And then I walked away...

I have a desire so strong and consuming to know something that even if I lived 100 years I would be unable to know.
I want to know something with all of my heart and all of my conscious being that some may refer to as the "soul".
This undeniable urge to know feels as if a hunger pain and yet it can never be filled or satisfied.
How horrible to simply ask oneself:

Do vampires really exist?





It's all I can think about.

What it was like to wake up one day and not know who you were was a feeling that no one should ever deal with. It was horrible. Something nagged at the back of your thoughts, telling you that a great chunk was missing and every answer was right at the tip of your tongue. It was like feeling an oncoming sneeze that never really comes, just tickles the sinuses before passing; that same unsatisfied frustration filled him every minute of every day.

 

Supposedly, he was a florist. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why. Even though he couldn’t remember anything, he was still somewhat certain that he retained his original personality. But that was entirely different matter that he knew not to venture into. It would drive him insane, destroy him with paradoxes and uncertainty.

 
Anyway, the point was that he didn’t in any way find flowers to be all that appealing in his current state. Some of them even made his eyes itch and water in allergy. He couldn’t fathom how he had ended up here in the Koneko no Sumu Ie considering his preferences, but the other three men, and that uptight redheaded woman with the socks and heals, had told him that he did indeed belong at this exact place. What reason could they have to lie? And even if they were, no one had yet to come looking for him, nor did any missing persons’ report come up matching him in the least. So here he was, fiddling with flowers.

 
And fiddling was exactly what it was. He was supposed to be…arranging them? or something, but the idiots around him didn’t seem to remember the fact that he COULDN’T remember what the hell he was meant to do. Things like this must have come to him with practice, because he sure as hell wasn’t receiving any kind of natural, intuitive creativity from the “inner depths of his soul”. No matter how long he stood there or stared at the many different blooms, he continued to remain confused.

 
He began to panic slightly. It was just too much to ask, to throw him into this without any information whatsoever. But the doctors had insisted. No one was to say a thing to him about his life other than what they had already provided. And that was just a basic schedule of activities he typically did and at what times he typically did them. Personally, he thought the doctors were fucking idiots, but he was the minority here. The ignorant, powerless minority.

 
The argument provided was that giving information would be leading. It would muddle findings, and no one would be sure if he was actually recovering or if he was just reconstructing himself based on the opinions of others. The quacks felt it best for him to remember on his own, by his own will, at his own pace. The others were to just act naturally, allow him the same opportunities as any other day, and go on as normal. Because, as they said, he was normal, perfectly fine and healthy. He just happened to have lost his entire past in a sever case of amnesia caused by a horrible car accident that left him in the hospital for a week. But, bah, that was nothing at all. Nope, nothing at all.

 
Fuckers. He didn’t know where these doctors gained their licenses, but he was absolutely certain that whoever passed them had to have been a chimp. It was the only explanation. Sane individuals would have prescribed drugs, therapy, but most of all, allow his freaking friends and family to tell him any fucking thing he needed to know for gods sake! He needed information! Not just to be thrown in headfirst with a blindfold AND his hands tied behind his back.

 
He sighed and stared down at the mess he was making on the table. Flowers were strewn everywhere haphazardly, whites and blues and yellows and reds scattered over a pealing wooden countertop. There were some wispy…things…that he assumed were not a mistake, were a flower, and were actually meant to be used since they had been purposefully placed there instead of the trash.

 
Come on! Come on! Inner vision, go! Enlightenment power, hit! And…nothing.

 
And now he felt like a fool along with a slow invalid. He sighed again and stretched his hands out on the table, resisting with all his might the temptation to throw a temper tantrum. Body completely rigid, he slowly inhaled then exhaled, trying his best to relax. It had been two weeks already. Two weeks. And nothing had changed. Nothing.

 
“Looking a bit tense there, Ayan. Flowers insult your integrity or something?” His head shot straight up and his muscles flexed in preparation to defend himself. He’d been doing that a lot lately when startled. His stance settled out a bit when he caught hold of a pair of green eyes looking at him over dark sunglasses. The man was smiling, and the blonde’s posture was at ease, but for some reason he got the impression that the guy wasn’t really happy. He didn’t know what the man could otherwise possibly be, but the persona didn’t feel…right.

 
Then the words caught up to him, and he froze again, but not to fight. God, something was right there at the edge of his mind! It was tugging at him, buried deep behind some wall or another.

 
“You called me something. That wasn’t my name,” if only he could recall the word that had slipped from the blonde’s mouth!

 
At once, the man before him pushed his glasses up over his eyes and leaned against the wall nearby. “Huh? Since when isn’t your name Ran? That’s what was written on your records, born and bred. Seems you were meant for this business huh, little “orchid”.”

 
Damn he was irritating. Why couldn’t the smart mouth just tell him what he wanted to know and get out of his hair?! “No. You didn’t call me Ran.” 

 
That received a quirked eyebrow from the Annoyance. Usually this guy…Yohji Kudou…wasn’t so bad. But right now, Ran was at an edge. He needed something that was right there, it was RIGHT there. On the tip of his tongue, the sneeze was coming, and it was something important.

 
“What else would I call you?” The smile still hadn’t left Kudou’s mouth. It seemed frozen in place; unnatural.

 
The blonde had him there. He was stuck without so much as a clue as to what had caught his attention so thoroughly. Maybe he had just imagined it? Maybe…

 
“So,” Kudou walked, sauntered, over and peeked over the lenses perched on his nose to look down at the table, “quite the van Gogh you seem to be, orchid, with all the beauty of a severed ear displayed here.” Ran glared for all he was worth, not up to a battle of the words at the moment. His ego was bruised enough for the day without added insult.

 
Kudou seemed to sense the glare and turned his head to grace Ran with a smile that made his eyes shine. And at once, Ran felt like something hit him in the gut. An electric fire ran up his spine and all he could do was goggle at the sensation.  What was that? Refocusing on Kudou didn’t do much good since the scene had somehow changed imperceptibly. The guy was still smiling, his eyes could still be seen, but it wasn’t the same. It just wasn’t.

 
Ran shook his head firmly and fell back on familiar habits in his discomfort. He scowled and glared at the nuisance. Opening his mouth, Ran was about to bite back that if Kudou didn’t like what he saw, he could get the hell out so that he didn’t have to look anymore. But the blonde surprised him.

 
“Want some help?” And without further prompting, Kudou walked behind him over to his right side, where he stood waiting for Ran to catch up to the situation. He took off his sunglasses and set them on the table before beginning to speak. “Ok, first you think of a th-“

 
“I thought you weren’t supposed to tell me anything Kudou,” he butted in. Ran eyed the man suspiciously from where he stood. He couldn’t see his face; Blonde locks hung free about it, making a curtain about his features.

 
“Ah, this is true. But I’m just giving you some tips on flower arranging is all. This doesn’t count,” and his voice was light and airy. Maybe Kudou believed what he said, maybe he was just bullshitting. Who knew? Ran would take what he could get however; whatever segue he could make into figuring out something about his life he would seize.

 
“Hn. Fine,” Ran nodded his consent and bid Kudou continue his early line of speaking.

 
“You sure are a natural redhead with how quickly your temper changes, “ Kudou chuckled, then reached over to grab some red flowers in the middle of the table. Ran didn’t even acknowledge the jibe. “Anyway, the first thing to do is to think of a theme, any theme, to base your arrangement around,” the blonde then reached for some blue flowers, followed by purple, carefully shuffling them about within a vase in front of him.

 
“Once the theme is established, think of a shape and the colors that you associate with it. Like red for love, pink for joy, blue for peace, you get it.” Kudou never once looked at anything but the work before him, almost absentmindedly adding dialogue in adornment to his work. “Once you have the basics in mind, just let the image come to life. Don’t try too hard, or it shows, badly. Just relax and let it do as it will, become what it will become, ya know?”

 
With his last words, the blonde picked up the finished piece in his hands and turned to face the redhead at his side. Kudou held the vase out to him. Slowly Ran reached out his hands and grasped the porcelain filled with art and examined it. The arrangement was beautiful; colorful and simple, not too busy or obnoxiously nonsensical.

 
“One of my bests, huh baby?”

 
“Excuse me?” Ran’s eyebrows crumpled in, his forehead creasing in weary indignity, as his eyes snapped up from the flowers to narrow at the blonde. He slowly drew away from his ‘workmate’. Another man had not just called him ‘baby’.

 
“Oh, sorry,” Kudou looked incredibly sheepish, his eyes looking off to a far corner as a forced chuckle escaped his lips. His hand lifted and scratched nervously at the back of his head. “Forgot myself for a moment is all. Must’ve confused you in my head with someone else.”

 
A reasonable explanation, but he still didn’t appreciate it. Something about the way it was said bothered him. And before he thought about it, he let his response roll off his lips.

 
“Right. However, forget yourself in public and I’ll gut you Yohji. It’s a promise.” Those green eyes widened before turning to stare seriously into Ran’s violet irises, looking into depths unknown. At last the man nodded.

 
“Yeah, and Fujimiyas always keep their promises,” and just as quickly as he had come in, he left, sweeping past Ran without so much as another word. Kudou had done that a lot these past two weeks, running hot and cold, suddenly interested and then suddenly not. It perplexed the redhead. The other two were quite the mother-hens, and so infuriatingly cheerful. But Kudou was different. The blonde looked at him in the oddest way, and encounters always left Ran thrown.

 
Just as he was now. Had he just threatened to ‘gut’ another person? And what was with the man’s parting statement? Had his family been especially virtuous or something? And why would Kudou bring that up then?

 
Setting down the vase of flowers he still held, Ran looked to the right to see an abandoned pair of sunglasses. Expensive sunglasses with specialize lenses. Kudou had worn them so often these past two weeks, wearing them even when Ran had met him at the hospital, that the redhead knew their contour and tint like the back of his hand (which was one thing he surprisingly remembered, along with how to eat and walk and talk and all that nonsense).

 
He picked them up and stared at them. The best thing to do was to go return them immediately. They were obviously important and surely Kudou wouldn’t miss their absence for long. He’d come searching for them.

 
But the metal and the glass of the lenses…they were nice. Oddly, for one not really interested in material things, he found he liked them. So with a shrug of disinterest, Ran pocketed the glasses without a second thought. Putting the flower arrangement in a cooler to keep, the amnesiac headed up to his third floor apartment for some ‘reading’. Or at least, that’s what his schedule said he should be doing right about now.

Title: The Confrontation
Author: Poeticheartache
Rating: Y
Warnings: Language, implied shounen-ai, un-beta’ed (self-editted)
Category: One Shot
Characters: Aya(Ran), Yohji
Disclaimers: Weiss Kreuz is owned by its creator Takehito Koyasu and Project Weiss and others I may have failed to mention. Point is: not mine in the least; I’ve just borrowed characters for a non-profit work!
 

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Standing in the hallway as I waited for the bathroom, and my chance to wash the blood and grime off from the mission, I let my body lean back against the wall. Eyes close and my mind begins to wander. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours I drifted, all I know is that the next thing I am aware of is something akin to a very rude awakening call:

Someone spitting my name.

Kudou Yohji stands but mere inches from me, the darkest scowl that I’ve perhaps ever noticed upon his features. He’s mad. No, he’s pissed. And he’s looming…over me. Cornering me. Questioning his motive doesn’t even occur to me. Just the simple fact that such contempt is being leveled at my being, and done so in my own personal space, by someone who definitely was not permitted to do anything of the sort, sets me on edge. He’s pushing it, and I feel anger start to burn in my chest, my eyes narrowing.

“Back off Kudou,” is the sibilant growl that escapes thin lips. He’d be wise to heed me. But then again, whoever knew the blonde idiot to be wise.

“Shut it, asshole. I’ll fucking talk and you’ll fucking listen, understand almighty leader?” His tone is not much more pleasant than mine, but he seems not to have mastered the impeccable control over volume that I have. His voice tends to rise in decibels when angry. It doesn’t intimidate me. It speaks of immaturity. And makes me grossly irritated.

My eyes narrow the slightest bit more as I square my shoulders and raise my chin slightly. I am not at all in the mood for practicing the patience and self-discipline it takes to talk to this man. I don’t succumb to orders, I give them. And I expect them to be followed. Kudou knows this, so it appears he’s taken a momentary lapse from thinking or else his nightly drunken escapades have erased the brain cells that held those facts in place. I scoff. So be it if he must be re-taught to never, ever, threaten me.

My body tightens in preparation. If he won’t back off, I’ll make him. A full out brawl would be taking it too far, this I know, but a few “love-taps” wouldn’t be crossing the line. My hands ball into fists by my side, and with lightning speed I jamb the right one up into his stomach.

Or I thought I had. He felt it coming, those damn highly trained reflexes pulling him back into safety before the blow hit. His scowl darkens even more, and his tan face transforms into something like a wild animal about to foam at the mouth in a psychotic fervor to rip its target to shreds. His eyes are gleaming and his blonde hair is wild about his face. It shocks me for a moment, how such a good looking man could become so ugly with fury. And so quickly.

That moment of shock was all he needed.

He charges and slams my head slightly into the wall, enough to daze me. In the seconds it takes for me to regain my focus and equilibrium, he’s stepped on both my feet to pin them and slammed my wrists above my head in a one-handed grip. Goddamn his speed and strength. And while I’m at it, goddamn his fucking height that lets him look down at me while trapped like this. It’s a bruise to the pride having to glare up, even the tiniest bit. But I won’t show it, I’d rather be gutted with my own sword than show weakness to this man.

I don’t struggle, not yet. Let him think he’s won, accomplished something, before I throw him on his ass and then continue to kick it into the ground. But I will warn him.

“Kudou,” I hiss, “let go n-“

He slams his free hand to the wall beside my head; I feel the impact sting my left ear, making me flinch slightly at the unexpected movement.

“No! You don’t talk, you listen!” For good measure his grip on my wrists tightens briefly, displaying how training with the wire for so many years has strengthened his hands and forearms. He’s formidable. I will admit it, though only to myself. When focused, Kudou the laid-back ladies-killer is something to be reckoned with. And his show has managed to thoroughly stifle my words for the moment.

However, his true aim, which I can easily read in every line of his body and the glow in his eyes, is unreachable. He wants to cow me, to intimidate into submission, and I won’t allow such a thing, ever.

I think of thrashing, for this situation is simply unbearable. If I had known I’d be prostrated like this, I would have simply gone to bed with the smell of death on me to accompany the memories. He sees the thought. I have no idea how he reads me so well, maybe from our months of working and killing together, but he sees the plan of action as quickly as I formulate it.

He pushes himself full up against me brutally, grinding his knees into my thighs and laying one forearm harshly against previously held wrists while the once free arm pushes relentlessly upon the biceps stretched above my head. His chest, his weight, keeps me from bucking my middle, and his feet never once lift from mine.

My anger at once turns into fury. No one, and I mean NO ONE, touches me arbitrarily, much less traps me in such an invasive manner. I glare ice and daggers, and I’m sure my face begins to mimic the one before me with just as much intensity. Not that we can see each others’ visages, as we’re nearly cross-eyed with being nose to nose. But what I can clearly see are his green eyes, eyes that are screaming at me. They speak volumes of wanting to strangle and destroy. But I can tell…there’s a bit of fear. I almost gloat in pride at provoking such an emotion in a comrade, until I come to my senses with the bitter fact that Yohji is not, and never has been, afraid of me. It's often caused me to question his sanity, but in the end it has ultimately won him my grudging respect. Right now though, hatred flares red and deep at his dismissal of my retaliation.

Fucking bastard, I want to spit in his face. Everything is tense, the air, our bodies, our breathing, our thoughts, our faces. We just stand and stare our anger at each other, muscles tightening with every second. It’s nearly unbearable until Yohji finally breaks the spell.

Leaning forward, he tilts his head to the side so as to speak directly into my ear. Perhaps his thinking is that the more direct a path his words take to my brain, the less likely I will be able to ignore them. I would scoff once more if my mouth wasn't so set on a snarl.

“Never, and I mean never, abandon a teammate in need again. We do not go to a mission to die, we go to survive and to let the deserving live,” He hisses the discourse, hot breath playing off my cheek and skin, “We only have each other. And once that’s gone…there are no second chances in this line of work, Aya. We aren’t invincible. So don’t be so fucking arrogant to use us as pawns to reach your own fucking end! And an end is what you seem to be seeking, you bastard!” his voice had gotten rougher with that last sentence

 More menacing and full of stifled fury he continued his litany, “So help me god, if I ever see you flee the side of an unconscious and bleeding member of Weiss again like you did tonight, I will hang you from the nearest rafter and watch you suffer as the life is choked out of you. Comrades are NEVER hindrances or burdens. We’re people, living, breathing people who trust and depend on you, you cold son of a bitch! I just…”

Yohji’s voice speaks of frustration as he growls, “Goddammit Aya!” He smacks his hand once again beside my head, this time startling me into a jump. His breathing is ragged in my ear, and I can almost imagine his face tight with eyes squinted closed as he struggles for composure. The familiarity of the sound freezes me into place, my features falling slack and then falsely calm as images pass quickly through my mind. But this breathing isn't the same, it  doesn't have the tinge of breathlessness it should. It doesn't speak of anything but frustration and hurt.

His hand slides from the wall into the crimson strands of my hair and I come back to myself as I feel them gripped at the root. Wincing a bit at the pain, my head is slowly pulled back so that I’m forced to look up into simmering jade eyes. I hadn’t known I’d looked down during his words.

Yohji just looks weary now, earnest and knowing himself a fool for it, as he searches my face for something, what I don’t know. He finally re-meets my gaze, “If only you’d just listen for once, this wouldn’t have to be so hard," entreating? or lamenting. The fingers in my hair slowly loosen their hold and drift softly down the curves of my face, a ghostly caress against my cheekbone making me shiver slightly. “Just, my god Aya, this wouldn’t have to be so hard,” a pained whisper is all that's left of that teasing voice.

Yohji’s eyes track the movement of his fingers as they slip from skin to fall back to his side. He doesn’t look back up. Frozen in place for a moment before me, he's lost in thought, and after a time just turns wearily away.

Gradually and with shock I notice that he’d released me quite a while ago and simply stood in front of me. When did he do that? And how hadn’t I noticed?

It’s dangerous, this thing, this distraction.

I watch him walk away to his bedroom down the hall, lowering my arms completely and standing back up straight. Without turning back once, Yohji in his slack pajama bottoms and white t-shirt enters the darkness of his room and closes the door softly behind him.

Lifting my hand to where Yohji’s had been just moments ago, and so many times before, my eyes glaze as I sift through words I hadn’t been aware of actually listening to.

Yohji didn’t like my mission conduct. Yohji didn’t like how I was becoming reckless. Yohji didn’t like my increasing indifference, or more like my lack of feeling all together.  And as he said these things, Yohji had been angry, frustrated, and...afraid. He had not been afraid of me, as I had previously established, so what? Afraid for me? For himself? For the others caught in the crossfire? Afraid of the next loss...

Silently I glance at the bathroom that I had suffered more than enough in a night to gain access to. Feeling listless and a bit apathetic, I sink back into my post-mission depression with new ammo to fuel the nightmares. I couldn’t care less about getting clean any longer. In actuality, no amount of soap and water could ever make me clean. With a sigh, I head back to my room wishing I had never left it to begin with.

Aya slowly untangled himself from his blankets, stretching out the kinks in his back and shoulders by reaching his arms into the air. Glancing toward the window, the red-haired man noticed the faint rays of sunlight streaming through the curtained window and acknowledged he must have slept past sunrise for once. He turned his head to his nightstand to see the clock blink 6:30.

Late.

He yawned then scratched his stomach while coming to a quick conclusion.

Breakfast. Then Shower.

Once set on a plan of action, Aya moved quickly.  He rose from bed to pace to his dresser, hardly sparing a thought to the morning chill. Grabbing a t-shirt from the top drawer, he pulled the clothing over his bare midriff, the shirt loose and long enough to hang over his comfortable, gray sweatpants. He didn’t bother to look in the mirror, for he cared little for the placement of his hair nor his teammates’ reaction to it. Now dressed, he saw little reason to linger any longer in the room and so headed toward the exit.

Just as he had reached the door, hand placed on the knob in preparation for the turn, a groan reached Aya’s ears from the clump of blankets on his bed. It was quickly followed by a pitiful whine of protest.

“Not so early!” A disembodied hand crawled from the pile upon the mattress, groped about the bedding, and, finding no slender red-head at rest, stilled. Bleary green eyes emerged from a hidden crack in the comforter as a sleep-ridden voice cracked. “Aya! It’s not decent!”

Aya’s hand stilled as he shifted his head to view the mass upon his bed. His face impassive, an unconscious “hn” responded to the accusation thrown at him.

“Back,” the thing from the deep mumbled as the hand weakly waved Aya over. “Come back here. Cold,” was offered in explanation as previously seen, tanned appendage retreated back into the folds.

“Breakfast,” Aya grunted. He finally released the handle to address the nuisance. He would have preferred to just ignore and escape, but knew that that would only bring temporary relief from the badgering. “It’s late,” he added while crossing his arms.

“Late my ass,” growled the bundle as it flopped a bit. It seemed to be rearranging in order to view the clock. “Six fucking thirty?! Oh hell no. Hell NO. That’s it!”

Aya was given little warning as the bedding unexpectedly jumped up and was steered toward him at a surprising speed. His violet eyes registered shock before he was tackled by the creature within, the blankets opening to reveal a disheveled blonde man in nothing but boxers before long arms wrapped around Aya’s waist and absorbed him into the blankets. Before Aya could even think of a response, before his brain could begin to function to let him repel this attack on his being, he was vaulted quickly back onto the bed with a rather impressive “drag-jump” maneuver that would have done a gymnast proud. He found himself encompassed in the blankets he had previously thrown off only minutes before with the slight, but not in any way overlooked, difference of a very grumpy looking lover glaring down into his eyes.

“Yohji,” Aya warned.

“Nuhuh! Nope! You promised no more early mornings on our day off!” A pout graced that beautifully carved face as Aya felt Yohji mold himself to the side of his stiff and prone body. “I’m cold and tired and you’re by far my favorite pillow.” To accentuate his statement, the man buried his face into the curve of Aya’s neck, tangling his legs with the red-head’s whilst sneaking one hand up the just-put-on t-shirt.

Aya gasped at the cold feel of those fingers and his features automatically fell into death-glare mode. He did anything but appreciate his position. He contemplated hitting the blonde idiot, for heaven knew it would be a balm to his anger and annoyance at being treated like a blanket-warmer. Instead, the fiery red-head decided he would just throw off the human-octopus and continue with searching out his breakfast. He would let his need to harm his lover cool over a nice hot bowl of miso soup.

Agreeing with his plan of action, Aya’s free hand reached out to push at Yohji’s shoulder. Right as it was about to make contact, the aforementioned pest shifted languidly. Yohji nuzzled into Aya’s neck a bit more before a gentle kiss from a smiling mouth was placed against his skin.

“Love you Ayan,” he mumbled sleepily before settling down once and for all.

Aya’s push slowed out into a light placing of his hand against Yohji’s shoulder, exasperatedly hugging the idiot to him, as his body finally relaxed. With a long-suffering sigh, a bit of a roll to his eyes, Aya placed a kiss to a mop of blonde hair next to his face, thinking that perhaps breakfast could wait a little while longer.