Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Roses ❯ Part 4 ( Chapter 4 )

I figured that I'd try to make up for the boringness of that last chapter by posting this one sooner. Also, this one picks up immediately where the last one left off, so I've put the last paragraph from Part 3 in with this one. And THANK YOU my two loyal reviewers! You keep me happy and encouraged, even though more reviewers would be nice . . . but maybe I'll get more later. This is turning out to be pretty long for a nice little fluffy romance.

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She hoped he would. This man knew the littlest details about her that she hadn't revealed to anyone. He knew exactly what the perfect gift would be, and he was giving it to her. Girls at school had //boyfriends// that didn't do half of what this anonymous person was doing for her. And the little romantic in her was dying to see which man in her life could be so considerate.

<#> <#>

Aya watched his two house-mates converse at the table, unseen in the shadows of the hallway that led to his bedroom. Lena seemed almost outraged with the idea that //he// was her gift-bearer. The combination of that incredulity and her hopeful expression when Omi mentioned the possibility of him exposing himself at the end of the day were almost enough to make him consider doing so. Almost.

Unlike Yohji, he didn't feel the need to be recognized for every little thing he did. Lena would get a day of peace and relaxation, and the guilt he felt for being such a prick to her would be extinguished.

Omi was getting up to go up to his room. Lena would move to the leather couch now, where the next part of his present was already waiting. While she was there, he would have time to fake his own morning ritual so as to keep up the guise of everything being normal

<#> <#>

Normally Lena would go upstairs after breakfast on Saturdays to get whatever book she was currently reading then curl up on the couch for a few hours. She skipped the going-upstairs part and went directly to the couch. Sure enough her book, along with a cozy blanket, pillow, and the trademark rose were already left for her. There was no question about the mystery man being one of her housemates. Only assassins could move with enough stealth to not alert two of their own kind when they were in plain sight.

She should really be paying attention to her surroundings. The next gift would be left in the kitchen and probably would involve lunch, so all she had to do was make sure no one went into the kitchen without her notice. Easy enough since she had the stairs and most doors in her line of sight.

That decided, she sunk into the thick cushions of the couch, pulling the blanket around her to ward off the chilly morning air and leaning back into the feather pillow. She set her mind on mental guard duty so that any movement other than her own would alert her, then submitted the rest of her thoughts to the engaging story of her book.

Some time later she was roused from her reading by Aya's emergence from his bedroom. He barely noticed her as he passed; no identifiable emotions on his face except maybe fatigue from a bad night's sleep. She paid him as much attention as he paid her. He wasn't the rose-bearer. While she knew he probably woke up a few times before eight, he never left his room that early. Not to mention, it was //Aya//.

She misjudged her mystery man, though, and the next gift had nothing to do with lunch. The others were somewhat in the process of getting up by that time, which was typically when she turned on some music to drown out their activities, and supply pleasant background noise to read to. At exactly nine-thirty, the multi-disk CD player clicked to life and began playing her favorite music at the perfect decimal. She looked up to see the rose--she had to have over-looked it before--lying demurely on top of the black stereo.

Unable to help it, she turned around to make sure no one was in the kitchen with the controller in their hand and grinning at her. There was only Aya, drinking coffee and fixing himself some breakfast. He hadn't even looked up at the sound of the music, assuming she'd been the one to turn it on like always. Curious, she looked around for the stereo's controller and found it on the end table where it always was.

She turned back around to face the kitchen. "Aya, did you see any of the guys come in a second ago?"

Cold violet eyes glanced up for all of half a heartbeat. "No."

One of the others might have asked why she wanted to know the obvious, but not him. Lunch had to be the next present, so she'd go back to her original plan and wait to catch him then.

Omi came down not much later, showered and dressed, and left immediately for work. Next was Ken. It took him about five seconds to spot the roses she'd brought with her into the living room. A total of five since she'd retrieved the one on the stereo.

"Hey, got a secret admirer, Lena?"

She was still a bit suspicious of him and Yohji, but he looked genuinely curious as he leaned over the back of the couch to get a better look. "Something like that."

He waited a minute, but she didn't offer any more information. Being the type of person he was, he left her to her mysteries and went to visit the pot of coffee. Aya remained unfazed by the whole exchange, his eyes glued to the paper while his jaw moved slowly up and down as he chewed on a bite of toast.

The CD ended and another one of her favorites began. She wondered when the person had gotten into her room to take them, and how he knew they were her favorites. Maybe they'd noticed her listening to them just a tad more often then some of the others. Whoever it was, he was extremely observant.

Yohji was the last to make an appearance, emerging from his room by the front door with a huge yawn and reaching his arms up and back in a stretch that resulted with the realignment of his spine. A wisp of smoke drifted over his head from the ever-present cigarette he held between two fingers. Still half asleep, he didn't notice much of anything. He did ruffle her hair when he passed by, like always, but then proceeded directly to the percolator. Lena had an inkling that the oldest member of their team was obsessed with her hair. The fact that he touched it at every available chance was all the evidence she needed.

The inevitable question--asked in so many words--came some time later after he'd downed two cups of black coffee and was sitting in the recliner beside the couch, reading the remaining segments of the paper. "Who gives a girl five red roses? If I were you, Lena, I'd blow him off until he got you at least a dozen."

"He's not done yet."

"What d'you mean? Who gave `em to you anyway?" The paper was refolded in favor of the more interesting news. Ken came over to lean against the back wall and listen to her explanation as well. Aya had disappeared into his room a while ago, not that he would have cared anyway.

She held her place in the novel with a finger and closed the book. These were her only two suspects, but both looked completely clueless. "I don't know who gave them to me. Someone has been very nice to me today, and everything he does for me or gives me includes a rose. By the end of the day I'll probably have the full dozen."

"No shit. Why would he do something like that?" Yohji asked, obviously storing the information away in case he might want to borrow such a trick to use on one of his lady friends. That pretty much settled her mind about it not being him.

"It's my eighteenth birthday, but don't make a big deal out of it."

"Happy Birthday!" the two men said simultaneously.

"Thanks."

"So is it Omi?" Ken had gone to bed early so he didn't know about the younger man's absence.

"No, he stayed in the city since his meeting ran late. I talked to him about it this morning, and we figured it had to be one of you two, as unlikely as that is. But you guys obviously didn't do it, so that leaves no suspects."

"Hey, what about Aya?" Yohji suggested in the same serious tone Omi had used. Were they all blind?

"It's Aya! What would he get out of sending me flowers and making me breakfast?"

"So the guy can be a little cold sometimes. He still cares about you."

Her jaw felt like it had been unhinged. She waited for Ken to laugh and tell her it was a joke, but that didn't happen. "What did you put in your coffee?! Weed?!"

That got her a little chuckle, but not for the reasons she wanted. "Oh come on, you know he takes most of your day missions so you don't have to skip school."

Yohji chimed in, "And whenever you have to work late he always makes sure we leave some dinner for you."

She hadn't thought it possible, but her eyes still managed to grow a little wider. "What?!"

"You didn't know? He's always doing little things like that."

"I had no idea. But this whole rose thing is a little beyond saving me some dinner. Besides, I saw him get up this morning and he looked exactly the same as he did every other Saturday. It's not him."

The two men shrugged with acceptance and began suggesting all the possibilities Omi and she had already gone through. By the time they were finished, it was lunch time.

"How the hell does a guy get past the three of us with a meal like this?" Yohji demanded, looking over her shoulder as she examined the contents of the pizza-delivery box. Canadian bacon, pepperoni, and pineapple decorated the perfectly melted cheese and a side of seasoned breadsticks was set out beside it on the kitchen table. A glass of milk, still cold from the fridge, sat next to the plate and silverware was laid out at her spot, along with the crimson rose that was bisecting the dish.

"Who puts fruit on their pizza?" None of the guys found her favorite toppings to be very appetizing. (1)

"It's good! But you can't have any." She dropped down into her chair and began devouring the meal while her friends munched on sandwiches and chips.

Aya never came in for lunch, but that wasn't unusual. His bedroom was across from the garage so he could have snuck off to go for a ride on his motorcycle. Yohji left, wearing a pair of extremely low cut jeans and a shirt that didn't quite cover his belly-button despite the overcast sky, to take over for Omi after he finished his meal. She'd never known a man that was so bent on exposing his abs, but she had to admit he got more girls than any other man she knew.

Ken settled down in front of the TV with the Play Station 2 controller glued to his hands and his entire being focused on the blond-haired character in front of him and the monster he was currently battling. She debated whether or not she should clean up the table, and decided it was unfair to take advantage of her gift-bearer and leave the extra work for him. It only took her a minute to wipe up the crumbs and put the cutlery into the sink to soak. Nothing had changed in her little nest on the couch, and no more roses were to be found . . . .

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(1) Pineapple is damn good on pizza, and anyone who disagrees deserves to be punched in the throat. (My best friend's favorite threat.)

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Hm, I'm glad all the explanations are done. That was getting repetitive. Sorry. So? Am I gathering any new admirers? Am I losing and old ones? Would anyone like to write a twenty-page psychology paper on human memory for me and have it finished by Saturday?