Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Our Games ❯ five ( Chapter 5 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Miko No Hoshi 
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 11.19.2010 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.4K | Visits: 279 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 11.19.2010 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.4K | Visits: 279 | Status: Work In Progress
Our Games
Chapter Five
Warnings: language, mature themes
Yohji was hungover, and it didn’t put him the best of moods. It didn’t help that the entire world seemed out to get him. As soon as he got out of bed, he tripped over the pants he had shed there the night before, tangling his foot and banging his knee against the nightstand. He spared it a quick word, then hurried into the hall, only to run into a rather frustrated Ken who seemed intent on chastising him for being naked. Only Yohji’s desperate need to take a piss saved the soccer player from immediate harm. Finding his headache worse for the encounter, Yohji took care of necessary business and moved on to a shower only to find there was no hot water left.
He got out cold and with his expensive shampoo still clinging to his wet hair. Only then did he realize that he had forgotten to bring a towel.
“Oh for fuck’s sake!”
He stood, dripping on the pathetic excuse for a bathmat, glaring at the back of the toilet where, had the universe not declared war on Kudou, his towel ought to have been. Resisting the urge to shiver as he felt goosebumps break out over his bare skin, he turned and scanned the small room for possible alternatives. There was, of course, the green bathmat that was immediately dismissed, followed closely by the almost sopping towel Ken (henceforth known as the user of the hot water) had abandoned in the corner in a heap. That left the option of getting to his room or using Aya’s towel.
He fingered the white terrycloth that was folded neatly across the towel rack. Aya always got to the shower first at some insanely early time that made Yohji wince to think about, so his towel was just a little damp. To use it, though, was a sure way to bring down the wrath of Aya.
Well, that seemed like a good idea. Snagging the towel from the rack, Yohji threw it over his head and scrubbed at his wet hair, inadvertently realizing that the towel smelled like Aya; it was some kind of flower and must be from his shampoo if it smelled so strongly on the towel. About to investigate the bottle itself, Yohji was interrupted by Ken’s banging on the door.
“I’m leaving! Aya’s gonna kick your ass if you’re not in the shop in five minutes!”
Somehow that failed to motivate him.
~*~
He had been too easy on him.
This is what Yohji realized as he watched Aya stalk around the shop.
True enough, the man had been calm and reserved when the blonde had entered; he had been working quietly on his arrangements and stiffened only slightly when Yohji swept in to the deserted shop.
It took two minutes for Yohji to realize he was being ignored.
It was not the morning to ignore him.
Four minutes later, Aya was pacing the shop like a caged tiger, glaring at anything that happened to be at hand. Currently it was the unsuspecting windows that were under inspection, though Yohji couldn’t help but think they didn’t so much need washing as Aya needed a reason not to look at him.
He wondered if that was to keep from strangling him. How nice.
Somewhere between watching Aya get out the step ladder and getting down his third cup of strong coffee, Yohji decided that work had been too much of a reprieve for the redhead.
When Aya left the room to get a rag, Yohji moved the step ladder to the opposite window. Aya returned, glared at him, and slammed the ladder noisily back into place. Stepping onto the top, he began to scrub at the window with considerably more force than required.
“Why do you wear that?” Yohji questioned a few minutes later. When he got no answer, he left the slight security of the register and came to stand beside the swordsman, leaning, conveniently, against a cleaned section of glass. “The sweater. Why do you wear it?”
“Don’t talk to me.”
Yohji snorted and dropped his head to look at Aya over the rim of his shades, “It’s hideous. Redheads shouldn’t wear orange. Red, maybe, if it matched, or black, or purple. Is that your natural eye color?”
“I said don’t talk to me.”
“Do you color your hair? I don’t think you do, but I’m not sure about the contacts. Would Kritiker let someone wear—”
“Don’t talk about that here!” Aya hissed, tossing his rag down into the bucket and splashing water on Yohji’s pantleg.
“Shit,” he complained, pulling at the damp cloth, “Did you have to do that?”
Aya shot him one more harsh glare as he stepped off the ladder and picked it up, “Apparently.”
~*~
They had spent the rest of the morning in chilly silence, broken only by overly polite words exchanged for the benefit of a few elderly customers. Yohji stewed the entire time, frustrated with anything and everything and especially Aya. Why couldn’t the idiot just open up to him?
When Ken returned for the afternoon shift, Aya escaped to the greenhouse; the object of his aggravation gone, Yohji found himself moving from frustration to determination. He would crack Aya. Hell, it wasn’t like the guy was well put together in the first place. And he was reacting, the lingering dampness of Yohji’s pantleg proved that. So he plotted, as strategically as possible, but it was difficult. He couldn’t quite predict what Aya would do; he might get a glare or he might get strangled. He would just have to risk it.
~*~
“Here,” Yohji stated, holding up Aya’s cell phone as he entered the room. He hadn’t bothered to knock.
Sitting on his bed with a book in his hands, Aya looked up. Yohji came over and held out the phone, but Aya refused to reach for it, clearly thinking Yohji would pull it back at the last second. With a roll of his eyes, Yohji tossed it on the bed. He stood there, looking at Aya, tense, defensive, ready to strike out.
“I called some of the numbers.”
Aya did nothing.
“I found out about your sister.”
Purple eyes narrowed and Aya’s free hand twisted in the covers. He sat the book aside, and Yohji prepared to defend himself if necessary.
“It doesn’t sound good. How long has she been getting worse?”
“None of your damn business. None of this is any of your fucking business! Get out!”
Aya was on his feet, in Yohji’s face as he yelled at him. Ready for it, Yohji met his anger with calm, holding up his hands in a peaceful gesture but not giving any ground.
“Talk to me Aya, or talk to somebody. You gotta get rid of some of this shit or it’ll drive you crazy.”
“I’m fine, now get the fuck out of my room.”
“Fine?! You’re fine?!” Calm suddenly gone in the face of Aya’s denial, Yohji used his upraised hands to shove at the smaller man’s chest, the unexpected action sending him sprawling across the bed. The blonde leaned over him, unconsciously reversing their earlier positions. “You’re not fucking fine, Aya!”
~tbc~
*sets out a plate of plot bunny food and hides behind a bush*
Converting /tmp/phpbs78BD to /dev/stdout
Chapter Five
Warnings: language, mature themes
Yohji was hungover, and it didn’t put him the best of moods. It didn’t help that the entire world seemed out to get him. As soon as he got out of bed, he tripped over the pants he had shed there the night before, tangling his foot and banging his knee against the nightstand. He spared it a quick word, then hurried into the hall, only to run into a rather frustrated Ken who seemed intent on chastising him for being naked. Only Yohji’s desperate need to take a piss saved the soccer player from immediate harm. Finding his headache worse for the encounter, Yohji took care of necessary business and moved on to a shower only to find there was no hot water left.
He got out cold and with his expensive shampoo still clinging to his wet hair. Only then did he realize that he had forgotten to bring a towel.
“Oh for fuck’s sake!”
He stood, dripping on the pathetic excuse for a bathmat, glaring at the back of the toilet where, had the universe not declared war on Kudou, his towel ought to have been. Resisting the urge to shiver as he felt goosebumps break out over his bare skin, he turned and scanned the small room for possible alternatives. There was, of course, the green bathmat that was immediately dismissed, followed closely by the almost sopping towel Ken (henceforth known as the user of the hot water) had abandoned in the corner in a heap. That left the option of getting to his room or using Aya’s towel.
He fingered the white terrycloth that was folded neatly across the towel rack. Aya always got to the shower first at some insanely early time that made Yohji wince to think about, so his towel was just a little damp. To use it, though, was a sure way to bring down the wrath of Aya.
Well, that seemed like a good idea. Snagging the towel from the rack, Yohji threw it over his head and scrubbed at his wet hair, inadvertently realizing that the towel smelled like Aya; it was some kind of flower and must be from his shampoo if it smelled so strongly on the towel. About to investigate the bottle itself, Yohji was interrupted by Ken’s banging on the door.
“I’m leaving! Aya’s gonna kick your ass if you’re not in the shop in five minutes!”
Somehow that failed to motivate him.
~*~
He had been too easy on him.
This is what Yohji realized as he watched Aya stalk around the shop.
True enough, the man had been calm and reserved when the blonde had entered; he had been working quietly on his arrangements and stiffened only slightly when Yohji swept in to the deserted shop.
It took two minutes for Yohji to realize he was being ignored.
It was not the morning to ignore him.
Four minutes later, Aya was pacing the shop like a caged tiger, glaring at anything that happened to be at hand. Currently it was the unsuspecting windows that were under inspection, though Yohji couldn’t help but think they didn’t so much need washing as Aya needed a reason not to look at him.
He wondered if that was to keep from strangling him. How nice.
Somewhere between watching Aya get out the step ladder and getting down his third cup of strong coffee, Yohji decided that work had been too much of a reprieve for the redhead.
When Aya left the room to get a rag, Yohji moved the step ladder to the opposite window. Aya returned, glared at him, and slammed the ladder noisily back into place. Stepping onto the top, he began to scrub at the window with considerably more force than required.
“Why do you wear that?” Yohji questioned a few minutes later. When he got no answer, he left the slight security of the register and came to stand beside the swordsman, leaning, conveniently, against a cleaned section of glass. “The sweater. Why do you wear it?”
“Don’t talk to me.”
Yohji snorted and dropped his head to look at Aya over the rim of his shades, “It’s hideous. Redheads shouldn’t wear orange. Red, maybe, if it matched, or black, or purple. Is that your natural eye color?”
“I said don’t talk to me.”
“Do you color your hair? I don’t think you do, but I’m not sure about the contacts. Would Kritiker let someone wear—”
“Don’t talk about that here!” Aya hissed, tossing his rag down into the bucket and splashing water on Yohji’s pantleg.
“Shit,” he complained, pulling at the damp cloth, “Did you have to do that?”
Aya shot him one more harsh glare as he stepped off the ladder and picked it up, “Apparently.”
~*~
They had spent the rest of the morning in chilly silence, broken only by overly polite words exchanged for the benefit of a few elderly customers. Yohji stewed the entire time, frustrated with anything and everything and especially Aya. Why couldn’t the idiot just open up to him?
When Ken returned for the afternoon shift, Aya escaped to the greenhouse; the object of his aggravation gone, Yohji found himself moving from frustration to determination. He would crack Aya. Hell, it wasn’t like the guy was well put together in the first place. And he was reacting, the lingering dampness of Yohji’s pantleg proved that. So he plotted, as strategically as possible, but it was difficult. He couldn’t quite predict what Aya would do; he might get a glare or he might get strangled. He would just have to risk it.
~*~
“Here,” Yohji stated, holding up Aya’s cell phone as he entered the room. He hadn’t bothered to knock.
Sitting on his bed with a book in his hands, Aya looked up. Yohji came over and held out the phone, but Aya refused to reach for it, clearly thinking Yohji would pull it back at the last second. With a roll of his eyes, Yohji tossed it on the bed. He stood there, looking at Aya, tense, defensive, ready to strike out.
“I called some of the numbers.”
Aya did nothing.
“I found out about your sister.”
Purple eyes narrowed and Aya’s free hand twisted in the covers. He sat the book aside, and Yohji prepared to defend himself if necessary.
“It doesn’t sound good. How long has she been getting worse?”
“None of your damn business. None of this is any of your fucking business! Get out!”
Aya was on his feet, in Yohji’s face as he yelled at him. Ready for it, Yohji met his anger with calm, holding up his hands in a peaceful gesture but not giving any ground.
“Talk to me Aya, or talk to somebody. You gotta get rid of some of this shit or it’ll drive you crazy.”
“I’m fine, now get the fuck out of my room.”
“Fine?! You’re fine?!” Calm suddenly gone in the face of Aya’s denial, Yohji used his upraised hands to shove at the smaller man’s chest, the unexpected action sending him sprawling across the bed. The blonde leaned over him, unconsciously reversing their earlier positions. “You’re not fucking fine, Aya!”
~tbc~
*sets out a plate of plot bunny food and hides behind a bush*
Converting /tmp/phpbs78BD to /dev/stdout