Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Discord in the House of Assassins ❯ And The Word to The Action ( Chapter 9 )

And the Word to the Action

 

How does one go from not giving a shit to suddenly feeling the world's pain like a Nobel Prize wannabe? Well, okay, not the world's pain, but caring for someone else. Well, if one really is concerned with such a question, and actually came to a semblance of an intelligent answer, then could one send a detailed letter (or e-mail, if one prefers) explaining everything that one has mused on pertaining the aforementioned question to a certain Kudou Yohji in Kitten in the House Flower Shop, Tokyo, Japan?* Because that is the question that has been bogging his mind for quite some time now. Of course, we wouldn't admit it himself, but that is what is happening to him.

 

He doesn't really understand it, never did, actually. It's barely understandable, outright unfathomable for the likes of him- people who try to be as uncomplicated as possible. Not that the world granted him the rights to be uncomplicated- he just thinks it a grand idea to be such, seeing as how complicated everything else already is. And it's not as if it's only him who can never seem to get it- people have died without ever truly grasping even a little of it. It? Love. Of course, what else can it be?

 

Falling in love is all well and fine for him, it's nothing different from infatuation- those terrible butterflies making things complicated for the digestive system, the incomprehensible warm feeling spreading somewhere in the chest area, the goofy look and the rose-tinted outlook on the usually crummy world… That, however weird it may sound, he can handle fine. It's just like falling in love with a really great video game, or seeing that long-awaited book by a beloved author, or a nice tall chocolate sundae in the desolate summer heat. It's a feeling. There's no need to fight against it, just go with the flow, like a leaf on a river gliding downstream. It's when the feeling leaves and still he finds himself in the same situation, still regarding the other person like a personal god, that's what he finds troublesome. When the feeling's gone, but he remains, when the initial madness subsides, and he rationally still attach him to the other, when wanting to be near the other fades, but wanting to help the other be better remains… love. Choosing to remain in love after the initial rush of want… that's what he finds troublesome.

 

Sighing, Yohji got up from the park bench he had been loafing upon for the last two hours, throwing the last crumbs from the forgotten sandwich to the expectant birds before trudging on his unhappy way, the birds finally getting the crumbs they've been waiting for with bathed breath for thirty minutes. To philosophize about love was not the point of going to the park, Yohji berated himself as he trudged on while opening his second pack of cigarettes (yes, he can multi-task), the point of going to the park was to smoke freely and think about nothing at all, which he both forgot to do as he was quickly swallowed by the black philosophical hole without remorse. He clucked his tongue as he walked amidst curiously happy people, took out a cigarette and lit it.

 

Inhaling the smoke and holding it in for as long as he can without falling over and alerting the insanely perky people in the park, Yohji thought (again) about how he fell for Aya… and quickly choked on the smoke he was holding in. After a moment of sputtering and wiping of tears, Yohji gave a cough of embarrassment, looked about him, and walked away hurriedly. Ambling towards his direction (because that was still an injured leg) was the object of his mortified longings- Aya fucking Fujimiya, death glare on legs.

 

Not that Aya noticed Yohji or knew about him being in the park and followed him there like an eager young school girl with a first-time crush, gods help him, just that Aya felt like taking a walk to help his leg heal better. Or something like that, as Aya really didn't want to admit what it was that made him want to take a relaxing walk, there wasn't really anything to stress him out since morning. Twenty sadistic Farfarello replicas wouldn't be able to torture the truth out of him, he can bet his katana on that. But, if Yohji was the one to ask, he's sure as hell he'll be blurting out the truth so fast like there's no tomorrow. Good thing he's also sure as hell that Yohji wouldn't be asking him anything, the way the blonde was going out of Aya's way the whole day yesterday and this morning.

 

That… though beneficent on both their parts in the sense that they don't have to confront the other, in a weird way annoys Aya. Yohji was, is, avoiding him. And it is peculiar that the fact that he himself avoided Yohji like a plague, as is often noted, never seem to grace Aya's thoughts, but he feels a bit hurt nonetheless that the blonde was avoiding him. It hurt… like when he was younger and his dad would promise a trip to the theme park which always gets postponed everyday until his dad forgot about it all… disappointment. Over what? Not hearing offhanded insults in a slurred, distinctly Yohji way? Not seeing that disgusting smirk, or watch that obscene leer aimed at some poor, though not entirely innocent, woman/girl/chick/etc.? Not being able to haul the blonde's sorry ass out of whatever fine mess he's gotten himself into, and having to deal with you-know-who to boot? No sir, no way he misses that. So why was he so disappointed at being snubbed?

 

“Hn. stands to reason, it is natural for human beings to crave awareness of their being… because if no one knows you're there, who'd know you actually exist?” Aya mused out loud without knowing, which is why he almost jumped when someone dropped into step with him and answered back, and since this is Aya, the key word would be almost.

 

“Well… only the self can really know one's existence. Physical extremities could well be only illusions, conjured by a higher spirit or our own minds.”

 

Without turning his head to the right, Aya knew who it was, but for some unfathomable reason his head did turn to grace Yohji with a look of acknowledgment (which he hoped did not show any other emotion). Yohji grinned back, and took a last hit of his cigarette before stubbing it on the sole of his left boot. Aya turned his head to the other side to breathe from the less polluted side of the atmosphere as Yohji exhaled the smoke through his nose, trying to prolong it, knowing that with Aya his little cylinders of heaven (though Aya would contest that, saying it is neither heaven nor hell, just bad habit) are of limits. Which would confuse the basic Yohji-watcher, for if his purpose of going to the park was, as he said, to smoke without consequence or undue pain of sudden abstinence (put into action by a certain redhead), then why is he walking with Aya right now with full knowledge of the restriction of his freedom to smoke? Bugger to that, Yohji'd probably say, complete with a shoulder shrug and a slightly puzzled, yet dominantly nonchalant face.

 

“Eh, so Aya, what brings us to the park?”

“I'm in the park to walk my leg into a better condition,” Aya pointedly answers with a raised eyebrow, “You, I wouldn't know.”

 

Yohji rolls his eyes a bit, but of course out of Aya's peripheral vision, if the redhead saw him do it there'd be… what would there be? Hell to pay? Like Aya would even care if his eyes took off and left his eye sockets without as much as a by-your-leave. Since when did he care if he offended Aya? Okay, every time the redhead has anything in his hand that can be expended into a weapon for sudden death. Or when the redhead is visibly pissed. Or when the V-man needs to… you know… feed. But it's not as if simple eye-rolling (not even the offensive kind, not the ones that teenagers are prone to do with over the top dramatics, just the slightly, almost not there kind of eye-rolling most adults do) would slight Aya's pride (which is as long and visible in outer space as the Great Wall) and evoke endless wrath. If anything, Aya would find it childish and file it under the category of “things that prove that Kudou is an idiot”. Plus, you know, Aya does it himself, so what's the deal?

 

“Score one for Aya in the verbal death match of the century.”

 

For that Aya had to smile, and the smile was mortified to find itself on the lips of Aya Fujimiya. It was only small though, and in danger of breaking out further, but Aya held it in check. Of course, Yohji grinned at seeing the tiny smile break through the icy exterior.

 

“So… I thought we were, you know, avoiding each other.”

 

“Hn.”

 

“Sorry, what? For a full point the player must say a real word, grunts are not allowed in the verbal death match.”

 

“I can only avoid you for so long.”

 

Yohji didn't know what to say to that, so he just shrugged his shoulders and continued walking in the slow yet surely determined gait that Aya was walking with his injured leg.

 

“So, why were you avoiding me?”

 

“Er, what?”

 

“You said we were avoiding each other.”

 

“Well it was that, or we're both just really into ducking and scuttling.”

 

“I see your point, but not your answer to my question.”

 

“Oh, yeah? Well, why were you avoiding me?”

 

This time Aya rolled his eyes, and he didn't care if Yohji saw it. A bit embarrassed, Yohji cleared his throat and looked at anything that can be considered interesting, the sky for example.

 

“D'you ever notice how nice the sky is on a cloudy afternoon?”

 

Aya looks up as well, and Yohji goes “A-ha! Distraction!” in his head.

 

“I like it better when the sun is setting, and the sky is a confusion of red, orange and impending violet.”

 

Stopping, both men stood in silence as people around them passed to and fro, heedless of the two assassins in their midst.

 

“Y'know, I kinda missed this.”

 

“What?”

 

“Conversations. With you, A~yan.”

 

“Well, if you didn't start avoiding me.”

 

“This, I don't think I miss.”

 

“This what?”

 

“This… the start of an argument.”

 

“I beg to differ, Mr. Kudou, we are not arguing.”

 

“See? My point exactly.”

 

“You we… wait, what point?”

 

“The point that we argue.”

 

“We aren't arguing.”

 

“There you go again proving my point.”

 

“What?” Aya frowned… actually, physically he kind of pouted, but in his mind he's frowning. Yohji thought it was kinda cute… and was quick to add, in his mind, that it was kinda cute in a little younger brother kind of way. “Well if you only answered my questions straight up, we wouldn't argue at all.”

 

“And if you only stop asking me questions you know are difficult to answer straight up I wouldn't have to beat around the bush and then we wouldn't argue at all.”

 

“Hah.”

 

“Double hah.”

 

“So… that's ha-ha? You're laughing at me?”

 

“No-o… that's hah-hah, which means I'm seeing your hah, and raising it another one.”

 

“Then, triple hah.”

 

“You can't do a triple hah.”

 

“Oh, why not?”

 

“'Cause it's silly.”

 

“And a double hah isn't?”

 

“Of course not, perfectly legitimate, recognized all over the world like a visa MasterCard. Only wimps and really silly kiddies use the triple hah.”

 

“You'd do very well to retract that.”

 

“Erm… okay. You're neither a wimp nor silly.” In his mind though, Yohji heard the sound of a whip cracking… he was whipped, that's all there is to it. And he's not even that into S&M. Pity.

 

While musing about being whipped and being adventurous with limits, Yohji failed to see Aya freeze on his tracks, hold his breath, and quickly look around. With a tug Aya returned Yohji to the world of the living, and the slightest nod from the redhead informed Yohji about something or someone unwelcome on their path. Looking towards the direction of the nod Yohji saw the park fountain, where people were dancing. And not just simply dancing, they were dancing like in a scene of an old musical where everyone suddenly knows all the steps to the dance and the lyrics to the song. Baffled, Yohji was about to comment when he remembered noting how insanely perky everyone else was in the park earlier. And when he did a quick yet thorough scan, there it was, the source of the madness or rather, there he was.

 

Mastermind.

 

Murmuring a rather descriptive expletive about dogs and their private lives, Yohji follows Aya who darted into some foliage to their right. From the comfortable vantage point of a rather humongous shrub, Yohji watched the orange-haired malice seat lovely-as-you-please on the edge of the fountain, throwing crumbs into some unfortunate pigeons while wagging his right hand about akin to a music conductor (of the demented kind).

 

*Although actually sending the letter would pose a problem, since Kudou Yohji is technically dead.