Well, well, well. What is this? Yes! My dears, it appears that this is another update.
(Watches while readers all simultaneously pass out.)
Oh well. The show must go on.
Big thanks to everyone who took the time to review and give me their wonderful support! I have the best reviewers in the world!
Special thanks to Moimoi-chan. For poking me. And making me giggle.
Whatever had been bothering Aya the night they went to the movies did not seem to still be bothering him this night. He had smiled when Yohji came to the door, invited him to come inside while he finished getting ready.
The only time at all in which he had acted like his old, grumpy self had been when Yohji had presented him with the primrose. His face had gone blank and cold, his eyes hostile.
"I've got to have gotten it right this time." Yohji said lightly, feigning ignorance.
Aya's expression softened. Yohji would have almost said the other man looked sad.
"Primrose doesn't stand for friendship, either."
"I'll get the hang of it eventually." Yohji laughed.
Whatever it was, the spell was broken. Aya was once more the quiet but sweetly needy man who had returned to Japan after two years away.
"I guess I should have been the one to bring flowers this time." Aya said at last, smiling ruefully. "This whole thing was my idea this time, wasn't it?"
"Does this mean we're taking your car?" Yohji teased with a grin, glad to have "his" Aya back.
"Sure, if you like."
Yohji had a moment to feel startled before realizing that Aya had passed him and was walking down the hall toward the elevators. Yohji made sure the door to Aya's apartment was locked before hurrying after the small man.
"I didn't know you had a car."
"No? Not very observant, are you?"
"You could have mentioned it earlier, you know. Save me some gas driving your ass around."
"I'm…sorry?"
Yohji laughed as they entered the elevator. As the doors were closing, a shout went up down the hall. Yohji held out his hand to stop the doors while they waited for four people to join them.
College students and, it seemed, all ready to party. The girls were dressed like sluts, the guys in sports jerseys. They smelled faintly of alcohol, and one of the boys very strongly of marijuana. The elevator was small enough to feel crowded with six people inside, but Yohji stopped minding as Aya moved closer to him to avoid the newcomers.
The others paid little attention to the two men. One of the girls had shoved one of the boys up against the wall and proceeded to see just how far she could shove her tongue down his throat in a manner verging on pornographic. The other two in the party were fighting very hard to keep up the appearance of sobriety, hanging all over each other and giggling at the light fixture as if it were the funnies thing they had ever seen.
Yohji fought the urge to laugh. Some of the wild parties he had been to in his life would have shocked and disgusted the "experienced" kids in the elevator. Nevertheless, even drunk and high and climbing all over each other, the kids seemed much more young and innocent than Yohji himself could ever remember being.
He wondered how any of them would react to know how desperately he wanted the beautiful man beside him. Were they anywhere near as homophobic as any of his old schoolmates had been?
It would have been a fun test to see how much he could do to Aya before the kids reacted, but he didn't think Aya would appreciate being mauled – especially not in front of others. They hadn't even kissed yet.
Yet.
Gods. There had to be something wrong with Yohji's mind. He kept forgetting that Aya did not yet belong to him. So many times he had to stop himself from doing or saying something to the smaller man that he did not yet have the right to do or say.
Every morning he was surprised to wake up alone. Every evening he was saddened and disappointed to come home to an empty apartment after hours of fantasizing that Aya would be there waiting for him.
He kept forgetting that they weren't together.
They needed to be together, damn it!
"Shit, man." Yohji laughed a few moments later as they walked through the parking garage to Aya's car. "The porche? I thought you sold it when you left!"
Aya shook his head, and Yohji was beginning to know him well enough to realize that the younger man was amused.
"I found a place to store it for me for a good price."
"Then why the hell have I been driving you everywhere?"
Aya laughed. It was a small laugh, but a laugh nonetheless, and Yohji secretly cheered this small victory.
"You always offered." The redhead answered. "I didn't want to offend."
"Are…are you teasing me?"
Aya looked at him over the hood of the porche, expression more vulnerable than Yohji had ever seen it.
"Yohji…for today…can we just…pretend?"
"Pretend what?" Yohji asked, drowning in Aya's sad eyes.
He hesitated.
"Can we pretend that we are two normal men out on an outing?" He asked quietly. "That we've never taken life, never…seen the things we've seen?"
"Aya…"
"I need to see what normalcy is like. At least for a few hours I want to be free to let my defenses down – and you're the only one I trust enough to try that with."
"I'm…honored."
"Don't tease me, Yohji." He snapped, steel in his voice.
"I'm not. I'm completely serious." Yohji held out his hand, but couldn't reach Aya over the car. Instead he opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. When Aya slid in next to him, he put his hand on the smaller man's knee. "Let's do it Aya."
"What?"
"Let's do it. Let's pretend we're two normal men just out for the day – though what normal man would willingly go to an art exhibit is beyond me…"
"Kudoh…"
"Tell ya what. I'll be…Ramon and you can be…George."
"George?"
"Yes, George."
Aya laughed. Yohji didn't think the small man wanted to laugh, but it was as if he couldn't help it. Encouraged, the blonde decided to continue.
"I'm a Hispanic stock-broker taking a vacation from m y cheating wife and horrible four-point-five children." He decided.
"You're Hispanic?" Aya asked doubtfully, pulling out of his parking place.
"Don't interrupt me. Now you, George, are a Greek sailor on shore leave. You and I met up at a cocktail party held by a mutual acquaintance via the internet and, unable to fight our mutual attraction for each other, we've started a wild and passionate romance…"
"Have you been drinking?"
"Don't interrupt me now, George."
"Yohji…"
"Ramon." The blonde corrected, tossing his head. "Make sure you get our story right, all right, bunny-thong?"
"Didn't I warn you to stop calling me that?"
"Now, if anyone asks, the only reason two men as studly as you and I are going to an art exhibit is because it's always been your dream in fuck in a museum. You don't know anything about art. In fact, you're illiterate."
Aya began to laugh, and Yohji felt warmth spread throughout him.
"Now, Romanticism is an art movement that spread throughout the west during the nineteenth century." The tour guide said with a practiced smile, motioning to a painting. "Note the bright colors and expressive brushstrokes. Romanticism was known for the emphasis it placed on emotion."
Yohji stifled a yawn and glanced around the tour group boredly, wondering at how everyone could look so interested. He hadn't known the exhibit Aya was dragging him to was an exhibit of reproductions of famous Western artworks.
Somehow, art created by old dead white guys was just more boring than normal art.
A flash of red caught his eye and he realized with surprise that Aya had wandered away from the group. Dutifully, the blonde went to the man he cared so very much for – having to nearly physically restrain himself to keep from putting his arms around the smaller man.
"The group's going off without us, Aya." He said quietly. "They're moving on to…" He checked the program. "Expressionists next."
"We'll catch up." Aya answered softly, wrapping his arms around himself. Yohji turned to the picture the smaller man was viewing and drew back, disturbed.
"What the hell is that?"
"Does it bother you?"
"Hell yeah."
Aya smiled grimly. "Johann Fuseli's The Nightmare." He stated, voice so quiet that Yohji had to strain to hear him. Yohji looked at the painting again, finding himself unable to explain exactly why it bothered him.
A woman in white lay asleep on a bed, a demon sitting on her chest and a white-eyed horse in the background. The demon seemed to be looking out of the picture and directly at the viewer, a snarl on its lips.
Yohji shuddered.
"Nightmare. Yeah, I can see that."
"Fuseli did several versions of this painting; it was based off a reoccurring dream he was said to have had."
"Sucks to be him."
Aya snorted. "Fuseli was obsessed with a woman who would not have him. Many believe that the incubus on the woman's chest is meant to represent Fuseli himself."
Yohji opened his mouth to say something flippant, but Aya's face was so solemn that he quickly changed his mind. He didn't know what his companion saw in the painting, but Aya was staring at the awful thing as if it held the greatest secrets of the universe.
"Come on." Yohji pled gently, succumbing to temptation and putting an arm around Aya's shoulders. The smaller man leaned into him and allowed himself to be drawn away, pliant and trusting. Yohji had to fight very hard not to kiss the lovely man.
After the art exhibit, it was a very subdued Aya who suggested that they go for something to eat. Yohji had planned to call it an early night and go home to work on some of his cases – but he was unwilling to leave Aya when the man was in such a dark mood, and it was rare enough that the redhead suggest eating anything that Yohji wouldn't have dreamed of turning him down.
Anyway, he had yet to have found the appropriate opening to attempt to convince Aya to go and see his little sister.
Plus, the man had grown far too quiet for Yohji to feel safe leaving him alone.
"You still in there, George?"
Aya looked up over his menu and smiled softly. "Are you still stuck on that silly game, Kudoh?"
"Ramon." He corrected.
He shook his head, smile gaining a bit more warmth. "I refuse to call you that."
"Yohji, then."
"Kudoh…"
"Why not? You've been using it on and off for weeks."
He blinked, genuinely surprised. "I have?"
"You didn't notice?"
Wide-eyed, Aya shook his head. Yohji couldn't help but to laugh.
"And here I thought we were making progress!"
Aya blushed, then scowled, the illusion of innocence melting away. "You," He said in a cold voice, "Are impossible."
Yohji licked his lips, feeling a thrill of triumph as Aya's eyes involuntarily followed the action. "And you," He said smoothly, leaning in toward Aya until their faces were mere inches apart, "Love it."
He found himself staring at Aya and Aya staring back silent, unchallenging. Even from so close Aya's lovely face was flawless. His skin looked like pale silk, his lips seemed as soft and inviting as rose petals.
Yohji nearly groaned as he forced himself to pull away, watching as Aya blinked in surprise and tried to figure out what had just happened.
"How was your week?" Yohji asked, hoping to avoid a question he saw as unavoidable. One day Aya would work it out. On that day, Yohji could have everything he ever wanted.
Or, just as easily, he could lose it all.
Aya relaxed, releasing the question on his tongue, unasked.
"Busy." He answered, taking a sip of his drink. "Nakamura assigned me sole jurisdiction over this kid…the boy's an idiot." He nodded as Yohji laughed. "No, I honestly think that there's something wrong with him. He signed the contract without reading it, and we practically own him now. He's only just now realizing his mistake and he seems to think that if he stops showing up for work he can get out of it."
"Sounds like a mess."
"It is."
"Aren't you glad you have the great and magnificent Yohji Kudoh to help cheer you up at the end of the week?"
"So now you're Yohji Kudoh again?" Aya arched an eyebrow. "What happened to 'Ramon'?"
Yohji shook his head sadly. "His plane went down over China while he was traveling back to Spain. His ghost now wanders the seven seas looking for George, his only love."
"Ah." Aya rolled his eyes, massaging his temple. Yohji reached across the table to cover his other hand with his own, suddenly concerned.
"You're too tense, Aya." He said quietly. "You've always been too tense. In all the years I've known you, you've never once been completely at-ease."
"What do you call all the time I've been spending with you?"
"You relax." Yohji acknowledged, "A little. But not enough. Aya, you're still hard, still…"
"Inhuman?"
"I didn't say that."
Silence passed between them for a few excruciatingly long moments. Finally Aya turned his hand in Yohji's and gave the blonde man's a squeeze, sighing quietly.
"I'm sorry; I'm a little upset this week." He stated quietly. "I saw my sister at the grocery store and I've been unable to stop thinking about the encounter ever since. I'm sorry if my mood has ruined your evening."
It was the opening Yohji had been hoping for. Yohji placed his other hand atop Aya's so that he was holding the slim, pale appendage in both of his own, and trapped the younger man's eyes with his most sincere gaze.
"I know you saw her." He admitted quietly, fighting the urge to flinch at the surprise in his companion's eyes. "I spoke to her."
"You saw my sister?" Aya demanded, voice low and suspicious.
Yohji nodded. "I've kind of been keeping an eye on her since you left." He informed him, attempting to grin and failing miserably. "She works in the old flower shop. She…she really wants to see you, Aya."
"She told you this?"
"She asked me to find you for her."
Aya's eyes grew cold and hard, all last traces of friendship vanishing in one heartbreaking instant.
"She knows we've been speaking?" He demanded, pulling his hands away violently. "Is that why I 'happened' to run into you at the club that night, Kudoh? Did you track me there?"
"Aya; don't be - "
"Did you track me there?"
"No, okay? No. It was coincidence, that's all. Gods, Aya, this isn't some kind of a case for me; I've been completely honest with you this whole time. I missed you. I wanted to renew our acquaintance. Aya-chan only asked me to find you after she saw you at the store." He searched his former leader's eyes, desperately trying to find something, anything, to show he was getting through to the stubborn young man. "She wants to hire me as a P.I., that's all. I'm not going to take her money, but…but she wants to see you. She needs you."
"I forbid you to tell her how to find me." Aya stated coldly. The ice had melted from his eyes. He was no longer angry, just…terrified.
"I wasn't going to." Yohji assured him, fighting to make his voice gentle and soothing. "But, Aya, you can't avoid her. After everything you've done for her and because of her you can't just never see her again."
"Don't presume to tell me what I can and cannot do."
"Aya…"
"Leave me alone, Kudoh. Leave me alone before I hurt you." Aya pushed back his chair and stood, refusing to look at the blonde.
Yohji caught him around the waist from behind as he made to storm away, pressing his face into the younger man's back.
"Aya, please." He whispered, knowing that they were attracting stares and not caring. "Aya, I…I care too damn much about you to let you continue to torture yourself this way. You don't deserve it, whatever you believe. Please, please don't leave. Please, sit back down and talk to me. Let me help you."
The small man grew terribly still, and that was the only warning Yohji had before the redhead's elbow jabbed sharply backwards into his ribs and his heel came down over his foot. Yelping, the blonde was forced to release his hold on the former swordsman, and could only stare helplessly at the man he loved fled the restaurant.
Yohji paid the bill and took a cab home. Aya refused to answer both his phone and his door.
Yohji had pushed too far. He had ruined everything. All his hard work, the small glimmer of hope that had been revealed…it was all lost.
Yohji tried Aya's cell phone twice more before throwing down his own phone and grabbing up his keys.
Aya paced restlessly across his apartment, cell phone in hand. It had been at least an hour since the last time it had rung.
His face was wet with tears he didn't know the source for, and his hands didn't seem to want to stop shaking. His heart hurt, and there seemed to be a cold lump of fear in his belly.
He had fought with Yohji. Yohji, who had been so good to him and who had done so much for him and was only trying to help.
Had he ruined everything? The friendship that he had begun to depend so very much on…had he destroyed it?
He dialed Yohji's number, let it ring once, and hung up.
He felt like crying.
I was going to update this on Mon Jan 23 but would show neither my stories nor my stats, and updating was impossible. Don't blame me! Go and protest the evilness of having to wait. (Bwahaha?)
All right, that's it for now. And look; it's out much sooner than expected! (Cheers!)
"Somehow, art created by old dead white guys was just more boring than normal art." This is purely Yohji's point of view. Obviously, not all art is made by "old dead white guys," and neither is it boring. Don't write me complaining.
Aya sees a reflection of himself and his longing for Yohji in Fuseli's painting. Of course, he doesn't bother explaining this to anyone…
I wrote this chapter back in October when I was taking art appreciation. (Obviously.) If anyone wants any information on romanticism, expressionism, or Fuseli…do a google search.
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