whipped around and gave an adamant jab at the mud Farfarello was tracking through the landing. "Shoes. Off. Now."
Farfarello glared.
"Yeah. Welcome to Japan."
Mumbling something about 'killing them all' Farfarello squatted and began unlacing his precious combats.
Nagi turned back to their leader. "Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. Food. I'm hungry. We need to order lots of food. I packed some serious snacks at Nagora's house. But I'm hungry again. And I'm in a good mood. We crushed another team's kingdom on Vanaquest and some bitch nurse tried to talk to me like I was a four-year-old needing to take his Flintstone vitamins. But we put her in her place, right Farf? Uh...Crawford, are you okay?"
With his fingers laced together pressed against the bottom of his lip, Crawford stared blankly at the table surface.
It became terribly silent.
Farfarello ambled into the dining room, taking a quick inventory of who was present and who was missing. His pale lips twitched upward in a quick snarl.
"...Where's Schuldig?"
*
The door to Aya's bedroom slammed shut. The walls vibrated and a picture fell down, glass pane face down, cracking in two places. Yohji leaned seething against his door frame, summoning enough restraint to scream out, "IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, WHY ARE YOU FUCKING ME???"
The closed door didn't answer him.
"YEAH. FINE!!!"
Yohji attempted to end with the same dramatic slamming, but he threw his door forward so quickly that it bounced back and hit him in the side. The playboy threw out a few choice curses and tried again, this time with less force. He succeeded but the effect was ruined, now he just looked stupid.
Stuuuuuuuuuupid Aya.
What the hell was his problem? Accusing him of lusting after those good-for-nothing school girls. He knew it was all a game. What was Yohji suppose to do, hold a katana over his head hissing "buy something or get out?" Yeah, right. That tactic only worked for cold hearted bastards... LIKE icicle-stuck-up-his-ass-Aya-Fujimiya.
God, how stupid. How utterly stupid. Aya was dating Yohji Kudoh. Yohji fucking Kudoh. Yohji who when firstly described was always fitted with the adjectives "slutty," "loose," "easy," and "possibly a hooker." Yohji who breathed sex like it was air, drank it like it was water, and clung to it like it was a lifetime. Yohji was a flirt, always had been and always would be. Aya had known that from the moment he met him.
Why would he get into a relationship with the playboy if he didn't accept that kind of behavior?
Yohji threw himself on his bed and dragged a hand through his bangs.
What, was Aya try to "tame" him or something? Good luck.
He was just getting so defensive. Ugh. Stupid Aya. Stupid Aya Fujimiya who Yohji had nearly spit-up his beer for the first time he ever laid eyes on him. Stupid Aya Fujimiya who he had secretly lusted for the last few years thinking the man was a fricking brick of ice who would never return his feelings.
Stupid Aya who suddenly jumped him one lonely night after a mission, mixing the blood of the katana's victims with the blood of the wire's victims as the drenched assassins smeared flesh against flesh in savage desperation. Stupid Aya who made all his wet dreams come true by licking his lips and spreading his legs and suddenly wanted to be fucking committed.
And protective. And defensive. And jealous.
This isn't how the game was played. Yohji needed a smoke. He turned and reached for his dresser, the one facing the window.
And a shadow with a purple and black face sat there on the cushioned window seal and winked at him.
Yohji's blood ran cold.
"Hey sexy. Want to give the icicle a reason to be jealous?"