Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Our Kitten ❯ Getting Up ( Chapter 9 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Our Kitten
Chapter Nine: Getting Up

Light struck him, thrusting him suddenly into the world of the waking and filling his head with pain; recollection of his stupidity followed hard on its heels, and the moan that he made was a lamentation of both.

“Morning sunshine,” a chipper voice greeted, making him want nothing more than to crawl under the bed and die. Of course, it then occurred to Aya that he wasn’t even in his bed. What the hell had he done?

Reluctantly, he peeled his face from the pillow and sat up. His stomach and head protested the movement, and he held obligingly still, debating if he was going to have to bolt for the bathroom. No, he decided, he would be spared that humiliation for the moment, if he held very still. Squinting at the light, he hesitantly raised his eyes to Yohji who stood in front of the window with a hand on the cord to the blinds.

Aya wanted to kill him, but it was a vague wish almost completely subsumed by the desperate hope that he hadn’t done anything terrible, like declare his undying love or sleep with the man, the former being worse than the latter. But he was still half-dressed and Yohji didn’t seem intent on beating the shit out of him, so Aya thought he might be okay. All he had to do was get out of Yohji’s bed without throwing up, falling down, or talking to the man; it was the only hope of salvaging his suffering dignity.

Cautiously, he moved his legs to the sit on the side of the bed, facing away from the light. The shifting initiated another wave of nausea, and he lowered his head into his hands, keeping his elbows propped on his knees to support the position. Okay, escaping was not going as well as he had hoped, and it got progressively worse as Yohji came around the bed, disgruntled furball twisting in his hand. The blonde took a seat beside him, and Aya wasn’t sure whether to appreciate or loathe the fact that Yohji did so with care so as not to jostle him.

He felt too bad to glare, so he took it with appreciation.

How the hell did Yohji do this three times a week?

“Okay?” the blonde asked.

Aya went to nod, thinking better of the motion at the first shift of his head. He grunted instead.

He needed to get out of there, to find something along the lines of tea and a shower and, definitely, a toothbrush to make himself feel somewhere near human again. Then he’d have to apologize to Yohji for whatever it was he had done to end up in the man’s room; the blond idiot was sure to love that. He was probably already bursting with smug satisfaction.

“Mew.”

“Shhh,̶ 1; Yohji’s voice soothed, “Mommy’s got a hangover.”

~*~

It had to be the cutest damn thing he had ever seen. Okay, so Aya probably didn’t feel very cute at the moment (if he ever did), but he had woken up perfectly imperfect, with his red hair in disarray and a red line across his cheek where he had slept on the seam of the pillow. His eyes had blinked against the light, before they were hidden away, and he had made a little sound, somewhere between a moan and a whine, borrowing deeper into the bed before gathering himself up and trying to be Aya.

There were two courses Yohji could pursue. He could revel in their reversed situations, berating Aya for his raucous, irresponsible behavior, throwing in a few choice words the redhead like to use on him. And while it was tempting to call him a few of the unkind names he was often subject to, it would hardly get him into Aya’s pants, which, he noted, had slipped rather low on Aya’s hips during the night and were currently revealing a tempting jut of hipbone. Well, that decided it. Yohji would be helpful and understanding and just too damn useful to live without.

Plus, he’d already gotten to enjoy waking Aya with the sun, a particularly nasty trick played on him on a weekly basis.

“Sorry to wake you up, but we have to open the shop in an hour, and I didn’t think you’d want me to explain to Omi why you weren’t there.”

There was a grunt from the other, then, after Aya licked his dry lips, a soft, “Right.”

“You’re probably not feelin great right now, so tell you what,” he stood up, carefully, switching Meli to his left hand and letting his right ghost over Aya’s messy hair, “I’ll go down and feed this thing—”

“Mew,” Meli agreed.

“Yes, I know,” he told her. “I’ll feed her while you get a shower. Then I’ll make us some breakfast.”

“No breakfast.”

“Ma, Aya, trust me.”

~*~

He had never been so glad to see someone leave a room.

Yohji wandered out talking to a protesting Meli who, according to the blonde’s interpretations of her increasingly loud cries, was reluctant to leave Aya (otherwise known as ‘mommy’). He was grateful that the blonde had gotten him up in time for work and that he had not tried to remain and help him, but had left him alone to deal with the mess he’d made of himself.

Aya resolved to relocate that mess to the bathroom in order to deal with several necessary operations.

Standing proved hazardous, and he closed his eyes against the sensations, none of which were pleasant. Making his way cautiously to the doorframe, he was again glad Yohji was not there to watch him lean on it to regain his balance and ponder how he might off himself between that point and his destination.

Fortunately or not, he made it alive, closing the door behind him and leaning heavily on the vanity. The look disgust on his face was shone back to him as he regarded himself in the mirror. He wore no shirt and had no idea at what point he had lost it, and his pants were hanging too low, stretched out from being slept in and threatening to fall, already revealing the black cloth of his boxers. Charming. It was a look that went well with this pale, shadowed face. The circles under his eyes were ridiculous, too dark; he rubbed at them as if they might come off, and then berated himself for the stupidity of the thought. His eyes themselves were bloodshot, red lines accented by the wild fall of his hair. He hoped the signs would fade soon; they would be difficult to hide.

He thought about telling everyone he was just doing a very convincing Yohji impression.

Pressing himself off the vanity, he managed to start the shower before the urge to throw up overtook him. So he clutched at the cool porcelain of the toilet, listening to the water run in the shower and trying not to think.

~*~

Yohji hummed a little as he waited for the toaster, vowing that he wouldn’t jump when it made its noise. He hated being surprised by this particular appliance which, as he had explained to Omi just the other day, made a particularly loud clang when the toast was done. He had tried to bargain for a toaster oven, but not one of his teammates would join his cause, and he just didn’t have the motivation to seek one out on his own. So, once more, Yohji faced off against toaster, humming to keep it unsuspecting.

Meli watched this drama from the floor. Having learned to escape her box, she couldn’t be trusted to remain in her colander-bed. Yohji moved carefully around her, pausing every few minutes to track her down and bring her back to the small rug in front of the sink.

“Mew?” she directed towards one of his slippered feet.

“Two minutes, darling. Mommy’s breakfast first, then yours.”

“Mew.”

“Now don’t be—”

CLANG.

“Damnit,” he swore, having inadvertently started at the toaster-noise that never ceased to remind him of the discharge of a firearm.

Using a good portion of his self-control, Yohji took the toast from the antagonistic toaster without bashing the thing into little pieces. One piece of toast went onto a plate and was liberally topped with honey; the other went into his mouth, dangling by one corner as he set Aya’s on the table. After a brief foray to the medicine cabinet, he added two white pills to the plate.

Taking a bite of his toast, he grabbed Meli (who was trying to hide under table) and set her back on the rug. She spat at him a little, and was rescued from the resultant poking by the whistle of the tea kettle. Yohji set it off the burner and dug in the cabinet for a tea bag, having to shift past the loose leaves that Aya preferred. Too much trouble, in his humble, coffee-drinking opinion. Ah, and some of that delightful beverage was destined for his own mug.

Locating a box of lemon-ginger tea, Yohji pulled out one of the single packets. Next he went for their mugs. His own was a large, nondescript black one, but Aya’s…rarely could Yohji help from smiling at it. On the rare occasion that he was forced from bed at the ungodly hour at which Aya ate breakfast, it was a small boon to see the man’s serious face, reading the paper or some other super-grownup publication, directly above the smiling kitty cup.

It had been a joke at first, orchestrated by none other than himself. Aya had been injured and bitchy and refusing to eat. The chibi’s eyes having been defeated, Yohji had gone in armed with his new purchase and sat at Aya’s bedside, telling him to smile, like the kitty, see? Aya had stared at it for a long minute, no doubt appreciating the cartoonish grin of the fluffy, pink kitty cat. He might have been swayed to eat the soup inside by Yohji’s eloquent recapitulation of the facts of his condition or by the pure sexiness that was his personality, but, in reality, it had to be the kitty.

Having succeeded, the kitty mug was used throughout the redhead’s convalescence and then whenever anyone else happened to fix a beverage for him. There were a few half-hearted comments on his part, but Yohji thought Aya actually liked it. Whether he harbored a secret affection for the pink kitty or not, eventually, he just gave up and claimed it as his own.

The kitty mug was filled with water and the tea bag placed inside before it was situated beside the plate. Yohji filled his own cup from the coffee pot and sat it on the counter. Finally, a third cup (this one a chipped, beige number) was taken from the refrigerator and placed in the microwave.

He was just placing this into the sink and wiping Meli’s dripping mouth when his teammate appeared in the doorway. For the most part, he looked like Aya again, damp from the shower but tidy and only leaning a little on the cabinet where he stopped.

“Hey,” Yohji greeted.

“Hey,” Aya returned, softly. Yohji smiled; it wasn’t often that any greeting got more than a ‘hn.’

“Here, sit down,” he offered, pulling out one of the kitchen chairs. Aya blinked and stared at him. “Sit, sit!”

Aya sat.

He picked up the tea immediately, looking almost grateful as he breathed in the aroma before sipping at it.

“Food first,” Yohji instructed, “then the pills.”

Aya didn’t look up, but he seemed to defer to Yohji’s expertise, eating most of the toast before downing the two pills. The blonde stood by the counter, silently watching him finish off the tea as he tried to keep a wiggling Meli in his hands. As soon as Aya sat aside the empty cup, the kitten was deposited in his hands. He looked for a second as if he didn’t recognize the mewing thing in his lap then began to pet her head gently; more than eager for his attention, she pressed against his fingers. So taken with the creature’s change in mood, Yohji missed it when Aya finally said something.

“Huh?”

He drew a long breath, then, quietly, “I said I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

Was Aya blushing? Yohji couldn’t tell for sure, not with all that red hair hanging down around his face.

“Last night. For whatever I did.”

Yohji grinned, “You don’t remember?”

“No. Not all of it.”

With a dramatic sigh, Yohji feigned shock, “How could you forget that!”

Hm, well that wasn’t precisely how it was supposed to go. Aya was supposed to glare at him, call him an idiot, and restore the proper order of their relationship. Instead he seemed to cringe at Yohji’s teasing, his shoulders dropping almost imperceptibly as he pulled Meli a little closer to him.

“Chill,” Yohji tried to keep his voice light as he tapped Aya’s shoulder with his coffee cup before taking the seat next to him. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Aya ran a hand over his face.

“Mew,” Meli contributed.

“Shh, let mommy tell it.”

Shaking his head, Aya started to hesitantly recollect, seeming to recall his tale as he told it, “I remember the bar, mostly. Drinking. There was some girl. Nako? Nanako. maybe. She wanted . . .but I told her,” he ran the hand through his hair now, and Yohji waited with baited breath; Aya left him wanting, moving quickly and quietly on without filling in the blank, “I ended up in a cab. I remember getting up the stairs, but that’s all.”

Aya looked so solemn, guilty even, as he told this, and Yohji was more than curious as to what the man was thinking he might have done.

“Nothing after that?” he prodded, instantly regretting it as Aya’s eyes dropped away from him to stare at the table. Again, the swordsman shook his head. Deciding it wasn’t fun to play when his adversary gave in so fast (and without the threat of violence that often marked their casual interactions), Yohji conceded as well.

“Well, you didn’t strip down or sing show tunes or anything,” he tried for a smile, or what passed for one for Aya, but there was nothing; Aya’s look was cooling from unsure and slightly open to the glacial detachment he wore on most days. “Seriously, Aya, you’re the only guy I know who gets drunk and talks about flowers.”

What was meant for a comforting remark caused a reaction so intense and unexpected that Yohji was taken aback; Aya’s head shot up, and for an instant, the look on his face was nothing less than panic. It wasn’t the uncontrolled panic of others, but Yohji knew him well enough to recognize the tense, fight or flight reaction. If Aya had had his sword, it would definitely have been at Yohji’s throat. Wide violet eyes stared straight into green, evaluating, calculating—and then it was gone.

Yohji found himself without words, and Aya used the opportunity to get away. Meli was shifted again, this time to Yohji’s lap, while her previous holder got up and quickly cleared away his dishes. The blonde realized that if he let the other go, the whole incident would never be spoken of again, and he might never get his answers: and he needed answers like he needed air. Yohji absolutely, desperately, pathetically needed to know what Aya had told the girl at the bar, why he had been drinking in the first place, what he had thought he had done, and why the hell geraniums put him into threatened rabbit mode.

It was a requisite for his sanity. Really.

But he needed time, so he grabbed the first chance at prolonging their contact he could think of, “Your car!”

That was too loud, he realized belatedly as Aya lifted his fingertips to his forehead. But he turned from the sink and leaned back on it, regarding Yohji silently despite his obvious eagerness to be out of the kitchen.

“Your car,” he repeated, quieter this time, “You said you took a cab, so it’s at the place, right? I can give you a ride to get it.”

“You don’t—”

“I don’t mind at all,” he smiled, talking over what might have been (probably was) a refusal of his generous services, “I need to run some errands anyway.”

“How do you know you’re going anywhere near where I left it?”

Yohji shrugged, “They’ve got bookstores all over.”

“Bookstores?”

~tbc~

&nb sp; 
Review? The kitten wants you to.

^-.-^








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