Schuld und Verzeihung: eiskalte Schoenheit
Schuld und Verzeihung, K. 1: eiskalte Schoenheit
(Guilt and Redemption, Ch. 1: ice-cold beauty)
by Akiko Fuyukaze
Yohji was sitting on the couch, reading a men's magazine, when Ken and
Omi returned.
"Where's Aya? Is he okay?" he asked, concern creeping into his
voice.
"He's not hurt, but he's definitely not 'okay.' He said he'd be back
sometime," Ken answered, stopping in the doorway while Omi trudged
toward the shower.
"Oh?"
"Well, he found the target, but then he started going after some other
person and chased him up to the roof of the building. He looked ready to
jump on the guy's helicopter." Ken sighed. "Damn near compromised our
mission, too."
"That isn't like him at all. He's normally so reliable and
focused."
"I know. It's really strange. It was almost like an obsession with
that guy he was chasing." He shrugged. "Anyway, I'm going to get some
sleep. It was a tough mission, and I'm exhausted. Night."
"Night, Ken."
"You staying up all night?"
[Maybe.] "Don't know. This is some interesting reading here." He
waved the magazine he was reading.
Ken laughed, noticing that Yohji was reading an article entitled 'How
to get away with cheating on your girlfriend.' "Well, have fun with
that... I'm exhausted." As if to illustrate, he yawned hugely.
"Go on, get some rest. See you in the morning."
Ken plodded upstairs, and Yohji continued to pretend to read his
magazine.
Aya opened the door to see Yohji dozing on the couch, a magazine
falling from his fingers. A ghost of a smile kissed his lips, gently
curving the hard lines, then withdrew, leaving no trace of its
existence.
Yohji jumped when the door opened. "Aya?"
"Aa."
[I've been waiting for you.] "You're back late. Ken and Omi made it
back hours ago." He tried to sound casual.
"You're up late."
"Just reading this rag."
"You should sleep. Aren't you working tomorrow?" he asked
disinterestedly.
"I'll be fine. It's not that late yet." He yawned.
"Not that late, huh?" Aya raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, yeah... I'm going to bed." He stood up from the chair and
headed for his room.
"Yohji," Aya called as he pulled something out of his pocket.
Yohji paused in the doorway. "Yeah?"
"Thanks for lending me this," he said, holding up Yohji's watch. "It
was very useful and probably saved my life." He tossed it overhand to
Yohji, who caught it and put it in his pocket.
"No problem." Yohji turned and disappeared up the stairs.
Aya went to his room and dropped his katana and coat on the bed. [I
failed to kill Takatori.] He grabbed his towel from the rack and stalked
toward the bathroom. [Who was that with him? A bodyguard. How did he
know I was coming? Was I that careless?]
Yohji watched him stride past through his half-open door. [He looks
pissed. I wonder what's up. I bet it has something to do with that guy
Ken was talking about.]
Aya stepped into the shower, the water a little warmer than pleasant.
[I will get revenge on Takatori. I will not fail.] He scrubbed his body,
then his hair. [Takatori... you shall die by my hand.] The pair of tears
that slid down his cheeks mingled with the water, flowed down the drain
and were lost forever.
Yohji heard the water turn off and walked toward the door of the
bathroom. He waited a minute before knocking. "Aya?"
"Aa."
"I'm coming in."
Yohji opened the door and saw Aya watching the door while drying
himself.
"What do you want?" the redhead asked, turning his back to Yohji.
"I wanted to brush my teeth."
"And you couldn't wait?" Aya said icily.
"I, uh, wanted to talk to you. Or, rather, listen to you. Something's
upsetting you," he sputtered.
"It doesn't matter." He turned to face Yohji, wrapping the towel
around his waist. "It isn't affecting my performance as a member of
Weiss."
[It /does/ matter. To me.] "That's not what Ken said. He said you
almost compromised the mission."
"The mission was completed. I was the one who discovered the target's
identity." His eyes narrowed. "My performance is not being affected."
[Keep telling yourself that ...] muttered a voice in Aya's head. [Shut
up,] another voice snapped back.
Yohji sighed. "Okay. I'm just offering my friendship. If you don't
want it, that's fine. If you ever just need to talk, I'm here." He
walked toward Aya. "Sometimes I wonder just how deep that icy exterior of
yours extends." He gazed at Aya, his eyes following the lean torso to the
edge of the towel.
Aya turned his back to Yohji. "I thought you wanted to brush your
teeth."
Yohji sighed. [Mr. Impersonal. One day I'll get through to him.] He
noticed a dark purple spot on Aya's shoulder. "You're hurt."
"It's nothing," he growled, turning toward the door. "I'm going to
sleep." With that, he stalked out the door and down the hall to his
room.
Yohji brushed his teeth and went to his room, which was next to Aya's.
[That guy. He's got some issues.]
When Aya returned to his room, he pulled on a pair of shorts and sat on
his bed, after hanging his coat. He drew his sword and stared at it,
watching the reflection of the moonlight in the polished blade. [You
shall taste the blood of him who destroyed my family. No one but I shall
kill him.] He noticed a small stain on the blade and drew out his
polishing cloth and cleaner. Rubbing at the imperfection, he whispered,
"We shall have our revenge." He sheathed the sword, placed it on its
stand, and lay down. [What if Yohji is right? What if I am compromising
missions? Maybe I should accept his offer. He does seem sincere,]
thought the part of himself that was once the young man called Ran. His
mind filled with thoughts of friendship and revenge, he fell into restless
dreams.
When Yohji went to the flowershop, Aya was already working. "Good
morning."
"Good morning, Yohji-kun!" Omi chirped.
[How can he be so perky this early in the morning?] "Good morning,
Omi." He started toward the rack where his apron hung to find Aya handing
it to him. "Uh, thanks, Aya."
Aya nodded, "No problem," then returned to rearranging a shelf of
flowers.
Meanwhile, Omi was watching them and grinning to himself.
It was about 2 hours later when Yohji found a piece of paper in his
apron pocket. [Huh. I wonder what this is.] He went outside to have a
cigarette and read the note. [Yohji- thank you for your concern and your
offer last night. It's good to know that if I need to talk, there's
someone to listen. -A] He took a final drag on his cigarette before
stubbing it out. [Maybe I'll get through to him after all. Eventually.
He's not just a beautiful ice statue. He's human under all that.]
There was a knock on Yohji's door. [I wonder if ... nah, I doubt it.]
"Who is it?" he asked.
"It's me, Omi," came the reply.
"Come in, Omi. It's open."
The little blond opened the door, entered, and shut it quickly behind
him. He crossed the room and sat opposite Yohji on the bed.
"What's up, Omi?"
"Nothing. I just wanted to ask you something."
"Sure. What is it?"
Omi grinned. "Oh, it's so obvious, Yohji-kun! You like Aya, don't
you?"
Yohji stared at him. [How the hell do I answer that?]
"I think it's cute," Omi continued. "You two would be good for each
other."
"How so?" Yohji asked warily.
"Oh, well, it just seems like Aya could use someone to talk to, to help
him open up about his problems."
"You think so, eh? And what would ever give you the impression that
old Mr. Ice would want to be involved with me?" [And why do I feel like
I'm in high school again?]
"Oh, just the way he was watching you this morning, and how he handed
you your apron."
[And the note he hid in my pocket.] "Well, if you think so, I'll give
it a try, but only at the pace he sets."
Omi smiled. "Well, I won't bother you anymore. See you in the
morning!"
"Good night, Omi."
Outside the door, Aya quickly ducked back into his room. When he had
been getting ready to shower, he saw Omi go into Yohji's room. Walking
past the door, he heard his name preceded by "Yohji-kun" and "like."
Curiosity piqued, he stood there listening. [Interested? Involved with
him? I ... ]
Emerging from his room, he passed Omi in the hall and nodded a
greeting. He went into the bathroom to shower. [Involved with Yohji?
Me? I'm not worthy of other people's worry, much less their love.] He
lathered the shampoo into his hair. [I'm a paid murderer. But so is he.
Two unworthy souls, perhaps, find deep friendship.] He tilted his head
back, letting the water mix with the foam and run down his body, into the
drain. He imagined the water to be Yohji's hands caressing him. [Maybe
I'll talk to him tonight.] Raking a hand through his hair to make sure all
the shampoo had rinsed out, he sighed. He turned off the water and began
toweling off, half expecting a familiar tenor to say he was coming in.
When he finished drying off, he wrapped the towel around his waist and
walked back to his room. He hung the towel and lay on his bed. [Do I
even need a friend? I've been doing fine on my own the last two years.
What's that old English saying? No man is an island. Not even I.] He
sighed. [Enough of that. I don't need anyone involved in my personal
affairs.] He saw the hurt look that Yohji had given him the previous night
when he had shrugged off the offer of a friendly ear. Then he remembered
how Yohji's eyes had traced his torso to the towel. He'd had to turn
around to hide the blush that crept into his face. The memory brought
back the pleasant warmth he had felt. He ran his hands over his torso,
imagining it was Yohji touching him. His hand trailed further down,
brushing his erection. {'Yohji? Are you there?'} He gripped his shaft,
stroking it slowly, while he trailed his other hand across his chest,
squeezing a nipple. {'Aya? Sure, come on in.' 'Yohji, I have something
to tell you.' 'Oh? What is it?'} A soft moan escaped his lips as he
imagined kissing the tall, lanky blond. {He undressed the other man,
kissed his neck, suckled his nipples, placed kisses down the firm belly
until he reached the other man's erection and stroked it. 'What would you
like me to do with this, Yohji-kun?' 'Unnnh, Aya... I want you to take
me.'} "Ahh, Yohji," he moaned softly. {He entered Yohji, reaching around
to pump the other man's neglected hardness. 'Yohji!'} Milky fluid covered
his belly and his fingers. He sighed and reached for the tissues.
On the other side of the wall, a tenor whispered in pleasure, "Aya..."