Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ The Sous-Chef ❯ Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers, I love you in that special way. Several people seemed to take issue with the last chapter, saying, “Everybody loves Aya? What a load of hooey!” Well, no one actually said that, but you know what I mean. To this I say, bugger off, it's true. :o Seriously, though, the point was not that everyone loves Aya, but that everyone objectifies Aya. Everyone being a generalized statement and not a literal one. Also, Schu's own view of Aya influenced what aspects of Aya Syndrome he emphasized. See? See? It all makes sense! Really!

 

 

Chapter 5

 

Aya was having a very bad day.

 

It had started at 3:30 in the morning when Ken had started knocking on his door, pleading for Aya to let him in. This had happened every night since Aya had broken up with him, but it was usually much earlier, before he'd actually gone to sleep. He never let Ken in, but sometimes it took a long time to get him to leave him alone. Aya had just woken up from a series of nightmares starring his sister, and he was in no mood to argue, and he didn't think he could ignore Ken tonight.

 

“I'm not letting you in, Ken, but I'll come out,” he sighed after a while, putting on a violet flannel robe over his pajama pants and bare torso.

 

“You…will? Thank you, Aya,” Ken whispered against the wood.

 

Aya made no remark, but opened the door slowly, bracing in case Ken tried to barge into the room now that the door wasn't locked against him. But Ken was casually leaning against the wall across from his door, looking every bit the soul of patience. Aya knew better than to trust that façade, but he left his room anyway. “Let's go to the living room,” Aya suggested, and headed off without waiting for an answer.

 

Aya sat in his accustomed chair, and watched a moonlit Ken settle onto the couch across from him and turn on one of the reading lamps. For a while they just looked at each other, and Aya wondered wryly if Ken actually had anything to say, since he probably hadn't expected Aya to talk to him.

 

Just as he was nodding off, Ken spoke. “I want you to move away from here with me.”

 

Aya sighed. “What makes you think that would make any difference, Ken?”

 

Ken's face became animated and he began gesturing with his hands as he spoke, something he hadn't done for a long time, Aya noted. “There are too many bad memories here, for both of us, but especially you,” Ken began. “I've been taking my medication and I really think it's helping, too, Aya. I don't feel so much rage as I did before, even with you telling me you…didn't think we should be lovers anymore.” Ken swallowed audibly. “And maybe if you were in a new place, one that didn't have so many reminders of…her, you'd start to feel better. We could go anywhere you like, baby,” Ken said, falling to his knees in front of the armchair and grasping Aya's hands, “anywhere at all in the whole world.”

 

“What about Kritiker, Ken?” Aya asked, feeling unpleasantly caught off guard by this proposal.

 

“I've talked to Omi. Mamoru,” Ken corrected. “He said that if we need to retire, he'll make it possible. He did it for Yohji.”

 

Aya couldn't think of any way to respond to this. He didn't want to flat-out refuse Ken, because a change of scenery did sound like a good idea, but he knew he ought to say no.

 

He opened his mouth to say he didn't think it was a good idea, and found Ken's tongue in his mouth, desperate, questing. It felt good, and Aya kissed him back. I shouldn't be doing this, Aya thought, I broke up with him. It'll only lead to…

 

Ken bit the pulse point just behind his ear and Aya decided he didn't care what it would lead to. He just didn't have the energy to fight Ken off, and Ken's scratching, pinching fingers on his nipples felt so nice…

 

“I love you, I love you Aya, so much,” Ken was gasping as he peppered Aya's face and neck with tender, suckling kisses. “I didn't know, the last time, that you weren't going to let me make love to you anymore. It's not fair, Ayan!” Ken untied Aya's robe and pushed it off of his shoulders. “Let me have this, please!” Ken stood abruptly and yanked Aya out of his chair to stand in front of him. Aya felt his robe slide off of his arms to the floor, his pants following close behind, heard himself moan as Ken fisted his fully hard cock. “Yes, Ayan, at least this once,” Ken whispered in his ear, biting and sucking his earlobe, hands running all over his body.

 

Aya was lost in a confusing blur of sensations. He felt detached from what he was doing with Ken, but at the same time he couldn't separate himself enough to think. Whenever he tried, the only thoughts that crossed his mind were, What does it matter. Nothing matters. This is all I'm good for now. This is all I've ever been good for.

 

Aya's head cleared a little as Ken, now naked and sitting in the armchair, drew Aya on top of him. Ken cupped Aya's face with his hands as Aya straddled him. “You okay, love?” he asked, and Aya nodded automatically. “Come down here, then, sweetie. Come to me.”

 

Aya lowered himself onto Ken's steely cock in a swift glide, noting that at some point Ken must have prepared him. Ken groaned. “Easy, baby. God, I love the feel of you. So hot…” He hauled Aya's legs up so that his feet rested on either armrest. Aya grabbed the back of the chair to keep from falling over, but Ken's solidly muscled arms were around him instantly. “You can let go, Ayan. I've got you.”

 

Aya let go of the chair and leaned back into Ken's embrace. Aya recalled with some amusement that his body always really liked being spread open and exposed for Ken's pleasure. It was no different now, despite the circumstances, and he writhed and moaned as Ken worked him up and down on his cock, gradually speeding up, slamming Aya down harder and harder. Aya groaned loudly as his prostate was rammed over and over again, and one of his hands strayed to his chest to play with a nipple while the other began caressing his dripping cock.

 

“You're so beautiful,” Ken choked out, his voice strained. “So gorgeous!”

 

Aya threw his head back, panting. “aaaAAAAHHH!!!” he cried, as orgasm crackled through him like a million fuses burning out. Somewhere in another world, Ken was moaning as well, and Aya imagined he could feel Ken's cock throbbing inside him. He felt himself being moved and felt lips against his lips, a tongue against his tongue, and imagined that Ken could eat him up entirely, distending his jaw like a snake, sucking Aya inside of him, slowly digesting him until there was nothing but teeth and bones…

 

He was a little disturbed to realize that Ken was holding his face firmly, teal eyes penetrating his own. “Aya? Do you see me?”

 

He didn't know why, but that simple question twisted something inside of him, wrenched so hard his chest hurt. He could only stare, dumbfounded, as tears began to spill down his cheeks.

 

“Aya?” Ken sounded worried. He lifted Aya and moved him like a child, so that he was sitting crosswise on Ken's lap.

 

Aya felt like he couldn't abide being out here in the living room a moment longer, so he tried to get up, but Ken tightened his grip. “Please tell me what's wrong, Aya. I didn't hurt you, did I?”

 

“Let me go, Ken,” Aya growled. He needed to escape, to get his head together and try to make sense of all this. He didn't think he was going to have much luck at that, but he needed to try.

 

Ken's hands clenched on his skin painfully enough to wring a sharp gasp from Aya, and then opened to release him. “Don't leave like this, Aya.”

 

“You got what you asked for,” Aya told him as he tightened his robe and picked up his pants from the pile of clothes on the floor. “One last fuck, right?”

 

“Aya, stop it! Don't act like this, please, not after something so good,” Ken implored, standing up and grabbing Aya's biceps. “I need you, Aya. I can't be without you. Tell me what I need to do to keep you; I'll do anything you ask! I'll do anything for you, Aya.”

 

“I don't want anything from you,” Aya snapped. “I never wanted anything from you. If you're upset now, it's none of my business. It's your own goddamn fault.”

 

Ken's eyes flashed and burned, as though he was on the verge of morphing into the terrible beast that roared and thrashed inside of him. Aya shifted into a fighting stance and waited. He was so full of bizarre emotion, and he wanted to get rid of it. Aya sneered; he didn't want to throw the first punch, but if he could goad Ken into attacking him, then maybe he could let loose and fight with him. A real fight, like the hard-hitting, no holds barred, knock-down drag-out brawls they used to get into back when he'd first joined Weiss. His adrenaline surged. That would be just what he needed -

 

“Stand down, Abyssinian, Siberian!” Mamoru's voice rang through the room, strong and commanding.

 

Ken seemed to diminish. Aya caught a fleeting glimpse of horror and despair in those teal eyes, and thought he must be a terrible person for trying to make Ken fight him when Ken was trying so hard to stop himself from becoming more of a monster than he already was. Aya had - probably intentionally - forgotten that Ken was no longer the same person he was in the early days of Weiss, and neither was he. A fight like that wouldn't have ended with unconsciousness.

 

“Ken, please get dressed,” Mamoru continued. Aya turned to look at him, bemused at how, even dressed in red silk jammies with little white hearts all over them, Mamoru appeared a force to be reckoned with. “I would like to speak to you. Aya,” he said, his gaze and his tone softening, “please go back to bed. Tomorrow will be draining for you, I think, so it's better if you get rest while you can.”

 

Aya turned and left the room. He didn't turn to meet Ken's supplicating gaze, which he could feel boring into his back long after he was out of sight of the living room.

 

He slammed his door behind him and locked it, pressing his forehead against the wood. He was shaking; he didn't realize it until he noticed that his head was vibrating against the door.

 

“Shit,” he whispered. Feelings he couldn't identify continued to roil within him, and he wanted to scream over and over until his vocal cords were in tatters.

 

Out of the blue, it occurred to him that maybe he did love Ken after all.

 

Whatever control Aya had left shattered. He wailed, folding in on himself and crashing to the floor. He clawed at his head and his chest as he sobbed, aware of nothing but smothering, wrenching pain and a raw black hole inside him.

 

******

 

Aya woke a few hours later, still huddled on the floor next to the door. He pushed himself up, rubbing his sore thigh muscles and stretching his back. Blessed melancholic numbness had descended upon him again, no trace left of whatever had assailed him earlier.

 

He dressed, grabbing the first things that came to hand, and was turning his knob when he remembered that today was the day Yohji was coming back. He was bringing Schuldig, but he was still coming back. All of Weiss would be together again.

 

This thought somehow didn't fill him with the pangs of bittersweet nostalgia that it ought to have.

 

Aya laughed at himself and shook his head. Why should it be nostalgic, a group of killers reuniting? It wasn't like a band getting back together, or a group of old hunting buddies or high-school chums. What were they going to do, pop a few brewskis and reminisce about their favorite kills? Their Most Embarrassing Mission Moments? Maybe Nagi and Schuldig could do that. They didn't seem to have a problem with the fact that they were killers; they never thought of themselves as Nice Guys in Bad Situations.

 

Aya realized that someone was knocking on the door. “Aya? Are you up yet?”

 

Mamoru. Aya let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. “Yes.”

 

“It's almost lunchtime. Do you want to eat now, or after Yohji and Schuldig get here?”

 

“I don't care.” He probably wouldn't eat anything anyway. He felt sick to his stomach.

 

There was a pause, which Aya imagined was Mamoru sighing and rolling his eyes. “Will you come out at least? I'd like to speak to you.”

 

“I was about to.”

 

Aya joined Mamoru in the living room, where tea was laid out. Aya didn't really want to sit in his armchair, the chair where he and Ken had…he shook his head. It didn't matter. He sat down in the chair and took the tea Mamoru was offering him.

 

After a few quiet moments of sipping, Mamoru set his cup down and crossed his arms, looking intently at Aya. “I'm worried about you.”

 

“You worry about everyone.”

 

Mamoru uncrossed his arms to pick a little lint off his trousers. “Not everyone breaks up with, then has sex with, and then taunts a notoriously violent, unstable assassin.”

 

Aya said nothing.

 

Mamoru continued. “Ken told me that he wants to move away with you. I think getting you out of here is an excellent idea, but I don't think it's a good idea for you to go with Ken. I won't stop you if that's what you want,” here Aya raised an eyebrow and Mamoru smiled innocently, “but it's definitely unadvisable. Of course, you're always welcome to stay with Nagi and me in Tokyo…?”

 

Aya shook his head firmly.

 

“No, I didn't think so,” Mamoru sighed. “Well, we can better discuss what we're going to do with you when Yohji gets here, but I'm hoping - “ He trailed off. “Aya? Is something wrong?”

 

What we're going to do with you, Aya's mind replayed. What we're going to do with you. So this is what it had come down to. He remembered the same words being used in reference to Ken when it became apparent that his brain damage was too serious for him to be left to his own devices. Find a safe place… get him the proper care… Ken seldom spoke of his experiences in the Kritiker asylum, but when he did, he related tales of endless days staring out of windows, having to write with crayons if one wanted to record one's thoughts, endless parades of condescending or overly compassionate nurses, questions repeated over and over by doctor after doctor, patients filing from room to room like cows to slaughter, herded by enormous orderlies whose expressions never changed…

 

Mamoru was nearly shaking him. “Abyssinian! Answer me!” He was using his mission voice, but there was a slight wavering in it. Aya put his hands up on Mamoru's hands, meaning to throw them off, but instead he just held on to them. He should be pissed with Mamoru, outraged even, but he just felt empty, as usual.

 

“Aya? Please say something, Ayan!”

 

“I'm okay.” He looked at Mamoru, half-expecting those big blue eyes to be filling with tears, but they were dry. Of course - this was not Omi.

 

“Aya, does this happen often?” Mamoru asked, concerned, but there was calculation in his eyes. Aya dropped his hands from Mamoru's.

 

“I'm alright. Just leave me alone, please.”

 

“Well, I won't do that, but I'll stop asking questions. I'm just going to sit over here, is that alright?” Mamoru got up and sat back down on the couch.

 

Aya's eyes drifted to the window. “As you like,” he mumbled. A thought occurred to him as Mamoru picked up a magazine and started to leaf through it. “Where are Ken and Nagi?”

 

“Hmm? Oh, well…Ken wasn't too happy with some of the things I had to say to him this morning, so he took off. I sent Nagi after him to keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't get himself into trouble. I checked in with him a little while ago, and he said Ken's just riding along the coast. He might not even be back today.”

 

Aya snorted. Yohji was coming today; of course Ken would be back. “He'll be back today, Mamoru.”

 

“You think so?”

 

“I know he will.”

 

Mamoru eyed him for a moment, then went back to his magazine.

 

Suddenly restless, Aya got up and stood by the window. As he looked out at the gently swaying trees, he thought that perhaps life in an asylum might not be so much different from life here. Mamoru would make sure that he was left in peace as much as he could be and still be getting whatever passed as `treatment'…

 

Aya saw, stretching in front of him like an eternity of reflections, the days from now until he died, spent in softly colorless rooms, watching the seasons chase each other as he stared through unbreakable panes of glass and thought nothing thoughts.

 

He sensed more than saw or heard Yohji's presence in the house. Yohji was walking toward him, reaching for him, and his hands seemed like beacons. Yohji threw his arms around Aya; Aya clung to him and Yohji smelled of cigarettes and airport and spices and faraway places, like sunshine and every smile he'd ever been given and every wine he'd ever sipped but mostly like Yohji and oh fuck he was about to start crying again -

 

::Settle down, settle down. We'll be here a while, you can let him go now.:: The familiar voice in his mind was ironic but soft, and Aya snapped back to reality to realize Yohji was hollering at him to let him go.

 

Mortified, Aya released Yohji and collapsed into his armchair. He heard himself greeting Yohji, and then Schuldig. He saw Yohji leave the room as Mamoru was coming back with a tray of drinks - Mamoru didn't seem capable of walking around in the house unless he was carrying a goddamned tray of drinks - and he noticed that Schuldig was still in the room, gazing after Yohji.

 

::You do understand that Yohji is mine, don't you, Aya.:: It wasn't a question.

 

Aya pulled his knees up onto the chair with him and hugged them, saddened that he had made such a shameful display in front of Yohji and his lover the instant they came into the house. They would probably -

 

::Oh, just stop it, would you? You have no reason to beat yourself up, you didn't do anything wrong.:: It was apparent that Schuldig thought someone had done something wrong, but Aya didn't know who it could be if it wasn't him. Schuldig continued, ::We're not leaving, I don't hate you, Yohji…doesn't hate you either. We'll just be gone a few minutes and then we'll all come back and have a nice little reunion, ja?:: The orange-haired gaijin stalked down the hallway with somewhat less than his usual carefree grace.

 

Aya was startled. Schuldig had never said so much to him directly. He wondered what it meant, if anything, but didn't feel like analyzing it. He didn't feel like doing much of anything except staring at his knees, at the moment.

 

Mamoru, who was much less inclined to try and `draw Aya out' when Aya obviously didn't want to talk than Omi had been, sat, sipped his coffee and didn't comment.