Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Of Shooting Stars and Supernovas ❯ Chapter 2: How Can You Afford Your Rock n' Roll Lifestyle? ( Chapter 3 )

Disclaimer: I don't own, so don't sue… please.

 

Chapter Two: How can you afford your Rock and Roll Lifestyle? (“Rock and Roll Lifestyle” by Cake)

 

A pair of green eyes watched intently as Aya rocked some girl's world on the dance floor. Owner of said eyes, on the other hand, sat nursing his order of scotch, making sure he didn't drink quickly since he's the designated driver between the two of them*, and besides, he wanted to enjoy his scotch in silence before Aya sits down and start… `Oh gods here he comes.' Yohji whispered in half dread, half expectation. Aya was slightly out of breath as he flopped down the couch beside Yohji, his cheeks flushed and strands of his hair clinging to his face. He took the bottle of beer, took a long swig, and then turned his attention towards his present companion.

 

“Yo~tan”, Aya sang out playfully as he tugged at the blonde's sleeve, “aren't you going to get off your ass and dance?”

 

Yohji looked away and gave the wall a sardonic smile. Then he turned back to Aya, who was starting to become oblivious, chugging down the beer as if it was water. Yohji lit himself a cigarette with his big bad-ass Zippo, and offered Aya one. The redhead took it and let Yohji light it for him as he motioned to somebody, anybody, who'd take his order for a good strong bottle of vodka. Yohji had to grab Aya's hand to stop the latter from motioning at some guy and to call the real waiter to properly order for the both of them. When he turned to Aya he found the younger man was gone, back on the dance floor. Yohji sighed and pulled on his cigarette. Being with drunk people is only fun when you're drunk yourself, or when you have a tape recorder/video camera and a good reason for blackmail.

 

The night wore on, and so did Aya's exuberance. They've been to three bars now, Aya insisting on new surroundings every other hour or so. Yohji decided this to be the last bar for the night, so he chose an old haunt that he used to favor whenever he was really depressed, because it was just a basement of some old-school three storey apartment building, and because everybody else in there was equally depressed as you. There's no need to dress up for that kind of bar, it was small, dimly-lit and filled with smoke, still Yohji liked it there, it was quiet, and on some nights an old man with his jazzy guitar played there with his broken voice chockfull of emotion.

 

Aya viewed the premises with distaste, distrust, and then resignation. At this point in the night, he doesn't really give a damn anymore, as long as the alcohol keeps coming. He flopped down (as he is lately wont to do) into the corner booth at the far end of the room, propped an elbow on the wooden surface and rested his chin on his hand, listlessly waiting for Yohji to sit down beside him and start ordering them drinks. Eyeing his inebriated cohort with an amused look, Yohji took off his jacket and hung it on the hook placed above the booth's seats, and held out a waiting hand for Aya's. The younger man took a long moment staring at Yohji's hand in slight confusion that Yohji had to clear his throat and nod his head in the direction of his hung coat. Audibly taking the cue, Aya then focused his full attention into trying to take off his jacket, which he absolutely failed. Short of mangling his own self, Aya forgot that he had to unbutton it first before trying to remove his arms from his jacket's sleeves. Shaking his head and giving off a long sigh, Yohji buckled down to the task of taking off Aya's jacket, hanging it and calling over his usual waiter to order, as Aya (now freed of his leather nemesis of the moment) sprawled all over the booth's seat and taking over whatever space Yohji could have sat down on. Yohji settled on seating across Aya.

 

“Why… what for you's across'm…?”

 

“Eh? Come again, Aya I didn't quite… understand that.”

 

“'Said, see… I said…” Aya squinted and tried to pin down Yohji's swimming image with a swaying finger, “I said what're you doin' there… sittin' `cross me?”

 

Ah, Yohji thought, he's now in that phase of drunkenness wherein no one really understands what he says anymore, and anytime soon I shall be treated to a drunken and misguided spiel about what life really is. Hooray for me.

 

“Because I am, Aya.”

 

The redhead nodded sagely to this, and both men leaned back as a waitress came over and gave them their drinks. Yohji took a long pull on his bottle of beer, while Aya just held it in his right hand and stared at it. He seemed as if he's about to say something, and Yohji watched the brief turmoil in Aya's eyes until the younger man resolutely picked up his beer and drank it. Yohji stole a glance to his watch, telling him it was already three in the morning, and what the hell is he doing exactly? Presently, a thin young man of the somewhat nerd-ish persuasion (yes, he had glasses on) got up on the makeshift stage near Yohji and Aya's booth, sat on the stool, fidgeted with the guitar, then started to strum. Yohji recognized the young man as one of the three waiters, and transferred his attention to the part-time performer.

 

“A winter's day… in a deep and dark December… I am alone.

Gazing from my window to the streets below on a freshly-fallen silence-shrouded snow

I am a rock. I am an island.”

 

To Yohji's surprise, the be-spectacled amateur was actually pretty good. He slowed down the Simon and Garfunkel song and turned each word into a softly sung cry of silent pain. And his English was understandable enough. Yohji surreptitiously glanced to see if Aya was paying the singer heed, and indeed the redhead was, frozen in mid-drink, straining to hear every syllable the singer uttered.

 

“I've built walls- a fortress steep and mighty… that nothing penetrates.

I have no need of friendship, friendship causes pain. It's laughter and it's loving I disdain.

I am a rock, I am an island.”

 

Yohji leaned back into his seat, and took another long pull while he stared overhead, towards a picture hung just above their booth. It was a black and white photograph of some kid, back towards the on-looker, on a swing in a deserted park. The kid's head was cast down. The black and white nature of the photograph made it look like a funeral, or a mourning, rather than a kid enjoying the swing. He imagined Aya was just like that when the man was younger, all brooding and looking like the scary kid from The Omen movie. He stared at it some more, so he wouldn't be tempted to stare Aya in the face. It was too easy.

 

“Don't talk of love, though I've heard the word before- It's sleeping in my memory.

I won't disturb the slumber of feelings that have died. If I've never loved I never would have cried.

I am a rock, I am an island.”

 

Endeavoring to avoid Aya's face, and to stare at it and divine whatever reasons he can find, Yohji instead took the time to look for his cigarettes and to light himself one. He didn't offer Aya any, although he slid the pack over the table towards the still redhead, and slid his zippo as well as an afterthought.

 

“I have my books and my poetry to protect me. I am shielded in my armour.

Hiding in my room, safe within my womb, I touch no one and no one touches me-

I am a rock, I am an island.”

 

Yes, it was too easy. You could feel the guilt pouring out of the redhead as if it was steam. The song's either a godsend or a bane. One way or the other, Yohji knows, he's going to be listening to a spiel- drunk or otherwise.

 

“And the rock feels no pain. And an island never cried.”

 

To the redhead's credit, he never showed any emotion other than the initial shock and the sadness that followed it. And a fleeting show of guilt here and there. The song ended with scattered applause mingling with the lingering strains of the guitar, and was slowly followed by some other melancholy song. The nerdy singer seemed hell-bent to make everyone else depressed. Aya gave a short, not-at-all-happy laugh before downing his beer in one go. Yohji watched him with a raised eyebrow.

 

“I…” Aya began, rather nervously. Yohji stared on, raising his other eyebrow in assistance to the stammering man. Aya shot him a slightly offended look, and continued on. “… I need another beer.”

 

The blonde sighed as he turned to signal the waiter for another round, and settled back into his seat as he waited for Aya to open up. Aya still seemed unready to say anything, and was instead smoking the time between beer bottles. Yohji decided to start the ball rolling.

 

“It doesn't really help you know. The booze. It can only make you forget temporarily.”

 

Aya scoffed. “I'm not… `m not yet that drunk to start swappin' problems wi'you…”

 

“You sound drunk enough.” Yohji muttered to himself as he lit another cigarette, watching the sobering redhead out of the corner of his eye. And then, as if completely forgetting the song earlier on that could well have been a prophesy of Aya's life, the man went back to his happy drunken state, befuddling his companion with non-sequiturs and a complete lack of a guilty `this is what happened' spiel.

 

After half a dozen beers on his own, Aya leaned back happily and lit another cigarette. The young singer was already off the stage, and his songs could no longer affect Aya in whatever happybeerlandia he's in. He completed Yohji's misery when he again squinted and tried to pin down the swimming image of Yohji with a swaying hand and declared,

 

“You…yes tha's what I said… you, my friend… you are a verrrr-a good friend… this,” and he gestured towards the empty bottles of beer before him, “this'ss… you taught me this rm'mber?… `s a good thing… beer… I forget…”

 

And then he slumped down, asleep or passed out, Yohji didn't know. What Yohji knew was he was left to pay for everything and drag the knocked out companion of his back home. But he didn't even sigh in complaint, his guilt eating at him inside out. Aya actually thought he was a good friend, when all he did was introduce Aya into the accursed life he fought long to be free of.

 

“Hello, Karma…”

 

 

 

* Though this is his own decision and self-imposed. Aya would have protested, wanting to drive his own car but Yohji wisely stood his ground and won in the end. The blonde had been unfortunate enough to make the mistake of letting Aya drive once, and the redhead wasn't even drunk then. Aya's offensive driving follows his fighting credo: “the best defense is a deadly offense, one that renders the enemy too dead or maimed to be able to retaliate.”