Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Scarlet Letters ❯ Delicate Warriors ( Chapter 9 )

Disclaimer: Not miney.

 

AN: Aya's POV in this chapter gets a teensy bit odd, but just flow with me m'kay? It gets explained a bit why he sounds like- well, I won't say. By the by, this chapter has a sprinkling of angst and trips down memory lane.

 

Scarlet Letters Chapter 9

 

 

After I managed to escape the clutches of the deceptively innocent chibi and what I'm told is his slave for the week, though they didn't specify which kind of slave and I didn't ask, I had to speed out of the Koneko in order to even catch a tail-end glimpse of Seven. Not that a car like that is exactly your average vehicle.

I found the car parked in a backstreet, after losing it and having to circle the block, then find a place to park my own car.

Even though my mission clothes include a fair bit of leather, and I'm used to it, does not mean I like wearing it.

I actually do enjoy the feel of leather on my skin, however, when the pants are chosen to fit someone smaller than you, it gets a little uncomfortable.

 

I made my way to the club trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, all the while attempting to walk in a straight line as the leather decided to crawl up into uncharted waters.

 

I say again, uncomfortable.

 

I knew that chibi was evil.

 

The line was quite shorter compared to the first time I had driven past this block, and the bouncer seemed preoccupied with looking down into a short blonde's cleavage under the pretence of checking her ID.

I figured he wouldn't really mind if I walked in behind him.

 

That voice inside my head snickered with amusement as the large bouncer didn't move his eyes from the Grand Canyon of Mammaries even as I slipped past him.

 

I stopped inside for a bit, not yet scanning the crowds for my quarry. That voice seemed familiar, and had often popped up before, adding input now and again. I wanted to identify that voice - since it seemed so intent of ordering me about.

Yet I felt I should know exactly what was fuelling my inner voice/split persona, and I felt that it would be doing mental eye-rolls right now.

 

That was familiar.

 

An employee offering to hang my coat up pulled me out of my introspective moment. I wanted desperately to cling to the soft black leather, mostly because it covered my suffocating posterior and offered me a shred of decency.

 

Suck it up you wimp.

 

It would seem the voice was back. I remember Aya-chan using that phrase on me whenever we were younger and I would try and worm out of situations that would end up getting me into serious trouble with our parents - especially when she convinced me into `borrowing' some of our father's rather large jar of spare change found around the house by our mother when cleaning. We didn't know he had learned a trick from our Grandfather, having tried to do the very same thing as we were, only to fail.

Our luck hadn't been any better.

False teeth had many uses it would seem, and my hand had ached for a week - Suck it up you wimp. That's what she told me.

 

I reluctantly eased the coat off my half bared shoulders, thankful for the club being full to such a capacity that the body heat fairly circulated throughout the room. Goosebumps can ruin an outfit.

 

My eyes automatically flew around the room, as if I were back in a mission scanning for a target. Just not the same type.

 

Oh no, this bullseye is in a whole other place.

 

If I were Yohji where would I sit?

 

For all the man's flirting and outgoing behaviour, he could hide quite well when he wanted to- blend right in. Not an easy feat in Japan when you have blonde hair and green eyes.

 

Almost as bad as trying to be inconspicuous when your hair is the same color as a fire hydrant.

 

Very difficult.

 

My eyes had yet to locate Yohji in the crowd, so I began on the booths and tables. I pondered on how Yohji had been in his room a lot lately, not coming to me to talk much over the past few weeks. I thought we were friends?

Or at least I had hoped for that much. Maybe I had just wanted a little of that light he seemed to radiate to shed a few rays on my own tainted soul. It was nearly unnatural, how much levity he could have after being through so much - sure he never had his family readily attempting to murder him, but from what I had hear of Yohji's past - well they weren't exactly Mother and Father of the year.

 

I spotted a glimpse of dark blonde hair in a corner booth, and I headed toward it like a lighthouse in a storm. I almost wished I hadn't come at all.

When I was close enough to recognize that it was indeed Yohji, but not close enough for him to have seen me - especially with his back half turned away from the crowded dancefloor - I noticed that a head was resting on his shoulder. I could barely distinguish the color in the rapid and randomly changing brightness levels of the lighting, but it seemed to be an almost orange type shade.

 

I stopped at the unexpected pain that seemed to hit me at the sight of someone else being so intimate with Yohji.

But I had seen him with other women plenty of times before, watched him flirt with both Birman and Manx during their visits, and charm a smile out of anything with a skirt that walked into the Koneko.

 

So why was this different?

 

It shouldn't matter should it?

 

You know why it does.

 

I was almost hoping I didn't have a clue, but I knew all too well. This was what really pounded that last bit of denial out of my head. The denial about how I felt about Yohji. I knew why I was feeling sick to my stomach as I watched his elbow moving in a repetitive motion that indicated he was either feeling the person up or rubbing their back. I was desperately hoping on the latter.

While the later one indicated a certain amount of care for a person, the former would be out of lust.

I already knew that Yohji loved this person. So he already cared - it would only be natural to hug or comfort someone in a purely platonic fashion, but adding lust to the love that Yohji already had for this person would be all they needed for a relationship of the long term variety.

That's why all the other women didn't bother me that much. Yohji didn't love them. He knew for a fact that neither Manx nor Birman was interested in him, so it was safe to flirt to his heart's content with them.

The schoolgirls that frequented the store were all underage and Yohji charmed them into coming back to the store or purchasing something, but he was far from interested in them.

The women changed frequently, consequent to his determination to avoid having another Asuka situation on his heart.

 

This person, however, already had a place in said heart.

 

Just where we want to be.

 

We? Well that says something. This voice seems very attached to me.

 

I start moving forward again trying to bolster my courage, and clamp down on my jealousy when I have a sudden `Oh Shit' moment.

 

I have absolutely no reason for my being here.

 

What am I supposed to say when I get to the table?!

 

Now I'm panicking and my eyes dart from side to side when I realise I'm not even five metres from the booth.

 

I see that unidentified head shift and burrow closer to my Yohji. I have a sudden and intense flare of anger, overriding the panic.

 

All of a sudden the head lifts up from the juncture of shoulder and neck - staring over Yohji shoulder, locking blue eyes with mine, and my breath hitches in my throat.

 

Schwarz.

 

Mastermind.

 

Schuldig.

 

Yohji!

 

I felt as if I didn't have enough working mental capacities to process the information being shoved in my face. I dimly realise that Yohji is grasping the other man's shoulders in what would be concern, and watch still caught like a deer in headlights as the blue-eyed man nods his head in my direction.

 

I see Yohji's head whip to face me any watch almost detached as his eyes widen. My body is moving on auto-pilot.

My emotions are telling me what to do. Escape the source of the troubling feelings.

 

The confusion.

 

The disbelief.

 

The hurt.

 

The betrayal.

 

The resignation.

 

I shove Yohji's cries of my name to the back of my mind as I stride toward the exit, not bothering to collect my coat, simply escaping as fast as I can.

Dimly, I register the fact that it has started to rain since I had entered the club but I'm not taking much of anything in right now.

 

My stiff, but swift movements get me to my car faster than I expected and I mechanically climb in and start it up.

 

My mind feels numb - you could whack me over the head with a pipe and I wouldn't offer much protest. Hell I might even help you.

 

Don't think like that Aya.

 

The voice is not a bother right now, more like a comforting blanket for me to grab hold of. I don't know how much time passed in the car, or where I was headed.

My hands are turning off the engine before I can give a name to my surroundings.

I get out of the car slowly and realise that my emotions have not led me astray. I'm at a park.

 

I walk around the car, and not that it has stopped raining in this area, then I see the damp swing set.

 

A memory returns to me as I start to recall my location.

 

[“ Father…why can't you understand? I'm not like you… I don't want to be like you! I want to be my own person, free from your scorn because of my shortcomings. I don't want to hate you, but you won't understand! You won't give me a chance!” I scream at my father as he stands in shocked silence at the far end of the hallway.

My mother stands to the side in the doorway to Aya's room, with Aya standing behind her, trying to hear what the argument is about.

My father waves a hand as if to negligently wave away my protests. He wants a perfect son, something I can't be. He wants a clone of himself - someone I can't be.

 

I hate him in that instant.

 

He looks at me, determined, planning my future without my compliance.

I can't take this…suffocation…right now. His expectations have been steadily beating away at me.

I am the cliff face to his steady waves. Wearing me down slowly, breaking me down and I can't take it.

I let out a pure scream of frustration and turn on my heel. I ignore his demands for me to stop and I run out of the front door, not closing it behind me as I blindly ran.

 

Eventually I slowed to a walk, my breath coming harshly as the adrenaline leaves me just feeling tired of it all.

I forget my perfect posture, slumping my shoulders in weariness. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I walk without a direction, stopping at a small wooden fence.

I look up, smiling a little when I realise my emotions have led me to my favourite haunt. The small park.

I vault over the fence with ease borne of early martial training to ensure discipline. Landing on the other side, I make my way over to the swings I know a lurking behind the large blooming Sakura tree.

My tracks halt however, when I notice that one of the two swings are occupied.

The sound of my feet scuffing the slightly worn path has alerted the occupant, and the head looks up from the ground.

I can't see much of the facial features due to the Sakura filtering out the moonlight in random slats of illumination.

All I can tell so far is that it's a boy, looking to be a few years older than me with short hair that is possibly light brown, but I can't be sure.

I'm debating with myself as to wether I should leave, when he speaks, “ Hey there stranger…sick of the world too?” One sentence has me wanting to pour out my life story to this boy, in the hopes that he can understand me.

No debate now, I move to sit on the empty swing and see the barely perceptible lift of the corner of his lips.

We sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, slowly and minutely swinging back and forth, eyes closed and heads tilted back. I hear him scraping his feet to pull himself to a halt and I open my eyes to look questioningly at him. His hand is held out in front of him, and we both watch as a fallen Sakura blossom floats lazily onto his hand. It lands in his palm and he turns to me.

“I know sometimes that life can see restricting and unbearable. But you mustn't let one event rule your opinions on life.” At this point he gently grabs hold of my hand, lifting it palm up in front of him. He places the soft flower into my hand, covering it with his own, pressing the blossom between both of our hands. He smiles softly at me and I'm enraptured by both the smile and his ability to have seen past me enough to pinpoint my doubts. He continues on, “ It's almost a contradiction that this fragile flower can represent a warrior. Yet it's a fallen warrior, life you see, is delicate in itself. But the cycle doesn't wait, it keeps on moving, reasserting itself. A tree can be grown from a single seed. Therein lies its strength. Perseverance.” He chuckles as he folds my fingers over to fully grasp the flower, not taking his hands from mine though, “ And they aren't doing too bad, huh? We shouldn't let things get us down because life will pass us by as we wallow in self-pity, when we could be growing stronger, surviving, living. Life will always try and knock you down - you've just got to keep on pushing through it, waiting for the good stuff. Because it will happen if you believe it and work for it.” That small half smile is on his face again and I marvel that someone who looks about thirteen years old can know so much, and I wonder if he knows just what impact his soft words have had on me.

He reaches for my other hand, lying lax on my knee as I sit half turned on my swing, facing him as I hang on his every word like an anchor from my melancholy thoughts.

He holds both of my hands and gives them a gentle squeeze.

I drop my eyes to our joined hands before looking back up into eyes - color still unidentified - that seem to hold far too much emotion and sheer knowledge for that young body.

Suddenly, he stands, pulling me up with him and I look into his eyes once again, captivated.

That Mona Lisa Smile has more meanings that I can comprehend, but I see understanding in those features.

He knows what I'm feeling because he has most likely been in a similar situation.

“We have to believe there will be better days or mankind will slide down that ladder so fast- why, we'll get splinters in our nether regions.” He puts on a fake British accent for that last comment and it draws a chuckle out of me.

I'm suddenly smiling; bad mood gone, and I throw my arms around him before I can stop myself.

He seems surprised for a moment, but quickly places his own arms around me in a warm hug that lasts longer than it should have, but was over long before I wanted to let go.

I want to say thank you, but it seems inadequate for the way he has eased my mind.

He looks down at me with gentleness in that Mona Lisa Smile, and I move fast to place my lips over his in what is my fist kiss.

He is definitely surprised now, and I'm looking into his startled eyes, trying to see the color, yet only catching the reflection of my own.

My eyes close involuntarily and his follow. We relax against each other and the simple yet meaningful contact lasts much longer than the hug did.

We eventually pull back, slowly, regretfully, but I know I must go back home and amend the situation.

He seems to understand that I need to be somewhere too, and he lets me go after one last quick meeting of lips.

He smiles at me once more and turns as I do the same, neither of us saying goodbye due to the suppressing enormity and finality in the phrase.

It only occurs to me when I get home, that I never asked for his name, nor he mine, but somehow I held hope that we would meet again. I must hope for the better days.]

 

I'm sitting on the swing under the very same Sakura tree, regretting the fact that the boy isn't here now to read through me and offer solace.

 

Just me and my memories as a tear slips down my cheek, unnoticed, as I watch the pale blossoms falling.

 

Just us…

 

XXXXXX

 

Not much of a resolution, huh? *Waves butt in the air* Free shot! Dammit moi-moi - Upadte Numbers now!