Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Dark with Distance ❯ Drifting ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: The unfurnished state of my first house attests to the fact that I neither own nor make any money from Weiss Kruez.

Author’s Note: It’s snowing! So, logically, instead of unpacking boxes, cleaning the attic, or writing on that pesky novel, I’m writing fanfiction. I hope my procrastination is at least a little enjoyable!

Warnings: angst, a little sap, shonen ai (I don’t quite think it goes all the way to yaoi, but you be the judge)




Dark with Distance




“Come on!” Omi ran ahead of them a little, puffy winter coat making him look younger than usual, not that the excited expression on his face was doing anything to work against the image. All around him snowflakes were falling, big, fluffy ones that promised there was no evil in the world by covering it with a white purity. With a laugh as innocent as the snow, he took off running.

Ken ran to catch up. His leather jacket looked too thin for the winter day, but he had insisted repeatedly that he was hot blooded and that it was fine. Still, Omi had forced on him an orange toboggan–matched to the youngest boy’s coat rather than Ken’s–and his dark hair poked out from under it in strange angles. Together they hurried on to the park, boots crunching through the four inches of snow the city had received over night.

Behind them proceeded the older member of Weiss. Yohji debated shrugging off his dignity and running after the pair, but the mental image didn’t strike him as attractive in a seductive kind of way, so he refrained. Instead he walked calmly along. Unlike Ken, Yohji was not about to expose himself to the cold under the guise of manly endurance. His knee-length navy coat was warm, yet not bulky, synched at the waist to maintain the outline of his thin figure. Shoved deep within the pockets, his hands were well gloved and warm; his tight jeans were tucked into snow-appropriate boots, matching navy, of course, but without the bulk of Omi’s orange monstrosities. He did choose to sacrifice the warmth of his ears for the sake of his hair, and the sunglasses, well, he could hardly be expected to go outside without those.

Only two facts were disturbing the blonde.

First, Aya was dressed better than he was. Admittedly, this was an aggravation of his own making. Hadn’t the white leather boots had been at his own insistence? Because they hugged his calves so nicely, he defended in his own head. And hadn’t those dark jeans, not visible right now, been handed over by him this morning? Yes, he admitted. And, wasn’t that white trench coat an accent of his own design? He couldn’t deny that one, not after the money he had spent on the sleek item. Trim cut and accented by small silver buckles, white as the snow around them, with a collar that opened in an attractive ‘v’ that framed Aya’s face just so–no, Yohji wanted credit for that even more than he wanted to be the one to attract the most attention.

Damn, but Aya was hot. Yohji debated pitching out a cheap line about how he could melt the snow, but thought twice as he recollected the second qualification to his day of happy recreation.

Aya seemed…distant. It wasn’t unusual for him to be silent, and this wasn’t a pissy silence induced by some minor infraction by the blonde. It wasn’t an angry silence at all. Admittedly, that was what Yohji had expected as he whined and bargained to get the swordsman out of the house that morning. He had been sitting, Yohji recalled distinctly, in the living room, chair pulled close to the frosted window. His legs were curled beneath him, cup of tea cooling in its cradle between his hands as he stared out at the oversized, drifting flakes of snow. His face was passive, but there was something deep and longing in his eyes.

The same sad look dominated those amethyst depths even now as he walked down the unusually quiet street. Anyone else would have seen only stern reluctance there, but the slight downturn of lips was not enough to throw Yohji off the path. He was a professional Aya-watcher after all. Casually, he bumped his shoulder against Aya’s. The redheads stride wobbled for only a second, but straightened instantly. A questioning, but relatively un-menacing, stare was directed at the other as they continued along the sidewalk. Yohji just shrugged, priding himself that he had managed to pull Aya out of his own head, at least for a second.

Both were distracted, however, by their arrival at the park. With the snow still falling and the temperatures well below freezing, very few people were yet to venture out. In the afternoon the space would be filled with laughing children, and even some adults, but for now, the crisp blanket of pristine snow lay intact as the sky added silently to its accumulation.

“No you don’t!” Ken’s shout disrupted the quiet as he rushed after Omi, cheek red from the smack of a well-placed snowball. His own hands deftly formed a similar projectile as his eyes searched for the hidden boy. He wasn’t fast enough; Omi popped up from behind a bush and pelted Ken’s chest, aim as precise as always.

With much less experience with long-range weaponry, Ken found himself at a disadvantage. His return fire missed by a few inches, and, leaning over to reload, he found his hat knocked off by yet another attack. Changing tactics, he dashed behind a trash can and began to construct an arsenal.

A quiet laugh emanated from Yohji, and Aya, standing close at his side, offered the slightest smile in return. It was far from reaching his eyes.

“Go on,” he said, affecting lightness.

Yohji raised an eyebrow at him.

“You know you want to. Idiot,” the last seemed to be an afterthought, perhaps designed to distance Yohji.

The blonde drew his cigarettes out instead. Methodically, he tapped the pack on his hand twice before drawing out a slender cigarette and placing it between his lips. It was only after he exhaled the first rush of smoke that he replied.

“Not really my thing.”

“After all that begging this morning?” Aya wasn’t looking at him now. He wasn’t even in the conversation, just reciting by rote.

Yohji took up the cue, “I thought it would do you some good.”

“Hn.”

Now they were moving beyond words. Disappointed in his own lack of effectiveness, Yohji smoked and watched Aya withdraw into himself. His face lost some of its harshness, softening, just a little, as his eyes darkened. Hands in the pockets of his coat, he finally wandered away, drifting from Yohji’s side like a ghost.

The other man watched the snowball fight in front of him as he drew nicotine into his system. It calmed him and gave him a little time to think. Ken, having recognized his disadvantage at a distance, was now attempting to bring the battle into melee range. He rushed Omi, snowball in hand, only to be met with a cold lump of snow slammed directly into his face.

“Too slow, Ken-kun!” Omi called as he danced away. Ken rushed after.

Yohji debated shouting some form of encouragement, or even going to the brunette’s aid, but, if truth be told, he had no strong desire to wallow in the cold wetness. Yohji hated snow.

It was this fact he pronounced once he located Aya.

“I hate snow,” he said, coming up behind the other.

Aya stood before the round, stone fountain, depressing in its frigid state. Where water usually danced, there was only the frozen-over stagnation at the bottom. Along the base and spire at the center, cold metal protruded, refusing to be coated by the snow. But Aya wasn’t seeing this; he stared ahead, somewhere else entirely.

Yohji dropped his cigarette to the ground, pushed his glasses to his forehead, and stepped closer. With gloved hands, he took hold of Aya’s hips, testing. When there was no resistance, he slipped his arms under Aya’s and further around the thin frame, bringing the swordsman back to rest against his chest.

“Don’t you?” he tried again, head hovering just above Aya’s right shoulder.

Aya turned his head, slowly, just enough to look peripherally at Yohji as if just realizing he was there despite the warmth that was slowly penetrating the back of his coat. He didn’t seem the feel kiss pressed to his temple.

“Sorry,” Yohji mumbled against the soft brush of the other’s hair. “If I had known you didn’t like it, I wouldn’t have asked you to come.” Could he get in this way? Yohji wasn’t sure, but it was a tactic that worked on occasion, especially if Aya wasn’t paying too much attention.

“I . . . no,” his brow furrowed a little as he tried to drag himself back to the conversation.

“Huh?”

“I used to . . . no, I still,” he paused and took a breath. Warm hands left the confines of his pockets to rest on top of Yohji’s as he tried to anchor himself. “I like the snow.”

Yohji squeezed him gently, a reward of sorts. Scooting closer, he rested his chin on Aya’s shoulder.

“What is it, then?” Honest question, not the most effective approach. Yohji felt like he waited a long time for a response. He couldn’t see Aya’s eyes, but he knew they were still dark with distance.

“Why does everything have to hurt?”

It was quiet, but it hit Yohji at the core. Even the happy things were tainted with sad memories, and there was a certain hopelessness in that. When even happiness hurts, how does anyone go about easing the pain?

It had been over a year since Aya-chan passed, but Yohji knew her brother still felt the loss keenly. Revenge had come and gone with disruption, she had gone quietly in the night, and he had just gone on. It had gotten better in many ways. Yohji felt him relax more often to his touches, saw him smile sometimes, caught him taking real joy in the small things their strange lives could still offer. But then these same tiny boons could turn and bite, snatching back that joy and meting out soul-scathing wounds with memory’s double-edged dagger.

In a way, Yohji wished he could glimpse inside his lover’s head, could see the younger Ran. Would he stand on some distant porch and admonish his little sister to come in out of the frigid weather? Would he wear scarves and mittens and join her in making snow angels, hers sloppy, his precise, on the wide front lawn of their parents’ home? Would he look up in wonder as huge, white snowflakes caught in brilliant contrast in his hair and eyelashes? Would he smile?

Yohji wasn’t sure he could stand it. Already tears threatened the backs of his eyes, but he fought with the conviction of a comforting friend. Gently, he turned Aya in his grasp, draping his long arms over the other’s shoulders and hugging him close. Aya’s touch was tentative, hands resting, barely touching, on either side of Yohji’s waist, head close to, but not quite resting on Yohji’s chest.

“Why?” It was a quiet reiteration, sounding as it originated from a million miles away.

“I don’t know.” Yohji hated, truly hated, that that was the best he could give. He tried to compensate by hugging Aya closer, willing comfort for him. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Then Aya did rest his head on Yohji, stiff shoulders relaxing into the hug and hands taking a more firm hold on the blonde. They rested together, standing before the empty fountain in the falling snow.

“Welcome back,” Yohji whispered as he pressed a kiss to the top of Aya’s head. Looking down, he noticed the way the soft snowflakes rested there, contrasting white with red, clinging for just a moment, and then they were gone.

~end~

Author’s Notes: This was just a quick little story that started with snow and then wandered off in its own direction. Thanks for reading, and please review!