Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ This is Not My Life ❯ Can't chase her away ( Chapter 21 )

A/N: As I've mentioned before, I'm loosely following a mish-mash of both the anime and the manga for this story. For their backgrounds I'm definitely drawing the most from the manga. I just want to flat out say that I'm disregarding the drama CDs here, to avoid confusion. Therefore, Aya went renegade after the accident, until getting picked up by Weiss. There were no Crashers.

 

Also, I just wanted to warn that there's a decent chance of the rating increasing on this fic soon. It might even be as soon as the next chapter, although I'm not sure yet….

 

 

“Her ghost has come to stay,

All you can try, you can't chase her away.”

 

 

-Yohji-

 

Ugh, I'm not sure what to do.

 

Can you guess where I am?

 

Asuka Dera. To see the Asuka Daibutsu. Right here on the ol' Asuka Plain.

 

Yep. Great idea. Real healthy of me, huh?

 

I look down at the cigarette in my hand, the cup of coffee in my other. I'm drinking coffee right now specifically because it's a convenient vehicle for public alcohol consumption. My beverage is liberally spiked, and no one's the wiser.

 

It's no secret that doing things that are healthy for me has never been a top priority.

 

Aya really wanted to come here. It's allegedly the oldest Buddhist temple in Japan and all that, would probably be an excellent place for getting charms. I'll have to pick a few up to make up for ditching him.

 

I had to ditch him, you know. I couldn't come here with someone else. I didn't know how I'd react. Given the impact that it had just being casually mentioned in the car…. I can't say I'm too keen on Aya seeing me lose it twice.

 

Don't even think about saying “But you didn't have to come here,” either.

 

What the hell is my problem, anyway? It's not like there's actually anything here that's even remotely connected to her. She wasn't a history enthusiast. She wasn't even religious. She had nothing to do with temples and statues whatsoever. For all I knew she'd never even been to Nara. There's no correlation at all, it's just a frickin' name. This shouldn't be painful.

 

I somehow get the feeling that Aya would see my point of view though.

 

Not that he's the benchmark for mental stability.

 

I'm starting to get him, you know. The enigma is slowly unraveling. He's more like me than I ever would have guessed.

 

I'm not sure that's a good thing.

 

I would have wanted him to be…well, better.

 

I sigh, and flick away one of the badly folded paper cranes I have lined up on my knee.

 

When we were in Kyoto I picked up some origami paper. It was pretty, seemed like a good souvenir. Seemed like something Aya would like, actually. After talking to him over his…book…I got a kind of stupid idea. I remembered that story about how you'll get a wish if you fold a thousand cranes. For a few minutes I convinced myself that folding some for Aya would somehow help.

 

Well, it was something to do while I sat here feeling sorry for myself, anyway.

 

…I only got to about thirty. With each piece of paper my thoughts strayed farther from Aya, and dwelled more on wishes. The cranes got sloppier as my resolve fractured. I realized….

 

…Shit, I don't even like admitting this to myself.

 

I realized that to finish such an undertaking…I honestly couldn't trust myself not to waste the wish on a dead person.

 

I thought that this recent development of interest in Aya was a sign I was moving on a little. It would be about freaking time, wouldn't it? But I'm getting worried that maybe the truth is that I'm attracted to him because he wouldn't expect me to. Aya understands not moving on.

 

No. That's not it. Not all of it any way. There's more, there's definitely more. But that's still got to be part of it.

 

I don't feel like a very good person right now.

 

--Which is a ludicrous statement. I haven't felt like a `good person' in several years now; hardly a new development. Actually, I'm being generous there, how I feel has nothing to do with it. I'm simply not a `good person.' If I were I wouldn't be here, wouldn't be able to rationalize away the things I do….

 

Wouldn't have met Aya….

 

Damn.

 

All points lead back to the unavoidable topic.

 

An acceptably cute girl walks by and I toss a crane at her. I've been slowly disposing of the evidence of my now abandoned `great idea' in this manner over the past half hour or so. A week ago I would have held it ransom for a phone number. Or even an on-the-spot make-out session. Now I just want to get rid of the things. I'm not ready to have to deal with choices like that.

 

…Which means I shouldn't be wasting Aya's time.

 

It's a good thing he's not interested anyway. I'm almost relieved. Almost, I'm too selfish to actually be relieved. But I like to pretend I am. It helps a little. I don't think I'd be good for him. Talk about compounding baggage.

 

Maybe I should pick up a few phone numbers.…

 

“Damnit, Asuka,” I mutter under my breath while trying to fish out a new cigarette.

 

“I know girls' names are probably all the same to you,” I practically jump at the unexpected intrusion of a familiar voice, “but mine's not all that hard to get right.”

 

Busted.

 

I look up, recovering from my surprise to find Aya looming over me, scowl painfully present.

 

“You owe me 3000 yen,” he gripes.

 

I raise an eyebrow, but forgo verbal acknowledgement in favor of lighting up my cig.

 

“I had to take the bus,” he mutters.

 

“Damn, how many places did you look for me?” I ask in surprise. That's some hefty bus fare.

 

“Just here.” He stiffly sits down next to me, and crosses his arms.

 

Uh huh. Like I'm really gonna believe the bus ran him up 3000 yen. I accentuate the skepticism of my expression.

 

“There's interest,” he says matter-of-factly. “I hate public transportation.”

 

“That's a steep interest to charge someone who's been buying half of your meals and paying your hotel bills,” I say half amused.

 

“Kidnapping's an expensive hobby,” he announces without the slightest trace of emotion on his face.

 

A snort escapes around my cigarette. I can never quite tell when he's actually trying to be funny or if it's usually just an unfortunate consequence.

 

When I say `unfortunate' I mean for him of course. I'm always glad to be entertained.

 

I unthinkingly shove my Styrofoam cup into his hand while I rummage for my wallet. I can't say I particularly care if he's going to make ridiculous demands. I'm just glad he's still around.

 

Whether it's healthy or not.

 

“Don't you ever get tired of coffee?” I catch him murmur to himself before taking an uninvited swig of my beverage. I turn to watch. This should be good….

 

Aya's eyes go wide and his face scrunches up in distasteful surprise.

 

“Christ,” he chokes, setting the cup down with an accusing glare. “You can't be left alone for five minutes.”

 

“I resent that,” I say, my mood abruptly improved, “I drank a whole cup of the stuff before I decided to take creative license with the condiments. I'd say I was well-behaved for at least forty minutes.”

 

He snorts and shifts his glare off of the cup and onto me. His burning gaze is a familiar sensation though, doesn't faze me in the least. I return to my task of fishing 1000 yen bills out of my wallet.

 

My hand is suddenly stilled by Aya's in a gesture that clearly indicates he doesn't actually want my money. It stays there a good seven seconds longer than I would have deemed normal before he snatches it away again; something I never would have noticed if I wasn't doing my damndest to read some sort of meaning into his every little movement.

 

“Just get me a drink that doesn't taste like paint thinner, and I'll call it even,” he sighs.

 

“Your wish is my command,” I say, and then wince at my word choice.

 

I bury the awkwardness by springing up and rushing off to the nearest vending machine. I make sure to take my time picking out what I decide must be the very most appropriate and elegant canned tea in the limited selection. I'm not avoiding him, mind you, this stuff is important.

 

I hand Aya the warm can and can't help noticing a subtle change in the tableau. I'd had three lonely paper cranes left when he showed up, of which I carelessly brushed to the ground as I bolted away. The ground is now spotless, although Aya is doing his best to look blank and inconspicuous. Huh, that's intriguing.

 

He passes me back my coffee as I sit down.

 

“Does it actually help?” He says, glaring at the cup again.

 

“What? Coffee?” I understand what he's getting at, but try to circumvent an uncomfortable topic.

 

“No, the alcohol.” Aya's voice is weary, I notice. “From my experience, I can't see why you'd voluntarily inflict that on yourself. It makes you feel awful, and it tastes awful too. I just don't get it. I know I sure wish I hadn't….” His voice trails off and he looks away, obviously not very eager to remember that night in the hotel room.

 

“I don't think it tastes awful,” I stall.

 

“Lots of things taste `not awful,'” he huffs, “but you've really been favoring the alcohol lately. Explain and maybe I won't harass you about it.”

 

Wow, now there's a breakthrough. Aya, offering to back off about something? I'm not sure whether to be glad, or…worried. Probably worried, actually. I don't really have a lot of energy to be worried though.

 

“No, it doesn't actually help,” I sigh. “It's…uh,” hm, this isn't something easy to explain. Just brushing it off as a `bad habit' isn't going to cut it for him. “Its like taking naps,” I say, momentarily struck by an almost completely random analogy. To another activity I'm rather strongly attached to, I might add.

 

“Naps,” he echoes, face skeptical.

 

“Yeah,” I shrug. “Exactly. It makes you feel better while you're taking it. But it doesn't last and when you wake up you just feel more tired. It's a very brief reprieve with no lasting value whatsoever.”

 

“Naps don't leave you with cleaving headaches,” Aya points out grimly.

 

“That's what the drugs are for,” I make a lame attempt at a joke. Okay, so maybe it's not entirely a joke. “Eh, so it's more like extreme napping,” I shrug again and take a swig of the coffee, which I happen to think tastes excellent. Then again, I've probably completely burned out my ability to really taste anything with the cigarettes….

 

“So why bother then?” Aya persists, in a display of uncharacteristic chattiness. “What's the point, if it doesn't help?”

 

“Point?” I repeat with forced humor. “Who needs a point? I have no point, why should my habits need one? My whole goddamned life has no goddamned point.”

 

Aya's gaze becomes more intent. He frowns but doesn't comment.

 

“I mean, I hate to break it to you Aya,” I continue, “but I didn't exactly spend my early years hoping I'd turn out to be an assassin.” Although, if I'm honest with myself, I probably would have if it had actually occurred to me. “And even so, it's not like we have the kind of job where you can look forward to promotions. Not that I'd actually want one.”

 

I drain the end of my cup in one gulp, then wish I hadn't. I could use some more of this stuff right now.

 

“Weiss has no definitive end to plan for; there'll always be creeps to kill. I have absolutely nothing to look forward to except for dying on a mission. I've no motivation to be better. Drinking is just a good time killer.”

 

Aya snatches the cup out of my hand, although it's just another demonstration in futility, as I'd already finished it.

 

“My life has a point,” he mutters.

 

“Good for you,” the sarcasm is accidental. I've been indulging in depressive introversion all morning; I wasn't prepared to have to civilly interact with anyone. “You're lucky,” I amend, hoping he'll pick up on the actual sincerity of that last part.

 

“Hn,” he's no longer looking at me.

 

Damn, I really hadn't meant to give him even more evidence to think I'm a loser. Way to go, Kudoh.

 

My hand drifts up to an all-too-familiar spot on my arm. I've been unconsciously touching it off and on ever since I got here. Nervous habit, of sorts.

 

“Have you ever wondered about my tattoo?” I ask spontaneously.

 

“You mean, besides how you could have such bad taste?” He counters. He's still scowling, but the bite has left it.

 

“It doesn't matter what kind of taste it's in,” I say quietly. “It means something.”

 

“Obviously.” Aya refuses to rise to my desire for interest. But he doesn't stop me either, so I decide to explain.

 

“I got it the day after my first mission,” I say. “You weren't around yet.”

 

He stares at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue.

 

“Before then, reality hadn't really sunk in. I was desperate; I thought I could somehow fix things, ya know?”

 

Aya nods hesitantly. “Asuka.” He's been paying attention….

 

“Yeah, Asuka.” My voice catches slightly, embarrassingly. “She was my partner.” I assume he'll remember my earlier comment enlightening him to my past profession. Not that it matters if he doesn't; our relationship had thoroughly bled through the realm of professionalism. The description can afford to be vague.

 

“When Kritiker offered me that contract it seemed like a good solution. I thought it would help.”

 

I look at Aya. His face is unreadable.

 

“It didn't help.”

 

My eyes dart away again. Perhaps for Aya it did help. He does still have a purpose, after all.

 

“Then I killed someone for the first time.” I close my eyes, my hand tightens on my arm. “Nasty reality check, there.”

 

Aya says nothing.

 

“It felt horrible,” I say. “It didn't fix a goddamned thing. It just smacked me with the realization that Asuka was dead, and nothing I could ever do would make it better.”

 

Silence continues to permeate.

 

“The tattoo reminds me to keep a grip on reality. Although it doesn't really help either.” My hand drops back to my side as if overwhelmed by the excessive pointlessness.

 

“You could quit,” Aya finally says. “You were about to, weren't you?”

 

Is that supposed to be a hint?

 

“I've been thinking about it,” I admit. Obviously, we would still be in Tokyo if I wasn't. “I don't think there would be a point in that either though,” I say. “I'm too screwed up to start over.”

 

“No you're not.”

 

Aya's disagreement is completely unexpected. My eyes snap open. He sure didn't contest it the last time I made a statement like that.

 

“I'd already killed people by the time my first mission was assigned,” he says quietly.

 

My jaw, literally, drops.

 

“I'd probably be in jail by now, if Kritiker hadn't intervened.” He concludes morosely. “My revenge was too important to wait for a contract.”

 

….I really don't know what to say to that. I'm surprised. But only for a moment. As his confession sinks in, I realize that had he told me that back at the Koneko I wouldn't have even blinked. I'm only surprised because my perception of him has changed over the course of our trip. It's disconcerting to learn something that only reestablishes the way I used to see him.

 

“I'm not lucky,” he mumbles.

 

I open my mouth to reassure him, but words still fail me. My hand falls limply on his knee.

 

“Screwed up is not feeling guilty about any of it,” he shrugs mechanically. “I don't. Not if I succeed at my goal. That's screwed up.”

 

“Shit, Aya….” My voice fades. I want to somehow reassure him, put my arm around him or something, but I don't dare. I've already crossed too many lines in the past few days. He doesn't seem to be looking for comfort, anyway.

 

“Ran,” he corrects.

 

I'm confused. I look at him questioningly.

 

“My real name is Ran,” he says, staring at the ground. “I'd rather you didn't use it. But I guess you deserve to know.” There's a resigned edge to his voice.

 

I can actually feel my heart rate picking up at his unexpected disclosure. Wow. I really didn't…wow.

 

“…Thank you.” I say awkwardly. “I'd…like to use it.”

 

He frowns again, and shuts his eyes too. “Hn,” he sighs, “maybe…someday.”