Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ You're Joking, Right? ❯ Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 

Aya was staring at the ceiling and thinking uncharitable thoughts about his teammates. He'd been asleep for about 24 hours, maybe a little longer, and none of the useless bastards had thought to check on him? They knew he'd had a concussion, and with the drugs Yoji'd given him on top of it, he could have died in his sleep and they wouldn't know. Of course, maybe they were hoping he *was* dead... The thought that it might be malice instead of incompetence made him feel a touch less irritated.

 

Of course, Aya knew better than to hope he might die in his sleep. His luck didn't run that way. Besides, his death scene was already written in the stars; the indubitable Mr. Crawford had said so. One corner of Aya's mouth twisted into a grim smile, imagining how annoyed the Oracle got when he said things like that.

 

Which led to a related thought: He felt like absolute hell. He needed drugs. He needed food, not that he was certain he'd be able to keep it down. He needed to take a piss. In fact, the dire urgency of his need to piss was the only thing in the world that could have convinced him to haul himself out of bed, short of someone setting it on fire.

 

Taking care of his most pressing concern left him more convinced than ever that going downstairs was out of the question. He lay back down, squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on keeping his breathing as shallow as possible. He hurt. For several moments, that was the only thought in his head. He hurt.

 

Eventually, additional concepts arrived on the scene. Food. Drugs. He needed food and drugs. Unfortunately, he did *not* need to see any of his teammates. He'd feel better in a few days, and then he could start making nice. At the moment, he just wasn't up to it. Aya was capable of impressive feats, when he set his mind to it, but he had his limits.

 

He allowed his mind to drift, trying to remember how it had felt to be human. It was harder and harder to do. He prodded at his emotional wounds regularly, chasing the elusive spark of real pain, but mostly it hurt now because it didn't.

 

It used to tear him apart to think about the people he'd loved. He'd remember some detail, some everyday interaction with his sister, some innocuous conversation with his parents, and it would absolutely bring him to his knees. But it had also kept him connected, kept them real. Now, everything was fading into black and white. It didn't hurt much to think about them now because they were less real to him every day. At first, he'd had to remind himself that they were gone; now, he had to remind himself that they'd existed. At first, he'd been certain that what he was doing would help him get his sister back; now, even he didn't believe she'd ever wake up. All that was left was his grim determination to make the people who'd done this pay.

 

That's what had been promised to him, and that's why he kept going.

 

God damn Brad Crawford, anyway.

 

Aya was distracted from his musings by a light knock at the door -- which he ignored, as usual. Then he changed his mind and told Yoji -- that's who it had to be -- to come in. He needed Yoji at the moment, much as it galled him. He needed to get a grip on himself. This whole mess was his own damned fault.

 

Yoji entered and pulled the door shut behind him. “I was wondering if I'd put you in a coma. How do you feel?”

 

Aya narrowed his eyes, deeply annoyed by the offhand remark. “Probably a little worse than I look,” he finally answered.

 

“You look bad,” Yoji commented calmly. “A little desperate, actually. Careful, Aya, your panties are showing.”

 

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

 

“Your control seems a little ragged at the moment. I think you're giving me more of a show than you meant to.”

 

It took all the strength Aya had left to keep from reacting. “You will do whatever you're required to do,” he reminded himself, as he'd done a million times. Sometimes it helped. “I need food, and drugs, not necessarily in that order but with very little space in between. Will you help me? You don't have to stop smirking.”

 

Yoji was watching him carefully. Aya was starting to hate that introspective look of his. “Now?” he added pointedly.

 

“You're pretty bitchy and arrogant for a guy who's basically at my mercy for the moment.”

 

“Big surprise. `Oooh, what a pretty snake. Ouch, it bit me,'” Aya said, his tone flat.

 

Yoji smiled. “Yeah. So, what happened? Why did you turn yourself in to Kritiker when you knew you didn't have to?”

 

Aya closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. “All your own fault,” he reminded himself. He'd handed Yoji a major advantage; of course the man was going to press it. If he could just get his new nemesis to hold off until he was a little steadier... Aloud, he asked, “Can we talk about this after you've brought me food and drugs?”

 

“We could if I trusted you,” Yoji drawled, sitting on the bed. “But I don't. So, how about now? Now's good for me.”

 

Aya's trigger finger twitched. He counted to ten in German, a language he found uniquely sobering, then met Yoji's eyes with reasonable composure. “I did have to.”

 

“You did have to what?”

 

“Turn myself in. I thought about it after we talked and decided it was something I had to do.”

 

Yoji stared at him. “Why? And don't give me any bullshit about making amends.”

 

Aya concentrated on how to present this. As usual, he stuck as close to the truth as he deemed useful. “No. I wasn't especially concerned about making amends. I am concerned about being able to work with this team, though. I didn't want you trying to take on responsibility for something I did, and I honestly think you all feel better that I got what was coming to me.” There -- just another sin of omission.

 

Yoji was silent, he expression reflecting a certain level of skepticism.

 

Aya was unable to squelch a small “tsk” of annoyance. “Well, it is what it is,” he snapped. “Your belief is irrelevant.”

 

Yoji was watching him again.

 

“What I'm saying is, I don't give a damn if you believe me or understand me or go fuck yourself.”

 

“I could just leave you here.”

 

Aya let his head roll back on the pillow so he was looking at a blank wall, which was a bit better. “I've been in worse shape. I'll live.”

 

“Really?” Yoji sounded genuinely curious. “You have been in worse shape?”

 

“Yes.” That one didn't even require a moment's thought.

 

In the space of Yoji's ensuing silence, Aya lost himself in contemplation of the wall. It was pristine except for one indent in the plaster. He remembered making that mark by throwing his cell phone across the room. Shortly after arriving here, Schuldig had called to let him know Schwartz's return to Japan would be delayed by several months, and Aya had blanked out for several seconds, his rage consuming him.

 

He realized Yoji was talking and turned his head to look at him, then belatedly remembered to smooth over his expression. God knew what Yoji had seen that time -- nothing Aya wanted to give away, he was sure.

 

Yoji stopped talking in mid-sentence and nodded to himself. “I'll go get you some soup.” He closed the door silently as he left.

 

Aya closed his eyes and clenched his fist. Yoji noticed too fucking much. He was going to have to do better than this.

 

Not that it would hurt to play a little on Yoji's sympathy; that was probably every bit as effective as working his sex drive. He'd already figured out that the combination would be unbeatable. Yoji was fascinated by him. Yoji wanted him -- wanted to fuck him, wanted to take care of him, wanted to unravel the mystery. All Aya had to do was draw him in until he got stuck in the web.

 

Aya sighed. Everything hurt, it was just a matter of whether the pain was dull or sharp. He hardly even cared about degree any more. God, how had his life turned into this?

 

Fuck, his blood sugar must be at an all-time low, if he was indulging in pointless adolescent whining. He was going to have to do better -- too much depended on him. He couldn't let his petty personal weaknesses keep tripping him up.

 

He needed to calm himself down, now. He imagined Farfarello was holding him, stroking his hair, whispering nonsense into his ear. Farfarello liked to watch the blood-red strands slide over his bone-white fingers, babbling about beauty and love. Visualizing it always made Aya feel less agitated. Besides, Farfarello would help him with all this, now that he was back. Farfarello was the only one he could trust.

 

Yoji came in with a tray, not even bothering to announce himself. Aya frowned and tried to sit up, eliciting a much more convincing frown. Fuck, but everything hurt.

 

Without comment, Yoji put the tray on the nightstand and sat on the bed. He gently helped Aya up and held him, scooting over so Aya could lean against him. Yoji held him steady with one arm while he transferred the tray to Aya's lap. On it were a bowl of miso soup with rice, a cup of tea and two tablets Aya didn't recognize but gulped down instantly. Then he downed the soup, eating mechanically, waiting for the drugs to kick in.

 

It actually felt good, lying against Yoji like this. He was warm and solid, taking care to hold Aya steady to minimize any pulling on his ribs. And Aya liked the possessiveness that showed in the way Yoji's hand rested on his stomach. It was subtle, but Aya knew how to read people, especially when it came to sex. Or getting what he wanted. And the two things were usually related.

 

Aya smiled a little as he put down his spoon and reached for the tea. The pain was clouding over and the food had restored him somewhat. The unexpected physical comfort Yoji afforded added a sense close to well-being.

 

“You like this,” Yoji said softly, his lips caressing Aya's ear. Desire was coming off him in waves; Aya could almost smell it.

 

“Mmmm,” Aya murmured cautiously.

 

“You hate it here.” It wasn't a question.

 

Finishing his tea, Aya set the cup down, and Yoji removed the tray. “Well... yes. But I hate just about everything.” He felt Yoji's smile against his cheek. “And I'm... going to work on it. I'm going to strive for more of a... polite distance.” He paused briefly, gathering his thoughts. “I really don't care for Ken or Omi, though.”

 

“I've noticed. They've noticed. Everybody has noticed.”

 

Aya shrugged slightly.

 

“What about me?” Yoji asked quietly. Aya could feel his breath against his neck.

 

“Oh, I like you,” he purred. The remark was calculated to be demeaning and arousing at the same time. Honestly, Yoji acted like a small, needy child. Aya could feel the other man's simultaneous annoyance and exhilaration.

 

“I don't believe you,” Yoji whispered.

 

“Well, I don't like you unreservedly. I mean... what is all that shit about women over the age of 18, anyway? All that idiotic posturing and eyebrow wagging. It doesn't make you look any less dangerous; it's just fucking annoying.”

 

“That wasn't very nice, was it. No wonder all the ladies prefer Yoji.”

 

Any traces of Aya's ephemeral sense of good will were now gone. “I guess it isn't really any of my business if you choose to act like a complete ass in public, but I have no intention of putting up with your demented playboy bullshit in private. And to set the record straight -- as it were -- I can get anybody I want. I'm just not fixated on presenting myself as some hormone-overdosed satyr.”

 

“No, your style is obviously more inscrutable hard-assed leather boy. But that's all right,” Yoji said blandly. “You say hormone-overdosed satyr, I say charmingly flirtatious ladies' man. Surely that's no reason to call the whole thing off.”

 

Aya didn't bother to suppress a small snort of laughter. Yoji wasn't so bad. He'd definitely drawn worse assignments. Speaking of which... “You haven't made your move yet.”

 

“No,” Yoji said. He was cool about it, but Aya heard the unvoiced “Thank God” loud and clear. “You seem eager,” Yoji finally added. “Is that why you're jealous of my women?”

 

Aya rolled his eyes. “You don't even believe that. Look, I made a deal with you, and I'm ready to follow through.” He turned his face slightly so Yoji could see his profile -- best to remind the boy what he wanted. “I'm not a tease, you know,” he said, pitching his voice just a little lower than usual. “I put out.”

 

Yoji barely reacted. “That, Aya, is one of the few things I've figured out about you in the last few days.”

 

Aya pouted, a more or less sure-fire move. “I don't understand why you're holding back.”

 

“Yes you do.”

 

Yes. He did. It was because that's the way Aya wanted it. Yoji was ridiculously easy to manipulate. The beautiful thing was that he knew he was being manipulated, but that actually fed his fascination. If only Crawford were so easy... Of course, he was actually afraid to really fuck with Crawford.

 

Aya nodded. The drugs had kicked in fully now. His head felt as if it were wrapped in yards of cotton wool, and he wanted to go to sleep. He decided it was time to pull Yoji a little closer.

 

“Yoji.” He said it softly, allowing himself to slur his speech slightly. He paused, as if he were having trouble with what he was about to say, then whispered, “Stay with me.” He closed his eyes, not even bothering to listen for Yoji's answer.