Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Our Kitten ❯ Going Out ( Chapter 2 )

Our Kitten


Author’s Note: I’m not sure I ran the cliché off just yet, but I think if I keep poking at it with Aya’s sword it’ll move on out eventually. I want to thank all of you who are reading, and especially Cody-san!! I’m so happy to hear from you! I want to dedicate this chapter to Cody Thomas for being one of the most dedicated readers in world. Hope you enjoy it (and I promise to dedicate a more skillful, more lemony chapter later, too).



Chapter Two: Going Out

Yohji shook out his damp hair and lifted the paper bag from the passenger side of the Seven. It had taken longer than he had anticipated locating a few specific items, pushing into his scheduled time of careful cultivation of sexiness prior to unleashing it on the club-going public. Thankfully, though, the rain gave him a tousled look that would work well enough if he decided to go with it.

Slipping inside, he easily toed off his shoes and went to set the bag on the kitchen table. Omi was still occupying the common space, but he promised he was nearly done and directed Yohji to the living room to find Aya. Yohji’s mind went instantly into overdrive, imagining the most adorable scene: the kitten would be nestled up close to Aya’s neck, his pale skin contrasting beautifully next to its dark fur, and the assassin would be curled up near the end of the sofa, cat-like himself, with sock feet tucked near his body and hand just-touching–

His actual entrance into the room threatened to be a disappointment, but the calm look in purple eyes made up for the lack of cuteness, well, almost. The kitten was indeed curled in Aya’s arm, nestled against his stomach with the length of her little body pressed into his sweater. He had been watching her, thinking, before his stare shifted to Yohji, not quite having time to shift his stare into its usual hardness. But the change happened soon enough.

“Got the stuff,” he pointed towards the kitchen.

Aya nodded, then as an afterthought, “Thank you.”

“Welcome.”

~*~

Having swapped his low-cut jeans for the lower-cut ones that had rips in just the right places, Yohji checked his appearance in the mirror. Not as decadent as usual, but hot. That would work. And it was only Wednesday after all. Undoing another button on his tight polo shirt, he grabbed his shades and headed out.

Heading through the kitchen, Yohji ran smack into the cuteness that had eluded him before. Standing at the counter, Aya was attempting to manage a kitten, a mug, and an eyedropper. Bent over the counter, the last of these he was trying to get the animal to drink from, with some difficulty it seemed, as yet another dribble of the sticky white liquid fell over his fingers.

Yohji didn’t try very hard to keep his mind out of the gutter; it rather liked the neighborhood.

Determined as always, Aya slipped the dropper into the mug–a warm mix of milk, eggs, and syrup he asserted would assure the kitten’s recovery– again and shifted, just slightly, the loose hold his left hand had around the kitten’s middle. When the dropper came again, she reached toward it, but feeling the hard plastic in her mouth, attempted to pull back. Liquid spilled again, but the kitten licked hungrily at the few drops that had made it into her mouth.

Picking up a dish towel, Yohji handed it to Aya who looked rather displeased at the fact the blonde was watching him. The kitten looked up at him too, mouth and face and fur wet with the milk; she hissed. Deciding there were other, louder places where he would be much more welcome, Yohji left.

~*~

Either the sun had turned suddenly malicious and was trying to burn his brain right out of his skull, or Yohji had a hangover. Opening his resistant eyelids to half-mast, he observed his own arm, thrown haphazardly in front of his face as he slept on his stomach near the edge of the bed. Slowly, he took morning evaluation of his state. The body seemed intact, desperately begging to be taken to the bathroom, but not making any major complaints beyond that. The eyes ached at the light, and the mouth tasted bad, somewhere between really good cheese and really bad roadkill. Gross.

Levering himself into a sitting position, Yohji shoved his sunglasses on his nose and fished a cigarette from his jeans pocket. Said jeans were lying crumpled on the floor, and Yohji’s non-existent modesty was protected only by a chance corner of the bed sheet. This fell loose as he stood and stretched his long, leans arms skyward, looking graceful and strong and not the least bit what he felt like.

Grabbing a new pair of jeans from the closet, he didn’t bother to put them on before heading for the shower.

One outraged Ken, two Tylenol, and three cigarettes later, Yohji deemed himself ready for his shift; he was only thirty minutes late.

Aya glared at him as he entered the shop. Yohji smiled in return, dropping the blue apron round his neck and reaching back easily to tie a sloppy bow in the back.

“Moring, Aya.”

Aya failed to reply, but his poignant glance at the clock on the wall informed Yohji that he was aware that it was well past any hour that might pass for ‘morning.’ With a shrug, Yohji took over the stool behind the register; propping one elbow on the counter, he dropped his head into his hand, affected a blank stare that suggested he was too lost in thought to even perceive what his eyes were aimed at, and began his daily round of Aya watching. This activity was scheduled to last until the younger man yelled at him, but, Yohji noted with satisfaction that threatened to be disappointment, those chastisings were usually based on his lack of productive activity rather than any apparent personal trespass.

An intricate arrangement of salmon roses and baby’s breath sat to Aya’s right, and its elegant twin was taking shape before him. Carefully he selected specimen from the row of roses set to his left, snipping them deftly with the clippers before placing them into the large, glass vase. With the vase growing full, its tall container of blooms now close to obstructing Aya’s entire face from Yohji’s view, the blonde was grateful when the other stood to stare at the flowers from a new direction. With three precise adjustments of lowers and greenery, what had been pretty become artistically pleasing.

There was no nod of satisfaction. Aya’s only acknowledgement of the excellent work was to set the two in the refrigerated display case for later delivery. Yohji stared at the redhead’s back, thinking that had he gone to equal trouble, he would have probably demanded some kind of recognition, probably by shoving the arrangements under Aya’s nose until he commented upon them, at least to make a correction. He had just about built himself up to offering his friend a compliment when Aya spoke.

“I’m taking a ten minute break. Okay?”

“Uh, sure.” Yohji blinked. That was new. Aya usually saved his breaks for the afternoon rush, and his leaving was always preceded by either complete silence (when he simply disappeared) or barely restrained anger (when he announced his break with the unspoken threat to do bodily harm to anyone stupid enough to deny him).

“Don’t leave,” he warned as he walked out the shop door and back toward the house.

A second passed before Yohji realized what he had said.

“I’m not an idiot, Aya!” It was only when he had half-risen to follow and protest that Yohji had to stop and reconsider. With a sigh, he shoved his hands in his pockets and went to investigate Aya’s workstation. Why the mid-afternoon break? Had all Yohji’s staring finally gotten to the man? There had been no tell-tale blushes, not even an angry glare, and certainly no come-hither stares. Yohji would have noticed come-hither stares. Maybe Aya wasn’t feeling well; he had once taken a break early when he pulled out three of his stitches moving the oversized terracotta pot that contained the unsellable lemon tree. Or maybe he was trying to mess with Yohji’s head by interrupting the usual schedule of their interactions, maybe it was a complex revenge for some act of insolence the blonde didn’t even remember.

Maybe he just had to pee, the unimaginative part of his brain suggested. Yohji snorted at it.

Aya returned without comment. He checked the arrangement list, and finding its short mid-week assignments complete, set about completing other shop chores that fell to whomever wasn’t particularly busy. By one, he had washed the windows, swept the floor, and reorganized the displays; Yohji had even been guilted by all his work into watering the hanging ferns.

Then they sat.

“Aya?”

“. . .”

“I’m bored.”

“…”

“Aya?”

Not even a ‘what.’ Yohji realized he was losing ground, or, more precisely, he was attempting to play a different game. An expert at contending with Aya in whine-until-you-piss-him-off and a formidable opponent in don’t-get-hit-opoly, Yohji had recently refigured his tactics in order to beat friend-to-lover taboo. Mentally he had marked whine, beg, tease, poke, and provoke off his list of acceptable approaches (though poke was readmitted shortly thereafter in a slightly different context).

Of course, today Yohji had card up his sleeve.

“We should bring the kitten in here,” he suggested, lightly, tracing the edge of the cash register with one finger and not-staring at Aya.

“Why?”

Aware that the request was unlikely to be met for his own benefit, Yohji took another path, “She’s probably lonely.”

Violet eyes were trained on him, the expression strangely void of irritation, allowing the blonde to read the question there. It caught him off guard, being able to read Aya so easily after so many failed attempts of great effort, but Yohji refused to get caught up in it when his plan was going so well.

“Think about it. She’s been up there…in your room,” he guessed, “all alone all day long.” He wasn’t sure if any of this was making a dent. “You probably ought to check on her, at least.”

Perhaps guilt wasn’t the way to go. The new look was almost defensive, and then the stoic glare was back.

“I fed her at lunch.”

Ah, so that explained the break. So simple; how could he have missed it? Well, no one expected Aya Fujimiya to feed kittens after all.

~*~

His previous attempt to bond with Aya via the kitten having failed, Yohji took consolation in the fact that he had at least engaged the other man in tentative conversation that had not resulted in either yelling or physical harm to his own handsome person. He considered that progress. And he was determined to make more. Admittedly, this would probably require yet another rarely practiced action which Yohji despised: sacrifice.

~tbc~

Author’s Note: Hm…what shall Yohji sacrifice? Will he ever get to pet the kitten? Will the author even name the poor thing? Please review; reviews make starving artists happy, and flames are used to cook their ramen.