Schuldig smirked into his pixie stick as the girl scooped up the envelopes. Oh, this was rich, if she were the one to give it to Aybssinian! If he opened it in front of her, it would definitely make getting up while still hungover worth it. Schu checked he was still hidden–he wasn’t exactly inconspicuous–and leaned back to enjoy.
Abyssinian was alone in the shop, but the girl didn’t give him the envelope, she hadn’t seen there were two. Schu was about to give her a shove, when he caught a glimpse of her brother’s thoughts and doubled up laughing.
Kudou had dodged? Kudou had run? What the hell was wrong with the man? Schu would have done the redhead right there in the car, if he were into cold and bitchy. But Kudou was so damn in love he had been noble?
Oh Gott, this just got better! Abyssinian didn’t understand, he thought Kudou didn’t want him! And oh, it mattered to him, oh, Schu could use this…
Bradley fucking Crawford had lied. Or he hadn’t seen the entire situation. One more thing to make him pay for, if the first. Tantalizing vulnerability, if the second. But how to–
The girl was heading into the house now, her thoughts as delightfully painful as her brother’s. It must be a family thing. Good to know she wasn’t as mindless as he’d thought. First impressions could be so deceiving.
Just to see what happened, Schu gave her a shove. As he’d hoped, she opened the envelope. It was her name too, after all. Then she opened the other, which was not addressed to her, such rudeness! But that couldn’t have been better if Schu had planned it. Then she stormed for the stairs. Schuldig decided to risk the fire escape. He might just have to get in on this.
***
“Well, it’s good to see you, I must go, I know I look a fright,” Yohji sang, though his throat was threatening to close completely. He took a hit from his cigarette.
Last song. This one last song and he was going to go and talk to Aya. He should have done it sooner, he should have opened the door when he heard Aya run Kenken off.
“Anyway my eyes are not accustomed to this light.” This one was almost funny.
“And my boots are not accustomed to this hard concrete.” After this song, he was going to go talk to Aya. While he was still stuck in the Koneko. Even Aya wouldn’t kill him in the shop while it was open.
“So I must go back to my room and make my day complete.”
Half a bottle of vodka had let Yohji see it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. No matter how little he remembered, Aya had to know nothing had really happened. Yohji had changed clothes after his shower, but Aya had stalked out still wearing his no-way-in-hell-Kudou-got-in-these pants. Well, with those zippers–no. Aya knew him, Aya would know that if Yohji had gotten him out of his pants, no way in hell would he have put the redhead back in them.
If half a bottle had come up with that comforting thought–but after that it all went downhill. If Aya didn’t remember the reason for the handcuffs–and even if he did, he’d still be furious about the bet. He had a right to be. And of course, that bastard Schuldig had toyed with Aya-chan.
But–at the end of the first bottle–Aya would forgive Yohji, he had to realize Schuldig wasn’t Yohji’s fault.
Who was he kidding? Everything was Kudou’s fault, just ask Aya. So Yohji started on the second bottle and thought some more.
“Smokin’ cigarettes and watching Captain Kann-ga-rooo…” he sang along. He loved that line. “Now don’t tell meee I’ve nothing to dooo.”
He had to talk to Aya. It was that or give up, lie here and drink himself into oblivion and hope he didn’t find his way out this time. But that wasn’t really an option, Omi and Aya-chan wouldn’t–God. Aya-chan. Every time he remembered she’d seen the handcuffs, Yohji shuddered. And knew Aya was probably angrier about that than anything else that had happened.
Face Aya. Get it over with. It would be easier to hide from Aya-chan if he could duck into the mission room without being afraid of running into Aya. Or, cheery thought, Aya would kill him, and he’d never have to face Aya-chan.
Going down to the Koneko. In a minute. Get up, get a shower, go down to the Koneko.
“Well, I’m back again,” Dwight sang, “for another night.
Of trying to break free from the sadness that I can’t lay to rest.”
Right after this song.
“This old honky-tonk sure does feel like home.
And the music with the laughter seem to soothe my loneliness.”
Someone knocked on the door. Yohji ignored it. That wasn’t Aya’s knock, and he wasn’t answering anyone else. He wasn’t sure he’d have answered even Aya, he wanted a shower first. And he wanted witnesses. Witnesses who couldn’t hear, but might keep Aya from killing him. “So turn it on, turn it up, turn me loose from the memory that’s driving me lonely, crazy and blue…”
The knock sounded again. Who was that, Yohji wondered idly. Not that it mattered. It sounded like Ken’s anger, but lacked his power. It definitely wasn’t Aya, Aya did not pound. Omi usually was quieter, but it could be Omi, if he was determined.
He didn’t want to talk to Omi. Especially a determined Omi.
“… so the louder the better.
Hey mister, turn it on, turn it up, turn me loose.”
Face Aya. Hmm. Should he beg for his life first, or jump right into the explanation? Right, like that would–now someone was jiggling the door knob. If Omi picked that damn lock–
“Go away!”
“I won’t!” said a female voice. God, Aya-chan! No, no, the plan was never to face her, to hide until she went to college–Yohji hit the mute on the stereo.
“Aya-chan–“
The door opened. But he’d locked–Aya-chan had one of Omi’s lockpicks in one hand, some crumpled papers in the other. Yohji stared an instant, shocked at how much she looked like her brother.
Because that was an F6 shi-ne glare, aimed straight at him.
Yohji realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and grabbed something off the floor. Che, it was–Aya-chan’s eyes narrowed on the zippers and buckles of Aya’s new shirt. She raised her eyes to Yohji’s, and he decided the Fujimiya glare was even worse coming from her. She mixed ample amounts of hurt into the anger, and Yohji ached to see it.
“I trusted you,” she said. “I helped you and I trusted you and you–what do you do, Kudou?” Not Yohji-kun, or even an affectionate ‘baka,’ he’d been relegated to last name. “Do you make marks on your belt? On your headboard? Or only boast to your friends that you were the first to fuck Fujimiya Ran?”
“N-nan da–?” He couldn’t even finish the phrase, he was so stunned at those words coming from this innocent–Aya-chan shook her head, now there were tears in her eyes.
“I thought I was your friend. That Ran was.”
This had to be about the handcuffs, right? Even if she’d waited hours to come after him. “Aya-chan, it’s not what you–“
”You made a mistake, Kudou,” she said, and her voice was as cold as her brother’s had ever been. “You forgot that revenge is what Fujimiyas live for.” She flung a paper at him. Flung. Aya-chan. Who never lost her temper, not even when Aya smothered her until she turned blue.
“Aya-chan, what–?” Oh. Yohji felt the blood drain from his face, as the paper fluttered to the floor, face up.
Aya, shirtless and struggling, handcuffed to his bed. DAMN Schuldig!!
“Who else did you send copies to, temee?”
“Aya-chan–“ How to explain, without mentioning–
“‘Yohji-chan,’” she read from the other paper, “‘don’t call me, I think your friend was serious! But I’ll be working all afternoon, I’ll buy your lunch if you give me the whole story. I’m dying to hear about your little game!’” Aya-chan waved the letter. “What happened, Yotan? You didn’t send her a picture yet?”
Mamiko. Oh damn, the entire universe was gunning for him today. Yohji sank down on the bed, he couldn’t think, he’d had far too much vodka to deal with this–
“Now you start to realize,” Aya-chan said with satisfaction. ”I hope you did care for him, Kudou. I can’t run you through like he could–like he won’t–all I can do is make you see what you’ve done.”
“Please–“
”Father was not comfortable,” she talked over him, as remorseless as Aya, “with his orientation. They fought, but Ran respected Father’s wishes. Eventually Father accepted it, and Ran was going to start dating. As soon as he found someone he wanted to see. He met someone at the festival, on my birthday.”
Oh God, that was the day–
“That–thing–happened instead,” Aya-chan went on, “and Ran became Aya.” She was skipping a bit, Yohji wondered how much she knew, and what she had pieced together wrong. “Aya, the one you called the ice princess.”
Who the hell had told her that?
“He devoted his life to me,” Aya-chan said, “and you mocked him. Everything was buried, except for what he had to do to protect and help me.” Now tears were running down her face. “And I helped you hurt him. I’m so selfish, I thought if he had a boyfriend, maybe he’d let me have one, and then–“
”Aya-chan, I didn’t–“ Chikusho! How could he explain that he’d handcuffed her brother to the bed because Aya was a horny bastard, and Yohji didn’t think sex was a good idea?
”Shut up, Kudou! You were his first date, his first kiss probably, definitely his first lover, and I will never forgive you for hurting him!” She tossed her hair, and glared again. “You are a fool, Kudou, and my sincerest wish is that you realize what you let slip away from you, the day you chose to use Fujimiya Ran as a trophy fuck.”
God, where did she learn such things? Fuck that, Aya-chan thought–
But she was gone. And there wasn’t any point in arguing anyway, not now. He had to figure out how to explain before he talked to her. There were secrets Aya–
Yohji swore, in what little English he knew, in Japanese, in the bits of German he’d picked up from Schuldig. If Aya-chan had that picture, so did Aya. Probably Omi and Ken, too, maybe even one mailed to Sakura, for all he knew. Everyone else thought Aya didn’t care for the girl at all, but Yohji knew he saw her as another imouto. And what Yohji knew, Schuldig might. Knowing that smirking bastard, all of Tokyo might be plastered with pictures by now.
Swearing wasn’t enough. Yohji flung a pillow across the room, growled at the stupidity and flung the ashtray. That produced a satisfying thud, and a hell of a mess besides. The empty vodka bottle did even better, it shattered. Yohji picked up the second bottle, but that was alcohol abuse. Empty it, then throw it. Down the hatch, Kudou-san.
It didn’t matter any more what he said. There was no point explaining, it didn’t matter what had happened or not happened. Not with Schuldig passing out that picture. Reserved, private Aya would be humiliated, mortified. Shy Ran would vanish again, Aya would retreat into his icy shell–
DAMN Schuldig! Last night Aya had let himself cut loose a little–okay, a lot–and Yohji had been enchanted all over again. Now he would be lucky if he saw that mischievous little sneak again in years.
Kill Schuldig. That was the only thing that might help. Maybe if he presented Aya with the telepath’s mangled body–
::Thinking of me?:: asked that hated voice. ::Yohji-chan, I didn’t know you cared!::
“Where are you, temee?”
A knock on the window, and that German bastard was winking at him. Yohji launched. Get him, damn it, that would make Aya smile, he’d bet anything–
German bastard was fast!
***
Yohji slapped a hand to brick, leaned on the building gasping for air. Had to quit smoking. Had to–why was that woman–
“Kudou Yohji,” he said aloud, “you truly are an idiot.” Another pedestrian, a man this time, glanced at him, dropped his eyes and casually crossed the street as the woman had. Yohji stepped back into the alley and pondered his options.
He reeked of vodka and he didn’t have any cigarettes. He was wearing Aya’s club shirt and a pair of pajama pants and house slippers. He wasn’t wearing his watch. If he had gotten near Schuldig he would have been completely at the man’s non-existent mercy. He had no money, no keys, no cell phone, and he’d have to walk past Aya or Aya-chan or both to get any of them. Without his watch to pull the ladder down, he couldn’t get back up the fire escape.
Baka! He thumped his forehead with a fist, and did it again, harder. Baka, baka, baka! How the hell did he always mess things up so badly?
“When you gonna learn?” he muttered. “Bakayaro, when the hell are you gonna learn?”
::Never, probably. But I’ll buy you a drink if you like, and try to teach you.::
::Schuldig, I would sooner drink with–::
::The devil himself?:: Schuldig laughed. ::Exactly what I’m offering! Mou, Kudou-san, I’ll even buy you clothes.:: With that astounding lightness, the German landed a few meters away, Yohji didn’t bother to look where he’d been.
“I’m not talking to you,” he growled. “You only get me in trouble!” Yohji stuck his fingers in his ears and hummed.
::Gott in der Holle:: the German exclaimed in his head, ::you are such an idiot!::
Damn. He did have a point. Yohji took his fingers out of his ears.
“You can stand there until the police come,” Mastermind pointed out, “or you can come with me. Or you can go home like that.” His smirk widened. “I don’t know why I’m even offering an alternative, that would be such fun. Abyssinian and his sister are dealing with fangirls, Siberian has his soccer brats over, and Bombay is determined to talk to you. The possibilities are…mind-boggling.”
“Schuldig,” Yohji said plaintively, “is it really that much fun, torturing me?”
“Balinese,” the German chuckled, “you have no idea.”
***
“Ken-kun,” Omi gasped, charging down the stairs, “send them home. Now.”
“Hey, you can’t–“
”Now, Ken-kun!” Omi ran past, into the Koneko. “Aya-kun, I have to talk to you! Now!”
Aya looked up from the register. The rush was trailing off, but to leave Aya-chan alone–
“Go, go!” Aya-chan waved cheerfully. “I’ve got this.”
One minute later Aya and Omi were standing in Yohji’s room. Ken came storming up the stairs.
“What’s the big–“ he trailed off as he looked into the room. “Where’s Yohji?”
Omi just looked at him, then turned back to Aya. “The door was unlocked, Aya-kun. Earlier it was locked. I don’t know how long he’s been gone.”
“It looks like a war in here!” Ken blurted. Omi cringed, he tried to amend it. “But there’s no blood–“
”But there’s no Yohji, either,” Omi pointed out. Aya stepped slowly around the room, Omi watched him. The redhead stopped right where Omi expected him to, staring at the floor.
“How much booze got into him, do you think, if this place reeks like this?” Ken asked, crossing the room. Aya-kun slipped the paper in his pocket, moved on. “Did you look if he fell out the window?” Ken was saying. “It’s open.”
“Ken-kun–” Omi cut off with a gasp as Aya straightened in the corner.
“His watch!” Ken blurted. “He’d never–“
”He took it off this morning,” Aya said.
“What in hell did he do that for?” Ken demanded. Omi shot him a Look.
“Aya-kun,” Omi said softly, “what’s different from this morning, please?”
The redhead pointed at the broken bottle, at the ashtray, and then shook his head. “That’s it. No war, Omi. He probably left on his own, just forgetting his watch.”
“Aya-kun, will you kindly decide if you think I am smart or stupid?” He couldn’t believe he’d said that, he was usually more diplomatic. But he just didn’t have the patience when Yohji was in trouble.
Ken and Aya were staring at him. He pointed. “Yohji’s wallet is on the dresser. The clothes he wore last night are right there, and his credit card is still in that stupid pocket.” Yohji didn’t like to hide anything, so he had pockets sewn on the hip, only big enough for that important item. “His keys are there,” Omi pointed at the floor, “and his cell phone.” Yohji kept them on a lanyard, around his neck if necessary, but usually in his hand and not taking away from his appearance. “His watch is still here. Why would Yohji leave without all of those?”
“If he ran out of cigarettes,” Ken said uncomfortably, “or booze–“
”There are five packs of cigarettes on the bed, including an open one, a full bottle of vodka and some of another,” Omi snapped. Honestly! They had eyes! “Yohji did not leave on his own,” Omi went on, turning to Aya-kun. “And I’m sorry, Abyssinian, but I have to say it was negligent of you and Yohji not to mention a visit from Mastermind of Schwarz.”
“Schuldig!” Ken hissed. Aya sighed.
“You heard?”
“You woke me, yelling ‘Balinese!’ Then I heard Yohji yelling at Schuldig to get out. I assume he was up to his usual, trying to divide us?”
“Hai,” Aya-kun confirmed, but he didn’t say anything else. Omi folded his arms. They’d wasted enough time.
“I need to examine that photograph, Abyssinian.”
“What–oh my God!” Ken shouted, as Aya-kun wordlessly handed over the photo. He roared laughter, and stuttered through it. “Aya–oh my–“
”When you are done acting like a twelve-year-old,” Omi snapped. “It isn’t how it looks, Ken-kun, have you forgotten Schuldig is involved?”
“Twelve?” At least he’d momentarily forgotten the photo. Omi rubbed his forehead as Ken spluttered irritation. When and why had the brunette started annoying him so much? He had always gotten along with Ken.
Worry about that later. “Aya-kun, Schuldig took this picture?”
“Hai.”
“He must have come back with this later, I’m sure he wasn’t carrying a digital photo printer…” Omi turned the sheet over and sighed. “I don’t see anything right now. What are those other papers? Were they there?”
“No…” Aya-kun picked up a note and envelope, and frowned. “Aya-chan had this. She found it outside for Yohji, half an hour ago. So he had time to go downstairs and come back–“
”Or Aya-chan brought it up,” Ken said. “She’s sweet on Yohji.”
Aya’s eyes locked on the photo, and he went paler than Omi had ever seen him. But he straightened. “I will ask her.”
“Ken-kun and I,” Omi said, either out of cowardice or common sense or delicacy, he wasn’t sure which, “will go look around outside. If he was here as recently as half an hour ago, we might learn something.”
“Hai!” Ken agreed, rushing down the stairs. “Good idea, Omi!”
“Wait, Ken-kun, we should–“ But the brunette was already gone. Omi sighed and followed Aya-kun down the stairs. He’d known he and Aya-chan should have found a way to chaperone the two. How had they ended up entangled with Schwarz?
And why was he so tense all the time lately, that he thought things with such emphasis?
***
Crawford was getting worried. It had been more than fifteen hours since he’d left Schuldig at the love hotel, and the German wasn’t back yet. He hadn’t come for his things in his once-a-year run away from home, he hadn’t called to hurl drunken curses at Bradley Crawford, there was nothing on the news about a redheaded gaijin streaking through the parks…aside from the twenty-seven orders of delivered food that had arrived through the day, there had not been one word from the telepath. Silence from Schuldig made Brad Crawford nervous.
The doorbell rang. Twenty-eight? Or the police bringing a nude telepath home? Or rather, coming to tell his ‘keeper’ where the man was hospitalized for observation…
“Oh Crawford-san,” Nagi yelled. The boy was taking an inordinate amount of delight in the situation– “This one is for you!”
“Really.” Crawford grumbled. But curiosity took him to see anyway. So far of twenty-seven orders, there had not been one food he liked. He hadn’t realized he was so picky, and he hadn’t realized Schuldig knew him so well. Four orders of sushi and three of sashimi, when Crawford refused to eat raw fish, that was easy. But the bag of jalapeno cheese bagels? The chicken-liver yakitori? Okonomiyaki, with all the most disgusting–to Crawford–toppings. And a whole list of others. Somehow Schuldig had even managed to have ‘real authentic Mexican-style’ chimichangas delivered.
Pizza Hut? Anywhere but Japan, that would be hopeful. Nagi took two pizzas, Farfarello four, and Crawford the last three. Nine pizzas, was there some significance to that? All the other orders had been sized for two or three people.
The driver bowed and left, that was another thing. If he really wanted to be annoying, why was Schuldig paying for the food, instead of letting Crawford argue with the delivery drivers? Just to prove he could, to show he could stand on his own?
Crawford did not like that idea at all.
“Hmm,” Nagi was saying. “Pineapple and ham. Do you like pineapple and ham, Crawford-san?”
“Yes,” Crawford answered, surprised. “Well, it’s okay, anyway. Not my favorite topping.”
“Oh, there’s shrimp on it too,” Nagi said. Crawford sighed.
“Tame,” Farfarello frowned and opened a pizza. “This one has extra pineapple, I think. And–wasabe?” He opened another. “Pineapple and ham. And–Schuldig! Anchovies!”
“This one has squid,” Nagi said. “And pineapple and ham.”
Crawford shuddered, and checked the rest of the pizzas. All nine pizzas had pineapple and ham, with a topping he didn’t like. What was that supposed to mean?