Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Our Games ❯ two ( Chapter 2 )

Our Games
Chapter Two


Days slipped into weeks, and he didn’t resume the game.

Others things caught his attention, a pretty woman’s short skirt, a particularly good movie, a scratch on the passenger door of the Seven. But no matter how many times his attention flitted away, it came back.

He watched. He couldn’t stop watching.

But he couldn’t move, either.

Sometimes he felt like it wasn’t real, that it was some weird fantasy made up in his own head. Because it never showed.

Aya was stern and cold and, if not always calm, regular in his responses. There might have been warning signs, but who could separate them from just being Aya?

So, when the distractions ran out, faded behind bright red intrigue, Yohji watched harder. He put his skills to work, let them play another game: he would pick Aya apart, from a distance, and gather the pieces like a puzzle. He was an excellent watcher, and, as far as he could tell, Aya just thought it was another ploy to annoy him.

Of course, that was one of the most ill-fit pieces. Why did Aya allow it? True, Yohji had left no direct evidence, but in a house of four, it wasn’t difficult to narrow down the suspects, especially when two of them were scared shitless at the mere thought of crossing the threshold. No doubt Aya knew. So why did Yohji live? He would like to think that Aya wanted to be found out, that he welcomed some intrusion into the cold circle he had built, but it didn’t seem likely.

Aya liked the cold, or he wanted to like it. But it was killing him.

Yohji watched him prune the roses. He saw how Aya pricked his fingers on purpose, never saying a word as he wiped the small wells of blood on the underside of his apron.

He watched him prepare dinner, catching a slightly longing glance at the kitchen knife.

But when he watched Aya on a mission, there was nothing. He was empty.

Yohji couldn’t figure out when it happened. Aya showed up for work in the mornings, went to mission briefings in the afternoons, and was often sitting awake when Yohji wandered in at night.

But it was happening. A halfhearted scenario of it being a one-time ordeal was shot to hell when he went back to the drawer, hoping without knowing he did, that the things would be gone. They weren’t.

The blood was fresh.

As he looked at the drawer, he felt it on his own hands. He had allowed it.

There was enough blood on his hands already. Would he wait, continue to play games, until he came in here to find Aya dead, stupid picture clasped in his hand? Would that be the endgame? Check, and mate, death wins one more time.

It was like playing chicken with the reaper.

Winner takes Aya.

Yohji didn’t really want him, but he didn’t want bastard death to have him either.

So he took up the game and moved something.

It wasn’t from the drawer. He picked up Aya’s book, laying open on the nightstand, and closed it. Carefully, he moved it to the center of the bed.

He left.

Twenty minutes later, Yohji found himself slammed hard up against the wall, Aya’s tight fist in possession of his collar and the glaring face much too close to his own. Aya didn’t have a weapon, but Yohji was under no delusion that he still might not be killed.

“Hi, Aya.”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Me? Going to my room if you don’t mind.” He kept his tone light, looking over his dark glasses at the man who was slowly reducing the flow of air as his closed fist pressed against Yohji’s windpipe. It was starting to hurt.

“What do you need, Kudou?” The voice was ice cold. “I thought it was enough to scare you away.”

“No,” he gasped out as the fist continued to push. He felt Aya’s body pressed flush against his own; the man was smaller than he was, but it was all muscle honed by drastic demands to withstand inhuman situations. Yohji wasn’t sure he could get away.

The game was getting dangerous. He loved it.

There was a rush of exhilaration as Aya shook him, slamming him once more against the wall. His head hurt.

“It should be.”

The look was frozen anger; Aya clenched his teeth, pressing even harder. Yohji’s vision started to darken around the edges.

“Stay the fuck away from me.”

He was swung sideways, dropped to the hall carpet to gasp for air. His lungs burned, and his throat ached as he pulled the twisted cloth away. Yohji drug himself towards the wall, propping against it.

Aya had finally made his move.
~tbc?~


Notes: Not sure where this is going, but I thought I would follow after the plot bunnies as long as you all are interested.