Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Discord in the House of Assassins ❯ To Thine Own Self Be True ( Chapter 13 )

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters herein used for a rather poorly written fan fiction. Weiss Kreuz belongs to those it belongs to, and definitely not me. I think I've completely forgotten what this fic is all about, and so ended up writing this chapter of pure fluff (well, it looks like fluff to me). Apologies all around (please don't kill me KDSarge, Moimoichan, Darkephoenix and Miss Macabre… and here I am again digging my own grave by forgetting all the other good people who review my works). Anyway I enjoyed writing the endnotes, so there.

 

 

 

The smell of frying bacon did not so much as permeate the whole of the kitchen, rather it marched into it, built barricades, and settled down for the long haul. Aya shook his head and wrinkled his nose, trying to fight the smell of death by cholesterol in vain by fanning his left hand in front of his face as he strode towards the source of it. Yohji was standing in front of the stove, a skillet and some mutated utensil* at hand, pushing here and there the whole of the stock of bacons the fridge had yielded. He was in a stupor. Aya, in a burst of sudden imagination and inspiration (both of which were supposed to be happening on someone else, unfortunately both were not very good with maps and directions), decided to break Yohji out of his stupor by surprisingly lunging at the blonde's ticklish sides. He did so. Thankfully Yohji is a skilled assassin who knew how hot oil and bits of frying bacon can be. Instead of throwing the skillet and the mutated kitchen utensil up in the air he wisely settled for a loud yelp and a small jump, afterwards a very sheepish look darted to both sides to see if anyone saw him do so, and finally a look of stern admonishment towards, he was surprised and not so surprised to see, Aya.

 

“What the bloody hell was that for?”

 

Aya shrugged and leaned on the counter behind him, which happened to contain the kitchen sink.

 

“I thought it would be a funny way to get you out of that world you were in.”

 

“Well, ha ha, I almost burned myself. Happy?” Yohji dripped with sarcasm and so did his mutated utensil, well not with sarcasm, but with bacon fat… or oil… or whatever came off of them things. He turned off the stove and transferred the bacon to a plate that had a couple of sheets of tissue doomed to become soggy when they come in contact with the oily bacon. Aya scratched his nose in what Yohji noted as a boyish way.

 

“You're not surprised.”

 

“There's not so many people that knows I have ticklish sides… well not so many men… in fact you're the only one, to be exact.”

 

“I must say I'm surprised.”

 

“Excuse me? And what exactly do you mean by that?” Yohji turned around to point an oily mutated utensil at Aya in what he hoped to be an accusatory fashion. Aya shot him a brief yet mischievous smile. Taken aback, for he does not get to see that kind of smile often, Yohji lowered the utensil, and noticing how it was dripping, he walked towards Aya with the intention of depositing it in the sink that was behind the redhead. Aya misread however, and thinking that Yohji was going to, oh he doesn't know, maybe slap him silly with pork fat, he laughed and held his hands up in what he believes to be a conciliatory fashion (though there had not been many occasions in which he was required to do so).

 

“Don't. I'm injured, remember? No hitting disabled people.”

 

Confused, Yohji gave Aya an incredulous, raised-eyebrow-in-confusion look as he leaned a bit into Aya to safely deposit the oily utensil in the sink without hitting Aya's arm with it. This close, Aya could faintly smell Yohji's cologne underneath the fried bacon smell, a scent of… cool summer breeze and the ocean. He looked down; avoiding Yohji's gaze, and tried not to think about it. Best to keep clear-headed about the problem at hand… There was no sound except for the occasional fizz and pop of the cooling oil on the skillet, and to Aya the sound of Edouard's smug voice as it recited a litany of things that can be seen on the beach- a reclining Yohji out for a tan was a favorite- and his own protestations. Before Aya could say anything on the matter out loud to the blonde though, Yohji was already in front of the stove, bustling with some other thing to fry.

 

Aya felt a slight disappointment when he raised his head only to see Yohji's back standing five steps away from him. And when he realized he was disappointed, not only slightly, but frighteningly so, he at first was curious as to why, and then quickly became annoyed. And so, no one should be surprised to know that the earlier boyish, mischievous mood that Aya was in due to some misplaced inspiration and imagination was quickly abandoned for the usual gruff bastard mood. He folded his arms across his chest, which was a sure sign of Aya being Aya again. He decided on a slight insult for an opening line.

 

“So, are you going to kill me by cholesterol or what?”

 

The oil came crackling to life, hiding Yohji's sigh.

 

***

 

Omi finally managed to calm Ken down without hitting the athlete over the head with something preferably hard enough to render someone safely unconscious. The only way to convince the older man, Omi thought, was to show him proof of what I claim to be the truth. For proof, they needed only to look into the kitchen, which is what they did. Stealthily, of course- if Aya ever found out that they were spying on him, and worse, him with Yohji, there would not only be hell to pay, but heaven, purgatory and the whole of creation as well. To do this Omi had to give away a secret- they were watching the two in the kitchen by way of the Omi-spycam in one of the magnets on the fridge, and since Omi left his laptop on the kitchen table they were now in his room using the big computer. Ken sat on a beanbag, regarding Omi's back with reproach.

 

“I can't believe you've been spying on your own teammates.”

 

Omi sighed, and explained for the fifth time. “I'm not spying on you guys, this is a video surveillance system, you know? To guard our headquarters? For security reasons?”

 

“Yeah, well…” Ken muttered as he watched the drama unfolding in the kitchen through the Omi-spycam with much more attention and interest as he is wont to admit. “There better not be any in the bathroom and in the bedrooms or anything like that…”

 

Omi rolled his eyes for the sixth time. “There are none.” He said, lying through his teeth. Well, he reasoned to himself, none that would be uncomfortable for anyone, at least the cameras are only directed towards the direction of the windows and not to anything else in particular, definitely not the beds and the shower… and of course the toilet *shudder*. It wasn't so much as lying as keeping internal security.

 

Anyway, Ken relaxed a bit more. He didn't like the idea of anyone spying on him, he was paranoid already as it was, and it didn't help to know that there really are eyes that are watching him without him knowing. It's not that he has something that he didn't want Omittchi to see… well actually yes, he wouldn't want Omittchi see a lot of things that normal, healthy and sexually aware male adults usually do, but he had nothing perverted that he didn't want Omittchi to see especially. It's just that he'd rather not be watched, like some reality television program that's so much the rage these days, or like a fish in an aquarium, or an anime show about four men pretending to be florists by day but actually are assassins by night. Huh, that would be too weird. But Omi said there were only a few of those cameras installed, and they were for security and not for anything else like Omi watching them for whatever daytime drama and gossip they can produce (though who Omi would gossip with is not yet clear at this point).

 

Ken knows that what the kid had been telling him was at par with the compost they used for their flowers, which is to say it's a whole lot of shit (pardon, he meant excrement), but he pretended to believe the kid anyway. Besides, he'd rather not know where the other cameras are hidden; he didn't want to act all weird after knowing where they are. Ignorance is bliss, and Ken somehow utilized that adage into his advantage. Ken nodded visibly, if only to assuage Omi and make the kid think that he did buy into everything, and when Omi seemed to be relaxing himself Ken turned his full attention to the drama unfolding on the computer screen. It'd be better if the resolution was clearer, and that the sound wasn't so manky, Ken thought, but maybe this is all for the better. I really wouldn't want to know what's between those two; he grimaced and unconsciously turned up his collar to hide his neck as he imagined a katana and a garrote both wielded with terrifying accuracy and precision. I really happen to like my neck and incidentally, my life.

 

* * *

 

Aya, due to his injured leg and not because of lack of a persevering spirit (which he surely has), decided to sit down as he waited for whatever Yohji was cooking, alternating between insults and glares to while away the time. Yohji, on the other hand, was now blissfully cooking pancakes after finishing with the eggs, the ones that Aya liked (perfect sunny side ups, if you please) had been the devil to cook**.

 

The blonde decided to hold his end of the conversation, whatever little there was of it because Aya wouldn't let him get a word in edgewise- not by talking all the time, but saying something, then anticipating when the other man might start a sentence, and before the other man even manages to get the first word past his lips Aya already cuts in***. So, as he artfully (only to his own opinion- because no one else was really paying that much attention and because it really wasn't as artful as he thought) poured dollops of pancake batter onto the skillet sizzling with melted butter, he managed to usher in a sentence before Aya noticed it.

 

“You know, you could help me cook.”

 

Then, after a moment's recollection, he added “if you want” before Aya said anything. It is vital to cover one's ass when talking with persons of Aya's nature. They just might attack you with the way you stated your facts and pronounced your exclamation marks when they're hell bent on proving something that totally escapes you at the moment but means a lot to them. Granted, it only means a lot of gloating, but it means something to them nonetheless.

 

“With what? You're almost done as it is.”

 

“We-ell, you can start slicing up these fruits here,” Yohji gestured an elbow to his right, where there was indeed a bowl of fruits, a wooden cutting board, and an invitingly gleaming kitchen knife, “and then maybe you can set the table?”

 

Aya eyed the bowl of fruits with suspicion, and then glared at Yohji's back (for what seemed to be the nth time^). Feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise, Yohji correctly guessed that Aya was once again glaring at his back. He turned to face the glowering redhead with a winsome smile on his face as defense.

 

“Please?”

 

Aya stood up and walked over to the awaiting fruits^^, much to his great annoyance. It didn't take much for Yohji to coerce him into doing things nowadays. He suspected the mind-controlling V-Man at first for this, and then later on realized, much to his chagrin, that it was really because of the prolonged time that Yohji spends with him lately. That is to say, Yohji was now rubbing off him and Aya, much as he would want for it to be otherwise, was not immune. Aya is annoyed with, and outright denies the following sentences:

1. Yohji is really getting under his skin (literally as, aha, the V-Man, and figuratively as the charming man Yohji Kudou can be).

2. He (that is, Aya) really does enjoy being with the other man (that is, Yohji), let's just be honest enough to admit that, even if the other man can get pretty idiotic and annoying at times. Most times.

3. For his enormous efforts of sustaining a conversation with Aya and actually spending time with the redhead without coming into grievous bodily harm (as often as would have been the usual case) Yohji can actually be beatified and declared a saint. That- or a miracle worker.

4. Despite the Saturday debacles with the unfortunate reality of the V-Man, Aya actually likes being with Yohji.

5. Between the two of them, Yohji actually does most of the menial labors, like cooking, moving the pots around in the shop, mucking about with the broom and charm the compliant women customers into buying flowers, proving that the blonde isn't as lazy as Aya claims him to be.

6. Yohji is now, in fact, the closest living person to/friend Aya has, and for a friend he's really not half as bad as Aya makes him out to be.

7. Yohji is, in fact, the opposite of “Mr. Insensitive”. He knows when to be quiet, and when Aya would tolerate being annoyed. Well, he knows, most of the time. It is Aya, in fact, who can be quite dense.

8. Aya likes Yohji.

 

 

 

 

 

*Being an uncomplicated guy in the matter of cutlery and utensils for cooking (it must be differentiated to cutlery and utensils for killing, in which case it is a different matter altogether), anything not looking like a spoon, a fork or a knife is a mutated kitchen utensil to Yohji.

 

**And the devil must have been utterly surprised to find himself in a large pot accompanied by carrots and various vegetables, seasoned to taste, because Yohji managed to cook Aya's eggs… and that last phrase somehow morphed into something utterly other.

 

***It's really very dispiriting to be done to anyone. But somehow Yohji managed to soldier through it with a little help from the smell of fried bacon. But mostly it was because Yohji has a persevering spirit; however the said spirit may try to hide in the very depths of Yohji. In fact Yohji would have been surprised if anyone ever told him that he did have a persevering spirit, because for the longest time he's always chalked it up to simple bloody-mindedness. And the spirit itself would have been surprised to be called persevering as well, because it always thought that it was more of a resigned/sheepish doggedness, which is not as noble sounding as perseverance.

 

^for there are many kinds of glares, as anyone who hasn't much to do but glare can attest to. For example, the glare mentioned in this sentence is actually glare #19: suspicious yet resigned silent glare.

 

^^which weren't really trembling before their future of being sliced, diced and mashed fruits for the general use of eating. There had been some moments when they blinked blearily as they were pulled out of some dark place and then tumbled roughly yet enjoyably into what seemed to be a blue rounded place. Being of the berry, banana and mango variety, these fruits are not exactly the spikiest of the fruit basket, and hence where actually happily jostling about with each other and looking forward to the next ride before the Alabaster Hand of Fate and Special Rides (Aya's) loomed on the horizon and picked one of their newly met mates (a happily burbling strawberry, as it were). They didn't know where the Alabaster Hand of Fate and Special Rides took their mates to, but they were curious. As the last banana soared over the blue rounded place it had been waiting in, and saw what it was to come, enlightenment comes over it and soon after, bitterness, followed quickly by resignation and finally, a great sense of peace.