Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Our Kitten ❯ Dropping Off ( Chapter 10 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Miko No Hoshi 
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 07.24.2011 | Pages: 3 | Words: 3.1K | Visits: 364 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 07.24.2011 | Pages: 3 | Words: 3.1K | Visits: 364 | Status: Work In Progress
Notes: As I say time and time again, sorry this took so long! I haven’t forgotten about it and will try to be quicker with the next update. Thank you all for your patience and especially for your reviews. They make the kitten (s) very, very happy!
^.^
Our Kitten
Chapter Ten: Dropping Off
Yohji had confused the hell out of Aya; he was sure of it. Not that the man came right out and said it. It was never that simple. In fact, Aya had been cold, almost frigid with him all afternoon, talking only when shop business required it and rebuffing each of the blonde’s attempts to be nice. No, he didn’t want Yohji to go out and get lunch No, he didn’t need any help reaching that vase on the top shelf. No, for gods’ sake get away from him and let him finish carrying things to the van.
Where he would normally be grumpy as hell at the end of such a day, Yohji found himself smiling as he swept the floor. This was the last of the chores, and he completed it while keeping an eye on Aya who, he was almost sure, would stage some kind of escape attempt. Ah, there it was. Having counted the drawer and prepared their deposit, he was taking off his apron with silent precision, doing his damndest to avoid Yohji’s attention.
No such luck.
“Okay, let’s go,” Yohji decided, planting the broom in the corner and yanking his own apron over his head.
Aya gave him a look that wasn’t very happy, but Yohji just smiled at him and pulled his keys out of his pocket.
“It’s too far,” Aya tried, “I’ll just take the train.”
“You hate the train.”
Aya shrugged.
“I gotta go out anyhow, might as well be with you.”
Obviously not knowing how to take that, Aya stared at him; taking advantage of the hesitation, Yohji made the decision for him, “Good. Let’s get out of here.”
~*~
Taking Aya’s direction, Yohji made a left turn and started down the busy street. The redhead had been quiet despite his best attempts at conversation. Usually he could get Aya to at least talk shop, but even the mention of the new glazed vases (something the swordsman had been quietly excited about for over a week) resulted in silence. At his wit’s end, Yohji was relieved when they passed a large bookstore on the right. Doubling back, he located a parking spot behind the store.
“You don’t mind, do you? If we stop here?”
“It’s fine,” Aya answered as he climbed out of the car. He stood for a second, the late September wind stirring his hair slightly as he looked up at the shop, already lit brightly though the afternoon sun had just started to set. Yohji smiled, knowing that the other frequented bookstores, at least if the collection of books in his room was any indication. They were one of the few things for himself that Yohji saw him spend money on.
~*~
Having agreed to meet Aya at the front of the store in twenty minutes, Yohji started immediately on his search. Quickly locating the gardening section, he began to rifle through the books on growing things. There were at least fifty of them on how to plant flowers, but he couldn’t find the one he needed. He was beginning to think it was hopeless when he almost looked over another green-colored cover; only the strange font, an odd kind of curling cursive, made him pause.
With his lucky find under his arm, he went to find his cover story. It wouldn’t do for Aya to get wind of his real reason for the errand, at least not yet. Standing in front of the magazine rack, he debated picking up a couple plastic-wrapped titles, but while they might have been believable, it wasn’t exactly the image of himself he wanted to give the guy he was interested in. Ultimately, he decided on a Popular Mechanics and a large, thin book on raising well-behaved cats.
He got to the register just in time to catch Aya checking out with a stack of his own. Curious as always, and simultaneously hoping similar scrutiny wouldn’t be given to his own purchases, he scanned Aya’s titles. A couple were fiction, thick things that looked like thrillers. Another, thinner book was in a foreign language, French, he was pretty sure; it shocked him for a second, but only a second. It was easy to forget that one of Aya’s roles in Weiss was that of linguistic expert, and there was no telling exactly what languages he knew. As interesting as this was as potential conversation fodder, Yohji was much more drawn to the book on the top of Aya’s stack, Training Your Kitten. It was one of those brightly-colored books and had a picture of a fuzzy, white kitten on the cover.
When the redhead caught him looking, Yohji was offered a hard, offended look that conveyed through complete silence that he would face a most unpleasant fate if he was ever stupid enough to mention the existence of that book to anyone. He shrugged and gave a smile in return. For a moment, Aya looked unsure, but he simply turned away to accept his change from the clerk, a young woman with a nose ring who appeared just a little too pleased to be helping him. Too busy fending off her blatant attempt to get his phone number, Aya didn’t have a chance to so much as glance at what Yohji was buying. He took his change and left, leaving Yohji behind to sort his own business.
“Is this all for you, sir?” the cashier asked. Her tone had cooled considerably from the one he had just heard addressed to Aya. Though he wasn’t interested, Yohji felt the sting of the slight and gave her a rather sultry look as he drug his wallet from the pocket of his tight jeans.
~*~
“Want to grab dinner since we’re out?” Yohji suggested with every air of casualness he could manage, not even taking his eyes off the road. Thankfully, he had excellent peripheral vision, letting him see Aya turn away, just too quickly to manage casualness on his part.
“No.”
“Come on, I’m starving,” he tried. Though his stomach was indeed informing him that he had spent his lunch break plotting over his turkey sandwich rather than eating it, it was too much to wish for it to make a noise. No, that only happened when he wanted to desperately avoid it. “We’re going to Harajuku, right? There’s a killer sushi place near the station.”
“You don’t like sushi,” Aya said, flat and factual, but he was looking at Yohji now, brows drawn together just a little.
Damn. Oh well, when all is lost, go with honesty.
“Yeah, but you do.”
If anything, Aya looked more confused than before.
~*~
Yohji choked back another maki roll, chasing it with a gratuitous amount of tea. This, he was sure, was not food. Sure, it looked pretty, and, had someone taken the time to throw part of it on the grill, it might have been very nice, but it was raw and it was cold and it was not making his stomach happy in the least.
But it was worth it, he thought, as he picked up another prettily wrapped piece. Egg. He could do that.
Ew. Okay, maybe the fish wasn’t the only problem. He wasn’t a fan of seaweed either.
Not for the first time, Yohji wondered if he had been born in the wrong country. He continually wrote off his tastes as following after his father’s (which was easy considering he had no idea what the man had liked), but it certainly seemed a cruel twist of fate that he grew up trying to avoid his country’s classic dishes. And now, if his plans (latent as they were) came to fruition, he was signing himself up for even more years of cramming things down his throat.
Because Aya liked it.
Sitting primly on the other side of the low table, Aya ate with a conscious grace that impressed the blonde. Deliberation without strain, he had decided, having had the opportunity to refine this description as he watched Aya go about his daily tasks. Yohji loved to watch Aya do things. And while he wasn’t above watching him bend over and move the trees in the shop or imagining him naked while he reached up to water the ferns, there was also a more quiet thrill in just watching the redhead do innocent things in his own particular way.
Now, for example. He sat close to the table, legs criss-crossed much like Yohji’s, only where the blonde knew he seemed to sprawl out like a long-legged spider, Aya appeared compact, closer in upon himself. His table manners were impeccable, a surprise considering a great deal of Aya’s manners were either unused or nonexistent. Here, though, he exhibited nice form, completely traditional as he poured soy sauce into his small dish and used an excessive amount of the fresh wasabi.
He had ordered a mixture of things, most of which Yohji recognized and categorized immediately as barely edible. But Aya seemed to enjoy them. He would linger, just a second, over selecting which he would eat, then grasp it easily between his lacquered chopsticks and guide it to the soy sauce; this was applied only to one side, and it never dripped as he lifted the sushi to his mouth where it disappeared behind pale pink lips.
There Yohji got a little distracted.
~*~
“Left,” Aya directed.
“Here?”
“Yes. You can drop me off at the corner.”
Yohji didn’t miss the uncomfortable shifting as Aya looked out the window. They were in the trendy part of the district, but heading down a street that Yohji knew lead to some slightly more risqué places. Desperately curious, he brushed off Aya’s offer.
“A couple more blocks isn’t gonna make a difference,” he said.
Aya shifted again, chewing on his lip just a little and undoubtedly wondering just how he had gotten himself into his current situation.
“Tell me where,” Yohji instructed. Busily scanning the parking lots, he spotted the Porsche just as Aya said something. Guiding the Seven easily into the small parking lot, he stopped near Aya’s car and studied the building in front of them. It was a three story, nondescript building of gray stone, main entrance made obvious only in its double doors. Unlit above these was a neon sign, Mélange.
Despite his extensive experience, Yohji had never been there. He didn’t frequent Harajuku, really, finding a few too many kids. Not kids, exactly, but close enough to eighteen to force him to sort them out. Besides, he didn’t really get into the hip, punk scene. But then again, the idea of Aya decked out in skinny jeans and trendy, fur-trimmed jackets kind of did it for him.
Lost in thought, he let Aya slip wordlessly from the car, catching him just a second before the door was slammed shut.
“Hey!”
Leaning back in, Aya offered a quick, “Thank you.”
“No problem,” Yohji dismissed. He gestured to the building with a tilt of his head, “I’ve never been here. What kind of place is it?”
Aya shrugged. Yohji rolled his eyes dramatically and was rewarded with an answer, albeit a vague one.
“Different,” the redhead stated. Then he shut the door and was gone.
~*~
“Please, Aya? Just for a little while?”
“No.”
Omi looked absolutely pathetic. Sitting in the armchair, he leaned towards Aya, hands already half out in mistaken anticipation. Situated on the couch with Meli, the redhead didn’t appear affected by the boy’s attempt at a pitiful look.
Unable to resist, Yohji took a seat beside Aya and held out his own hand. Aya looked at his hand, his face, then Omi, silently asking if he intended to hand over the kitten even after the swordsman’s denial of the privilege. Yohji smiled in what he hoped was a trustworthy way, but Aya still hesitated.
“Don’t you have to practice?” Yohji asked, knowing full well that Aya hadn’t been up to the gym that day. “I’ll watch her.”
Again Aya glared at Omi, and, as if taking a cue, Meli roused enough to hiss quietly in his direction. Defeated, the boy dropped his hand and collapsed back in the chair, contenting himself with holding the remote. It wasn’t very much fun to pet.
“Here,” Aya said, placing the kitten in Yohji hand, “hold her.”
The unspoken you was clear enough.
It wasn’t until the redhead was well out of earshot that Omi braved a comment.
“I’m not going to hurt her,” he said, voice wavering between defensive and defeated.
“I know.”
“Can I hold her?”
“Sorry, chibi.”
Omi sighed, “How come you get to hold her?”
“Because I’m the daddy,” Yohji explained, lifting Meli in his hand so he could smile at her. One tiny paw came out to bop his nose. Omi rolled his eyes.
“And I can’t hold her because?”
“Because Aya’s the mommy, isn’t he?” Yohji asked Meli. She stared at him with her little, blue eyes, obviously wondering when he had gone crazy.
“I can’t believe he lets you call him that.”
~*~
“Here,” Yohji directed, sitting Meli down on his bed. She began her wobbly trek across the comforter, and he kept one eye on her as he snagged his shopping bag. Gently lifting her fuzzy little body, he sat and deposited her between his crossed legs. This, it seemed, did not suit. Immediately she began to cry and try to climb out.
“Shh,” Yohji directed. “I can’t read if you’re escaping.”
And, honestly, he wasn’t sure his Meli privileges wouldn’t be revoked if Aya heard her so genuinely unhappy. Unfazed by his plight, Meli continued her struggles until he gave up and put her beside him, determined to keep her from falling off the bed. Content, she began to wander away quicker than he had anticipated.
“Damn it.”
Deciding that it was not going to work and determined to get a leash and collar as soon as she was big enough, Yohji got up to shut the door before putting Meli on the floor to roam to her heart’s content.
He got a self-satisfied. “Mew,” for his efforts.
Aya was definitely spoiling her. They would have to have a chat about that. But first…
Shifting the bag, Yohji sat beside it and pulled out his find of the day: The Language of Flowers. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly penthouse, but it contained what he was beginning to think was a wealth of information, not just read-it-on-the-net stuff either, Aya-information. That kind was hard as hell to get and worth every yen he’d shelled out for the book.
Even before Aya’s slip in the kitchen, Yohji had been curious. Two days ago, he had made an attempt at an investigation only to find something amiss, a little thing that ate at him. Half-sure that Meli’s name had come from some kind of flower, he had thought to check Aya’s flower index for a meaning. The increasingly worn stack of papers was always, always under the counter in the shop, put there by Aya to make up for the apparent ineptitude of his coworkers. But it was gone.
It wasn’t likely that highly skilled thieves had infiltrated their alarm systems and stolen the flower index. He had given more attention to the possibility that Omi or, more likely, Ken had mislaid it somewhere, but neither had even touched it for days.
That left Aya.
And Aya had the damn thing memorized. It wasn’t a surprise. Aya did that kind of thing. He knew the blueprints for every mission, the security codes of every one of the team, the average numbers of flowers they sold each month, and the phone numbers to every fast food place in a five mile radius.
And he knew the meanings of the flowers.
So why had Aya relocated the index? This combined with his near freak out over Yohji’s revelation of his drunken discussion meant that Yohji had to know.
Sparing a glance at Meli (who was currently trying to find a way over a pile of dirty clothes), Yohji opened the book and began to search.
Marjoram, Marvel of Peru, Meadow Lychnis, Meadowsweet, Moschatel, Moss.
Thinking he had simply missed it, Yohji read over the page again. There was nothing that even suggested the name Meli. Surely, though, his instincts were no so far off. Perhaps Aya had chosen the middle of a flower’s name. Determined, Yohji flipped to the title page and began to read from the beginning.
~tbc~
Notes: Yohji’s so close. Will he figure it out? Review to encourage him (and the author) to keep going!
Converting /tmp/phpTmOpTk to /dev/stdout
^.^
Our Kitten
Chapter Ten: Dropping Off
Yohji had confused the hell out of Aya; he was sure of it. Not that the man came right out and said it. It was never that simple. In fact, Aya had been cold, almost frigid with him all afternoon, talking only when shop business required it and rebuffing each of the blonde’s attempts to be nice. No, he didn’t want Yohji to go out and get lunch No, he didn’t need any help reaching that vase on the top shelf. No, for gods’ sake get away from him and let him finish carrying things to the van.
Where he would normally be grumpy as hell at the end of such a day, Yohji found himself smiling as he swept the floor. This was the last of the chores, and he completed it while keeping an eye on Aya who, he was almost sure, would stage some kind of escape attempt. Ah, there it was. Having counted the drawer and prepared their deposit, he was taking off his apron with silent precision, doing his damndest to avoid Yohji’s attention.
No such luck.
“Okay, let’s go,” Yohji decided, planting the broom in the corner and yanking his own apron over his head.
Aya gave him a look that wasn’t very happy, but Yohji just smiled at him and pulled his keys out of his pocket.
“It’s too far,” Aya tried, “I’ll just take the train.”
“You hate the train.”
Aya shrugged.
“I gotta go out anyhow, might as well be with you.”
Obviously not knowing how to take that, Aya stared at him; taking advantage of the hesitation, Yohji made the decision for him, “Good. Let’s get out of here.”
~*~
Taking Aya’s direction, Yohji made a left turn and started down the busy street. The redhead had been quiet despite his best attempts at conversation. Usually he could get Aya to at least talk shop, but even the mention of the new glazed vases (something the swordsman had been quietly excited about for over a week) resulted in silence. At his wit’s end, Yohji was relieved when they passed a large bookstore on the right. Doubling back, he located a parking spot behind the store.
“You don’t mind, do you? If we stop here?”
“It’s fine,” Aya answered as he climbed out of the car. He stood for a second, the late September wind stirring his hair slightly as he looked up at the shop, already lit brightly though the afternoon sun had just started to set. Yohji smiled, knowing that the other frequented bookstores, at least if the collection of books in his room was any indication. They were one of the few things for himself that Yohji saw him spend money on.
~*~
Having agreed to meet Aya at the front of the store in twenty minutes, Yohji started immediately on his search. Quickly locating the gardening section, he began to rifle through the books on growing things. There were at least fifty of them on how to plant flowers, but he couldn’t find the one he needed. He was beginning to think it was hopeless when he almost looked over another green-colored cover; only the strange font, an odd kind of curling cursive, made him pause.
With his lucky find under his arm, he went to find his cover story. It wouldn’t do for Aya to get wind of his real reason for the errand, at least not yet. Standing in front of the magazine rack, he debated picking up a couple plastic-wrapped titles, but while they might have been believable, it wasn’t exactly the image of himself he wanted to give the guy he was interested in. Ultimately, he decided on a Popular Mechanics and a large, thin book on raising well-behaved cats.
He got to the register just in time to catch Aya checking out with a stack of his own. Curious as always, and simultaneously hoping similar scrutiny wouldn’t be given to his own purchases, he scanned Aya’s titles. A couple were fiction, thick things that looked like thrillers. Another, thinner book was in a foreign language, French, he was pretty sure; it shocked him for a second, but only a second. It was easy to forget that one of Aya’s roles in Weiss was that of linguistic expert, and there was no telling exactly what languages he knew. As interesting as this was as potential conversation fodder, Yohji was much more drawn to the book on the top of Aya’s stack, Training Your Kitten. It was one of those brightly-colored books and had a picture of a fuzzy, white kitten on the cover.
When the redhead caught him looking, Yohji was offered a hard, offended look that conveyed through complete silence that he would face a most unpleasant fate if he was ever stupid enough to mention the existence of that book to anyone. He shrugged and gave a smile in return. For a moment, Aya looked unsure, but he simply turned away to accept his change from the clerk, a young woman with a nose ring who appeared just a little too pleased to be helping him. Too busy fending off her blatant attempt to get his phone number, Aya didn’t have a chance to so much as glance at what Yohji was buying. He took his change and left, leaving Yohji behind to sort his own business.
“Is this all for you, sir?” the cashier asked. Her tone had cooled considerably from the one he had just heard addressed to Aya. Though he wasn’t interested, Yohji felt the sting of the slight and gave her a rather sultry look as he drug his wallet from the pocket of his tight jeans.
~*~
“Want to grab dinner since we’re out?” Yohji suggested with every air of casualness he could manage, not even taking his eyes off the road. Thankfully, he had excellent peripheral vision, letting him see Aya turn away, just too quickly to manage casualness on his part.
“No.”
“Come on, I’m starving,” he tried. Though his stomach was indeed informing him that he had spent his lunch break plotting over his turkey sandwich rather than eating it, it was too much to wish for it to make a noise. No, that only happened when he wanted to desperately avoid it. “We’re going to Harajuku, right? There’s a killer sushi place near the station.”
“You don’t like sushi,” Aya said, flat and factual, but he was looking at Yohji now, brows drawn together just a little.
Damn. Oh well, when all is lost, go with honesty.
“Yeah, but you do.”
If anything, Aya looked more confused than before.
~*~
Yohji choked back another maki roll, chasing it with a gratuitous amount of tea. This, he was sure, was not food. Sure, it looked pretty, and, had someone taken the time to throw part of it on the grill, it might have been very nice, but it was raw and it was cold and it was not making his stomach happy in the least.
But it was worth it, he thought, as he picked up another prettily wrapped piece. Egg. He could do that.
Ew. Okay, maybe the fish wasn’t the only problem. He wasn’t a fan of seaweed either.
Not for the first time, Yohji wondered if he had been born in the wrong country. He continually wrote off his tastes as following after his father’s (which was easy considering he had no idea what the man had liked), but it certainly seemed a cruel twist of fate that he grew up trying to avoid his country’s classic dishes. And now, if his plans (latent as they were) came to fruition, he was signing himself up for even more years of cramming things down his throat.
Because Aya liked it.
Sitting primly on the other side of the low table, Aya ate with a conscious grace that impressed the blonde. Deliberation without strain, he had decided, having had the opportunity to refine this description as he watched Aya go about his daily tasks. Yohji loved to watch Aya do things. And while he wasn’t above watching him bend over and move the trees in the shop or imagining him naked while he reached up to water the ferns, there was also a more quiet thrill in just watching the redhead do innocent things in his own particular way.
Now, for example. He sat close to the table, legs criss-crossed much like Yohji’s, only where the blonde knew he seemed to sprawl out like a long-legged spider, Aya appeared compact, closer in upon himself. His table manners were impeccable, a surprise considering a great deal of Aya’s manners were either unused or nonexistent. Here, though, he exhibited nice form, completely traditional as he poured soy sauce into his small dish and used an excessive amount of the fresh wasabi.
He had ordered a mixture of things, most of which Yohji recognized and categorized immediately as barely edible. But Aya seemed to enjoy them. He would linger, just a second, over selecting which he would eat, then grasp it easily between his lacquered chopsticks and guide it to the soy sauce; this was applied only to one side, and it never dripped as he lifted the sushi to his mouth where it disappeared behind pale pink lips.
There Yohji got a little distracted.
~*~
“Left,” Aya directed.
“Here?”
“Yes. You can drop me off at the corner.”
Yohji didn’t miss the uncomfortable shifting as Aya looked out the window. They were in the trendy part of the district, but heading down a street that Yohji knew lead to some slightly more risqué places. Desperately curious, he brushed off Aya’s offer.
“A couple more blocks isn’t gonna make a difference,” he said.
Aya shifted again, chewing on his lip just a little and undoubtedly wondering just how he had gotten himself into his current situation.
“Tell me where,” Yohji instructed. Busily scanning the parking lots, he spotted the Porsche just as Aya said something. Guiding the Seven easily into the small parking lot, he stopped near Aya’s car and studied the building in front of them. It was a three story, nondescript building of gray stone, main entrance made obvious only in its double doors. Unlit above these was a neon sign, Mélange.
Despite his extensive experience, Yohji had never been there. He didn’t frequent Harajuku, really, finding a few too many kids. Not kids, exactly, but close enough to eighteen to force him to sort them out. Besides, he didn’t really get into the hip, punk scene. But then again, the idea of Aya decked out in skinny jeans and trendy, fur-trimmed jackets kind of did it for him.
Lost in thought, he let Aya slip wordlessly from the car, catching him just a second before the door was slammed shut.
“Hey!”
Leaning back in, Aya offered a quick, “Thank you.”
“No problem,” Yohji dismissed. He gestured to the building with a tilt of his head, “I’ve never been here. What kind of place is it?”
Aya shrugged. Yohji rolled his eyes dramatically and was rewarded with an answer, albeit a vague one.
“Different,” the redhead stated. Then he shut the door and was gone.
~*~
“Please, Aya? Just for a little while?”
“No.”
Omi looked absolutely pathetic. Sitting in the armchair, he leaned towards Aya, hands already half out in mistaken anticipation. Situated on the couch with Meli, the redhead didn’t appear affected by the boy’s attempt at a pitiful look.
Unable to resist, Yohji took a seat beside Aya and held out his own hand. Aya looked at his hand, his face, then Omi, silently asking if he intended to hand over the kitten even after the swordsman’s denial of the privilege. Yohji smiled in what he hoped was a trustworthy way, but Aya still hesitated.
“Don’t you have to practice?” Yohji asked, knowing full well that Aya hadn’t been up to the gym that day. “I’ll watch her.”
Again Aya glared at Omi, and, as if taking a cue, Meli roused enough to hiss quietly in his direction. Defeated, the boy dropped his hand and collapsed back in the chair, contenting himself with holding the remote. It wasn’t very much fun to pet.
“Here,” Aya said, placing the kitten in Yohji hand, “hold her.”
The unspoken you was clear enough.
It wasn’t until the redhead was well out of earshot that Omi braved a comment.
“I’m not going to hurt her,” he said, voice wavering between defensive and defeated.
“I know.”
“Can I hold her?”
“Sorry, chibi.”
Omi sighed, “How come you get to hold her?”
“Because I’m the daddy,” Yohji explained, lifting Meli in his hand so he could smile at her. One tiny paw came out to bop his nose. Omi rolled his eyes.
“And I can’t hold her because?”
“Because Aya’s the mommy, isn’t he?” Yohji asked Meli. She stared at him with her little, blue eyes, obviously wondering when he had gone crazy.
“I can’t believe he lets you call him that.”
~*~
“Here,” Yohji directed, sitting Meli down on his bed. She began her wobbly trek across the comforter, and he kept one eye on her as he snagged his shopping bag. Gently lifting her fuzzy little body, he sat and deposited her between his crossed legs. This, it seemed, did not suit. Immediately she began to cry and try to climb out.
“Shh,” Yohji directed. “I can’t read if you’re escaping.”
And, honestly, he wasn’t sure his Meli privileges wouldn’t be revoked if Aya heard her so genuinely unhappy. Unfazed by his plight, Meli continued her struggles until he gave up and put her beside him, determined to keep her from falling off the bed. Content, she began to wander away quicker than he had anticipated.
“Damn it.”
Deciding that it was not going to work and determined to get a leash and collar as soon as she was big enough, Yohji got up to shut the door before putting Meli on the floor to roam to her heart’s content.
He got a self-satisfied. “Mew,” for his efforts.
Aya was definitely spoiling her. They would have to have a chat about that. But first…
Shifting the bag, Yohji sat beside it and pulled out his find of the day: The Language of Flowers. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly penthouse, but it contained what he was beginning to think was a wealth of information, not just read-it-on-the-net stuff either, Aya-information. That kind was hard as hell to get and worth every yen he’d shelled out for the book.
Even before Aya’s slip in the kitchen, Yohji had been curious. Two days ago, he had made an attempt at an investigation only to find something amiss, a little thing that ate at him. Half-sure that Meli’s name had come from some kind of flower, he had thought to check Aya’s flower index for a meaning. The increasingly worn stack of papers was always, always under the counter in the shop, put there by Aya to make up for the apparent ineptitude of his coworkers. But it was gone.
It wasn’t likely that highly skilled thieves had infiltrated their alarm systems and stolen the flower index. He had given more attention to the possibility that Omi or, more likely, Ken had mislaid it somewhere, but neither had even touched it for days.
That left Aya.
And Aya had the damn thing memorized. It wasn’t a surprise. Aya did that kind of thing. He knew the blueprints for every mission, the security codes of every one of the team, the average numbers of flowers they sold each month, and the phone numbers to every fast food place in a five mile radius.
And he knew the meanings of the flowers.
So why had Aya relocated the index? This combined with his near freak out over Yohji’s revelation of his drunken discussion meant that Yohji had to know.
Sparing a glance at Meli (who was currently trying to find a way over a pile of dirty clothes), Yohji opened the book and began to search.
Marjoram, Marvel of Peru, Meadow Lychnis, Meadowsweet, Moschatel, Moss.
Thinking he had simply missed it, Yohji read over the page again. There was nothing that even suggested the name Meli. Surely, though, his instincts were no so far off. Perhaps Aya had chosen the middle of a flower’s name. Determined, Yohji flipped to the title page and began to read from the beginning.
~tbc~
Notes: Yohji’s so close. Will he figure it out? Review to encourage him (and the author) to keep going!
Converting /tmp/phpTmOpTk to /dev/stdout