Look at Me - Part 3.
Disclaimer: No copyrights were harmed in the making of this fic...
Pairing: Yohji x Aya/Ran
Warnings: Yaoi, Shounen-ai, Language, Poetry
Would you ever look at me?
And let me live through you…
I find myself outside your world.
With nothing left to do.
I want to get to know you
If you have the time.
Would you ever look at me?
I'm asking for a sign.
Aya smiled softly to himself as he remembered the continuation of the poem he'd left earlier that day. It was simple, like the first one… enough so that the blond might not attribute it to him. He was by himself in the flower shop, putting together a few arrangements in the front. As usual, Yohji was late for his shift, but today the redhead didn't mind. Everything was quiet and peaceful, a rare thing for the shop.
It might have had something to do with the stormy weather. Aya looked out the window, watching the rain pelt against the windows. He'd always liked storms. Something about them calmed him. Maybe it was the knowledge that even Mother Nature could get just as angry as he could that kept him at peace on a day like today.
His breath caught for a moment as he saw Yohji come into the view from the window. He was standing just under the awning of the pane, smoking the last remnants off his cigarette, cupping his hand to keep the blowing wind from soaking it. Good God, did the man know how sexy he looked in the sleek black trenchcoat and dripping hair?
Yohji turned suddenly, as if he felt the eyes on him, and their gazes locked. Aya held his breath, unable to look away from the verdant stare that snared him as surely as one of the assassin's wire garrotes. The blond didn't look away either. In fact, he took the last drag from his smoke and then smiled at the redhead. It was genuine, too, which surprised Aya a great deal. He didn't think he'd ever seen that kind of smile directed at him.
Flicking the butt out into the street, Yohji turned and opened the door, shrugging his coat off instantly. Aya gave himself a shake as the gaze was no longer turned on him and put up his carefully neutral mask of indifference. He couldn't afford to give himself away just yet. He didn't dare.
"So, what's on the agenda for today, Aya," asked the blond as he walked over to the pegs and took down his apron. Yohji tied it around his waist, looping it back around to the front.
The younger assassin flicked his indifferent gaze at his team mate. "If you'd come in on time, you'd know." The usual banter seemed a good distraction.
"Sorry… I overslept."
"Yohji," Aya said, letting some light indignation into his voice, "you *always* oversleep when your shift is up." He took the trimmers and clipped a few leaves from one of the roses that were part of the wreath he was working on. He reached for the next one, took it between his slender digits, and felt the tell-tale prick of a thorn. Aya hissed softly as it broke flesh and a droplet of blood welled up on his middle finger.
A warm hand caught his before he could pull away from the work table. The redhead looked up in time to see Yohji take a cloth from the drawer below and press it to the minor injury. "Careful Aya… roses are kind of like you. Nice to look at on the outside, but not easy to get close to." The redhead's violet gaze widened at that. Was Yohji trying to send him some kind of message?
"It's nothing, Yohji. I can manage on my own." Aya needed to get his hand away from the older man before he did something foolish. He tugged, trying to free himself, but found the other assassin's grip too strong.
Yohji kept his hold and wrapped the soft cloth against the wound. His eyes were on what he was doing and his voice spoke out, low and almost unheard. "Thank you, Aya."
The redhead blinked. "For what?"
"For not telling anyone about a couple of nights ago." Yohji looked at the pale young man, another of those odd smiles on his lips. "I tried not to make anybody uncomfortable with that part of my life, you know? I mean, yeah, I swing both ways, but… that's not really anyone else's business." Yohji sighed softly. "I'm glad it was you who found out, rather than the others, though."
Aya was confused and his expression showed it. "Me? Why on earth would you say that?" He wondered if Yohji would be this gentle as a lover, too. The touch was soft, almost so soft that he didn't even realize it was there.
"Because I knew that, of everyone, you wouldn't make a big scene about it." Yohji's voice rose a little more to the normal volume. "Ken would have flipped out, you know how he gets sometimes… and Omi? He would have been stammering and blushing for months."
"Can I ask why?"
"Why I sleep with guys, too?" Yohji asked, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. He blinked once and then pulled the cloth away from the injury. Since it had stopped bleeding, he tossed the towel into a nearby bucket and moved over to the refrigerated cases of flowers. "They don't play the head games that girls do. It's a nice change, really." He looked at Aya over his shoulder, another of those little smiles playing across his lips. "I like all the expectations out in the open. Girls don't usually do that. They like to make you guess."
He shrugged. "Guys… they're different usually. Like that one you saw me with? He was very direct. We were both in agreement about how things would turn out. It was all about sex… nothing more, nothing less."
Aya nodded his understanding. Even during the times when the young school girls would invade the shop, they would play all kinds of games to try and get Omi and Ken's attention. It was good insight into the mind of Yohji Kudou. The next words out of the blond's mouth made him freeze.
"There's someone who's been leaving notes on my car windshield. Little poems and stuff. It's nice. I'm not really sure who's doing it, but… I hope it doesn't stop for a while. I don't want them to lose interest." Yohji turned to his companion and tilted his head to the side, the expression on his face unreadable. "Whoever's behind it is genuine… I can tell that much. I just wish they didn't have to be so secretive, you know? Makes me wonder if they think I'll shoot them down right off."
"Maybe you know them," Aya ventured, trying to bury the breathlessness that he felt. Inside, his heart was pounding loud enough that he really had to try and listen for what Yohji was saying.
"Probably." Yohji said as he went back to looking inside the cases. "It's not someone from the clubs I go to, though. I haven't met anyone who's that creative. I'd like to meet up with them…" The blond ran his hand over the glass slowly, almost reverently, Aya noticed. "I think I'm ready to take a shot at being with someone again."
From the corner of his eye, Yohji watched the reaction to his last comment. The brief glimpse of hope that had passed across Aya's face couldn't be fake. It gave him confirmation about his deduction. He hid his smile and went about to doing some actual work. The time passed away very quickly and, before the blond knew it, the shop was due to close.
Once closing clean up was done, he took off for the upstairs and jumped in the shower as quickly as possible. He wanted to be free of the calliope scent of the flowers he'd been working with for most of the day. Yohji scrubbed himself down efficiently, letting his mind wander about the current predicament.
A) Aya wanted to try and make something
work between them.
B) Yohji, after a bit of thinking, didn't mind the idea.
C) Aya was afraid to actually say something about it just yet.
D) Yohji found himself enjoying this new side to the redhead.
Four factors in the equation that might actually mean something. Yohji smiled to himself, wondering what a date with Aya might be like. He wished that the other young man were the kind to enjoy dancing. That was something that would really make the blond happy. He let images of the graceful swordsman on the dance floor run through and his smile got wider.
Oh, yeah… Aya and dancing were definitely something that he would like to see put together.
He bounded out of the bathroom, towel around his hips, passing Omi with a muttered, "Hey." The teen tried to say something to him, but Yohji waved him off. "Sorry, kid, got stuff to do."
Diving into his closet, he chose the most seductive (read: revealing) of his clubbing clothes. Tight fitting sleeveless mesh shirt, matching mesh gloves that went up to about mid-bicep, and the tightest-looking leather pants he owned. Yohji was going to have fun tonight.
He stopped as he reached for his hair-dryer. It wouldn't be fair to Aya if he brought someone, of either gender, back to the shop. He didn't want to hurt the redhead and possibly make him back off of his attempts at catching Yohji's interest. He looked into the mirror, searching his own gaze, and nodded to himself. Okay, so tonight Yohji Kudou would be doing the unthinkable… He'd be coming home, alone, by choice rather than design.
What bothered the blond was that he found he didn't mind it so much.
Hair dry and brushed and gleaming, Yohji dressed and then surveyed the look in the mirror. Man… he loved the clothes he was wearing. Attention-grabbing clothing that practically screamed, "I'm here for a good fuck!"
Yohji smiled secretly to himself. Tonight, that message wasn't going to be passed to anybody at his usual watering holes. This time, his message was aimed for the redhead that just so happened to be in the same building. The poem that had been left had asked for a sign. What better sign could the blond give than going out, dressed to kill, and coming home alone and early?