Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Our Kitten ❯ Picking Up ( Chapter 1 )

Our Kitten

Author’s Note: It’s been a while, but I’m falling back into this a little at a time. This is my first fic in over two years, wow. Please forgive what needs to be forgiven, oh, except the yaoi, that I offer no apologies for!

Current warnings: yaoi (boy on boy sans-clothes goodness), language, a bit o’ fluff, and slight warping of time line.

Expect the rating to climb, it’s inevitable really.

Current and anticipated pairings: Y/A

Disclaimer: The Weiss boys are not mine, and I make no money from them or their yaoi-infused antics.



Chapter One: Picking Up


He resisted the urge, strong and demanding, to slam the steel door behind him; the muscles in his arm twitched in protest as he closed it carefully against the frame and stepped out onto the tiny square of concrete with its one, low concrete step that was the back stoop of the Koneko. The Wednesday afternoon was dull and dark, humid with recent rain and threatening more with low layers of gray-blue clouds. Even with the recent shower, the place smelled strongly of stale cigarette smoke and greenhouse mulch, but he took a deep breath anyway. Gingerly, he wiped his damp hands on the front of his green apron, having hurriedly handed over his watering task to Yohji in the face of the incoming flood of schoolgirls for a few moments of escape before he had to deal with them. The others had let him go; when Aya said he had a headache, being one hand short for a few minutes was a prerequisite for those girls keeping all their hands for the rest of their lives.

Aya took another breath, feeling the pain in his skull mellowing into a dull throb that he could deal with. Ready to return to what he knew was growing chaos, he had his hand on the knob when a soft sound caught his attention. He paused, still, defensive at the unfamiliar, high-pitched squeak. Purple eyes flicked left and right, but the rest of him was suspended as he attempted to identify the possibility of a threat. There it was again, from his left, low to the ground. With almost imperceptible movements, he turned his head towards the sound, unable to see anything beyond the dumpster. The more mundane portions of his brain noted that it was a good thing it was trash day, the overflowing bags of lumpy garden clipping and empty shipment boxes were beginning to get soggy.

There, again.

It was coming from the boxes. Carefully, Aya drew a blade form his back pocket, an item too thin, too sharp, and too dangerous for even him to rationalize as a pocket knife. He carried it at his side, almost against his leg as to not give up any advantage of surprise. Despising the noise made by the long apron as it caught between his knees and hindered proper sneaking, he crept as quietly as possible across the narrow strip of squishing grass. Above the boxes now, he tried to ascertain from which the sound originated, quickly disregarding the tall skinny rose box, but staring down a low, square one that had held Monday’s deliver of terra cotta pots.

Aya crouched, face stern and knife pressed against his thigh; his left hand came up cautiously. Never one to hesitate unnecessarily, he grasp the wet flap of the box and flip it back, simultaneously aiming his weapon at the noise-making thing in the box which, upon seeing the shiny steel directed at it, made a much more pitiful sound.

/Meow?/ The kitten seemed to question the force of will aimed at its tiny self.

Aya was not one to go in for dramatic sighs, but had he been, it would have been a deserving moment. Stowing the knife, he stared at the animal before him. Its short fur appeared black, but there were hints of color that might have been clearer when it wasn’t sodden with rain. The redhead pondered how the creature had gotten there; it was clearly too young to have climbed in as it couldn’t climb out. Had someone left it there? For what reason? And what was he supposed to do with it?

“Aya!” The exclamation was accompanied by the harsh bang of the backdoor hitting the wall; the kitten jumped and cowered in one corner of the box. Aya turned to glare, not sure why Yohji’s startling it made him want to hurt the blond, but fairly sure his instinct was correct. “We could use some help in here!”

Expected a glare or threat of another level that would send him skittering back inside, Yohji was surprised by the nod he received as Aya stood and wiped the dirt from his knees. Glad, but confused by the compliance, Yohji gave his own nod and went back inside.

About to leave it, Aya took only one step before turning back to the box. The kitten shook as it huddled there, forcing him to think of more than one dark and wet corner he had crouched in. This time Aya did give in to a sigh, though just a little one, as he leant down to pick up the box. Balancing it on his arm so the bottom wouldn’t drop out, he toted it into the back room and placed it under the table where it could stay until his shift was over. As a last thought, he pulled two old cleaning rags from the shelf and dropped them into the box for the kitten to curl up on. Then he went back to work.

~*~

Yohji pushed the sunglasses up on his forehead, looking to Aya just to make sure he’d heard right.

“Huh?” Yes, he knew, it wasn’t the most elegant way to ask someone to repeat themselves, but he has lost ‘beg your pardon’ somewhere between Aya speaking to him willingly and Aya offering to do his work. And Yohji hadn’t begged anywhere in there! Complained yes, begged no.

Refusing to repeat himself, Aya set about closing shop. Yohji watched him pull down the heavy metal shutters and then, as he was told, went on in the house to enjoy the free hour he had been given. But it was very difficult to do. Omi sat at the kitchen table with his homework and watched the blond wander the room. Yohji opened the fridge and closed it, opened one cabinet, then another, and closed both. Finding he couldn’t sit without bouncing his leg, he stood again, scooting his chair idly before leaning on it. He tapped his fingers along the stove and investigated the crumbs in the toaster. Returning to the refrigerator, he took out a beer, looked at it, and put it back. Shuffling the contents with his right hand, he drummed the fingers of his left against the door.

“Yohji!”

He shut the fridge. Omi sighed. Yohji left him to his work.

Not sure what to do with himself or why he was so frazzled to begin with, Yohji chalked to up to the unexpected change to his routine (and assumptions about the world) and returned to the shop to set it right. He would clean; Aya would glare at him; and all would be right with the world. Unfortunately for his seemingly infallible plan, the shop he returned to was in no need of his assistance. The pots were inside, the register was counted, and Aya’s workstation was, as always, as neat and tidy as a Martha Stewart advertisement.

“It’s a good thing,” Yohji murmured to himself as he ran a hand over the clean surface, coming away with not even a stray piece of leaf or speck of dust. Having concluded that Aya had efficiently dispensed of tasks that took Yohji over an hour and then returned to his hermitage of a room, the blond heard shuffling from the back room. The smile that came easily to his face was, he admitted, based on the fact that Aya was not so inhumanly efficient; however, as Yohji tilted his head to listen, he couldn’t quite place what task required the scooting sound, the opening of a drawer, and then the creak of the older work table of the back room. What was Aya doing?

Nosy, and intrigued by the irrational idea of Aya climbing on the table to change the lightbulb and thereby stretching up enough to let Yohji stare up that orange sweater just a bit (not that the gods were kind enough to let that happen twice in a lifetime), Yohji had to go see.

Opening the door with all the stealth he could muster on a rainy afternoon, Yohji stood for a moment and wondered just what the hell he was seeing. Aya was sitting cross-legged on the wooden table so as Yohji viewed him in profile, but he was fussing with…something in his lap. Ideas of something much more forbidden than lightbulb changing tempted the blonde’s mind, but then he saw something…furry…

“Aya?”

Sharp eyes flicked up to meet his, more impassive than angry. Yohji took that as an invitation to walk over. Several white cloths were piled in the nest created by Aya’s crossed legs, and it was in these that his hands were tangled, holding.

“What are you–”

/Meow./

Reaching down into a region long marked ‘enter at your own risk,’ Yohji flicked back one of the towels to reveal a small, dark furball. Seeing him, it pressed itself against Aya’s hand, arched its back, and hissed. Well, it wasn’t so much of a hiss as a silent spitting, but Yohji got the idea. He was not welcome.

Expecting the same expression on Aya’s face, Yohji was surprised at the reality. Admittedly, far from open compassion, it was a recognizable variation of the normal glare; it was the glare Aya gave right after he had done something one of the others was likely to make fun of. After he revealed he could cook, after he had to wear those latex pants for that mission, after he gave the elderly Mrs. Cromby her weekly free flowers for her beloved dog’s grave, he expected grief from the others, and especially Yohji. To the blonde, it was a way to initiate conversation, a form of male bonding, but looking at that gaze that told him ‘go ahead and then fuck off’ as its owners hands gently, so gently patted water from the tiny kitten’s fur, gave Yohji significant pause.

“Uh…”

“Out.”

The word, often repeated, seemed to have lost all meaning between them. Removing his hand from its precarious position, Yohji settled himself carefully on the creaking table, letting his long legs dangle over the edge, right thigh just touching Aya’s knee as they both looked back to the kitten. No longer hissing, it seemed to be waiting patiently as Aya dabbed its fur.

“Where’d you get it?”

“Outside.”

“Does it belong to somebody?”

Aya just shook his head, gesturing to the box he found it in.

“Are you gonna keep it?”

Never one to be indecisive, Aya gave an answer he had not planned, “Yes.”

“Cool.” Reaching out a single finger, Yohji jerked it back as the kitten again made its hissing noise, now a little stronger. He could have sworn there was the barest hint of a smile of Aya’s lips then, but it could have just been a trick of the dim lighting. There were a few minutes of silence.

“Maybe I shouldn’t?”

“What? Keep it? Why not?”

Ah, that was the ‘you can’t really be that dumb, can you’ glare. But Yohji remembered that ghost of a smile moments before, and so he took it upon himself to defend what he was already calling the fluffball’s place in the house.

“I’ll help ya’ take care of it. We’ll make it work. It’ll be our kitten.” Yohji’s mind congratulated him loudly on that one. A project with Aya.

“Our kitten…”

“Sure. Why the hell not?”

~*~

The arrival of the kitten to the kitchen table was met with surprise and a gushing of cooing. The former was caused by the fact that it was carried inside cupped in Aya’s hands and, having been situated on a dish towel, was not released from them. The latter was just Omi. He made over it extensively, fully invading Aya’s carefully marked personal space by leaning over his shoulder while he sat at the table. When, however, he took it upon himself to pet the cat, it raised its head to hiss at him vehemently.

“He’s scared,” Omi excused. Then, as an afterthought, “Is it a he or a she?”

Aya shrugged.

Yohji held out his hand for the kitten. After a second of evaluation, Aya gently placed it in his palm where it fit easily. The kitten twisted uncomfortably, hissing, as Yohji took it around the middle and turned it backwards as he lifted it up to eye level. Using his other hand to lift its tail, he proclaimed the fact: “Girl.”

Safely back with Aya, the kitten bristled at the indignity, as, apparently, did Aya. Yohji shrugged, and Aya thought it a fitting moment to ask, not without retaliatory tones, if he checked all his dates that way.

“Only the really tall ones.”

Aya snorted.

“She’s very thin,” Omi deftly changed the subject.

“Ah.”

“Needs food,” Yohji contributed, simultaneously being glared into putting away his cigarettes before he managed to light one.

“Milk?” Omi was already opening the fridge when Aya’s quiet voice stopped him.

“She’s too young for just milk. She can’t be over a month old, eyes just open. She needs,” he seemed to think for a second, as if recalling something long unused, “formula.”

“Where do we get that?”

“I can make it.” Omi lifted at eyebrow at Yohji, unseen, of course, by Aya.

“Okay, what’s in it?”

Kitten cradled in his left arm, Aya took a sheet off the always-unused grocery list pad on the fridge. Yohji held out his hands for the kitten, but was ignored. Taking the pen Omi offered, Aya made a brief list and handed it summarily to the blond.

“Me?”

“I’ll go,” Omi volunteered, even though the sky threatened rain.

“Nah,” Yohji took the list, “I got it.” Goaded into chivalry and action, two things Yohji was fairly sure he hated, he picked up his keys and went to the store to get food for their kitten.

~tbc~

Author’s Note: I think I’m just kind of wandering around here, but there’s a plot, I’m sure of it, just gotta stay outta that deliciously tempting lemon orchard over there. Please review, it keeps the pen moving. Oh, and flames will be sent to freezing criminals in Siberia; they appreciate your kindness.