May 1994

The restaurant stood at the fifth intersection he crossed into, pedestrians streaming about him in a clatter of suede shoes and high heels and mary janes and sneakers. The sun filtered down through the telephone lines, glinting off a pair of neon blue wings flapping mechanically to themselves. Ran Fujimiya pulled a crumpled slip of paper from his pocket and held it up to the light. Right corner, right street, right restaurant. Tokyo Hands, a squat building sandwiched between two high rise buildings, faded logo hanging between two neon blue wings. The smell of sushi and teriyaki sauce filtered out from the back, where a beat up van was double-parked to avoid a pile of plastic trash bags.

Not quite what he expected.

A grinning, good luck cat greeted him with a raised paw as he entered, seven decapitated souls placed high on a slab of wood above him. Good luck, repeat business. He found himself bowing, and blushed as a young waitress appeared at his right, waiting. Ran pulled out a second crumpled paper. He bit his lip as he tried to smooth it out against his knee. Damnable first impression. Damnable first impression. He coughed and held it out to the girl.

"Ah," she said. She took the paper from him and motioned him to follow her. She led him behind the counter. A clatter of dishes rose around him, several young men and women rushing about. A steaming plate of crab on a bed of pilaff sailed past him. A voice called out for a Tajima to hurry up with order No. 768, whom he assumed to be Tajima growling out that he only had two hands. A second plate, sushi, rushed away towards the kitchen, and he was ushered through a set of swinging double doors. The girl slapped his paper down on a counter, the motion making him jump.

"Hey," she called out, "new guy here! I've got to get back to my post, so who's gonna take him?"

A gangly boy with a pony tail stepped up, his hands smeared elbow high with soap suds. "I'll take him. This Sakamoto or Fujishima?"

The girl peered at his paper. "Fujimiya, baka. Sakamoto's already hired."

Ran stepped back as the girl turned to leave. He hoped no one would assign him a shift with her, whoever she was. He risked a look at her name tag as she elbowed past him. Sono-something. He rubbed at the back of his neck, the heat of the cramped room trickling down in a thin line of sweat. He nearly jumped again as a cold, clammy hand slipped into his own.

The gangly boy laughed. "Whoa, sorry 'bout that. Still covered with this gunk. Gomen." He whipped his hand over his black apron and extended it again. "Kodayashi Yasuo desu. Hajimemashite..."

Ran shook it with a limp smile. His name stumbled out in a high school shuffle, complete with one stiff bow and the back of the throat grumble he recognized as his social voice. He coughed. Kodayashi smiled again, still whipping his hands over his apron.

"Ran, huh? Ever seen Kurosawa's Ran?" His smile faltered a little as Ran blinked, the joke whistling past them and falling flat. Kodayashi turned towards a second set of double doors. "Guess not," he mumbled. "Boring movie anyway..." He swung the left door open and motioned Ran to step inside.

"Here ya go, " he said. "The boss's in here. He'll get ya settled and carded and nametaged and fitted and all that squishingly loveable stuff." The doors swung closed behind him with a swish of cold, air conditioned air, Kodayashi's voice melting away towards the kitchen.

"Good luck, boy."
 
 
 

Ran walked home in silence. His shoes thumped against the wall as he stepped into his house, his body following them in a tired heap. His arms hurt from the weigh of many plates and trays and steaming hot lobster he almost spilled. The smell of fish would probably never wash off him. He stretched out his arms, his muscles crying out to be left alone, and curled up on his side.

"You have a room, you know."

He cracked open one eye. His younger sister loomed above him, dirty grey socks and still in her school uniform. Aya. He smiled up at her and stuck out his tongue.

"I'm tired."

Aya tugged at his legs, dragging him an inch before she released him with a grunt. "Yeah, but you're in the way there. Tousan's coming home any minute now, and you're gonna crack his neck if he stumbles over you."

Ran's smile faded. He sat up, running a hand through his hair. His father, a voice coming from down the hall, the stoic, quiet gentleman who read the newspaper every morning. Away at the office, away on the phone, away in this and that district. Away. A cracked neck would keep him in one place, wouldn't it? Ran sighed and stood up.

"Yokkai, I'll go to my room."

He heard Aya's grey socks sliding along behind him, her voice childish. "Aren't you gonna ask me what I did today?" He slid open the screen to his room, the sliding socks stepping in with him. "Well, I had my genetics test, and I remembered everything but screwed up the tables, you know? Then I had some ice cream and came home and watched this really bad show about whales or som'thing like that."

The bed creaked as he dropped on it. Aya's voice washed over him, coming and going in waves. He wanted to tell her about Tokyo Hands and the Sono Girl and the boss and his office that stank of cigarettes, but he couldn't bring himself to stop her from talking. He could see her mouth moving, forming words and stumbling over phrases in her enthusiasm. Soothing. Annoying. Everyday and filtering past him. He closed his eyes.

"That's great, Aya... I'm glad for you..."
 
 

November 1994

"Fujimiya! Order No. 653, step on it! Those old men look peeved."

Ran scooped up his plate of steaming shrimp and rushed past Tajima, the elder boy's own plate of mizo soups clattering as they parted ways, both moving as if the world would come crashing down around them within the next two minutes. Kodayashi's voice rose over the din, orders stumbling out and heading towards their tables. A girl scooped up dirty dishes as a boy placed out new, clean ones on the back counter, rice bowls clinking against each other within a haze of smoke and the smell of raw meat cooking within a sea of vegetables.

Tajima coughed, his free hand rising to rub at his eyes. "I think Maki's overdoing it with that damned grill, man. My eyes are watering..."

Ran grinned, set his plate out at his table with a flourish. "Enjoy," he murmured. "If there is anything else you need, please do not hesitate to call me." He bowed. The little old men nodded gravely. He escaped with a smile forming and a laugh threatening to spill. Kodayashi's voice greeted him as he made his way back to the counter.

"Fujimiya! Order N-"

Ran scooped up his tenth plate of teriyaki tori that day and headed out with a grin. "Got it!" He heard Kodayashi call out to him as he threaded his way towards the tables.

"Yeah, well don't spill it!"

He could feel his smile fading. Fading slowly.
 
 
 

The bed creaked underneath him, his eyes closing even before he lay his head against the pillow. Sleep. I'll sleep now... sleep... He lay in bed, still, listening to his heart beating from within, thumping in his ears. His screen door slid open. Aya's voice drifted in.

"Ran...? Dinner's ready."

His breath escaped in a sigh. He wasn't hungry. He had delivered enough tori and sushi and crab and shrimp and lobster and vegetables and soup and ramen and complimentary mints to feed the entire block. He didn't feel like looking down at more food.

"I'm not hungry," he mumbled, his voice muffled against his pillow. He knew Aya wouldn't leave his door, but he couldn't bring himself to move. "I'm tired..." He heard Aya sigh.

"Yeah, I know... you always are..."
 
 

January 1995

There was a drone in the back of his head. It scratched against his brain and spilled out through his ears. Noise. Dishes clattering, voices babbling out, Kodayashi shouting out orders and admonitions. People. Everywhere people. People eating. He could hear them munching, food grinding under teeth, saliva, lips smacking. Throats contracted and liquid sailed down, appreciation spilling forth. Ah, itadakimasu. Subarashii. Suteki na tenpura desu nee. Oishii. Lips smacking. Chopsticks clicking against ceramic bowls. Throats gurgling. Food. The smell of it, the consumption of it. Food. Everywhere. The noise of food...

"Fujimiya!"

Ran's head snapped up. Kodayashi stood beside him, sweat trickling down his cheeks, his eyes feverish. "What are ya standing around for? Order No. 834's on the counter. Step on it!"

834 went to a lady with a small boy. She smiled as he set the plates down, not seeming to notice the slight sway of his body as he bowed, his words as host barely audible over the blood rushing in his ears. "Can I have a pair of child's chopsticks?" He bowed again, the world spinning as he straightened. "Of course, m'am."

He stumbled back to the counter and sat down with a heavy sigh. "Order No. 834 wants a pair of child's chopsticks..." A commotion of plates and steam greeted his words. Tajima clapped his hands over his shoulders and shook him. "Hey! Fujimya! Hang in there! New Year's crowd, OK? Nothing else. Hang on, man." Ran's body rocked as Tajima clapped him on the back, a pair of chopsticks pressed into his palm before the elder boy rushed off, the squeak of wheels following him. Ran looked down at the chopsticks in his hand. Pink, with white rabbits jumping over egg blue clouds. Aya's favourite animal. Bunnies. He closed his hand over them.
 
 
 

Aya set his tray of food by his bed. "Why are you doing this to yourself, Ran?"

He sat up in bed, his clothes crumpled and sagging. He ran a hand across his eyes. It seemed as if the gunk would never leave them. "I don't know... I wanted some extra money, I guess."

"You guess?" Aya smiled, reaching out to pat his knee. "You're tiring yourself out, niichan. I think you work too hard. You need a break. Spring's coming, remember? Tougher classes... the bustle of hanami and all that."

"I know... Trust me, I know."

He swung his legs down, his head resting against a bedpost. Every muscle in his body ached. Almost. He had no clear idea, but it seemed like it. Starting at his neck and snaking down his back, forming lumps along his arms and reaching down into his legs. Pulsing. He wanted to sleep, just lie back and sleep clear through to the next year. He wanted Kodoyashi's neck. "If I hear him call out one more order, I swear I'll..." His hands appeared before his vision, closing over Kodayashi's throat, squeezing slowly. "Like that. Just like that. Good bye, Mr. Order..."

"Ne... Ran? Do you wanna go out...?"
 
 
 

They walked their bikes towards the park in silence. Aya's chain had given out after five miles, and it hung in a limp slump, clanking against the side of her bike. She hadn't even attempted to snap it back into place. We'll just walk, she said, and picked up her bike and ignored the scratches on her knees. A brisk wind came up from downtown, scattering leaves and pollen. Aya halted her bike.

"Sugee," she breathed. "It's like in that anime... the flowers that change colour..."

Ran halted his bike beside her. Tiny red flowers swayed in the breeze, now red, now pink, fluttering over the grass in waves. He had no idea what TV show Aya was referring to, but it did look pretty. Sort of. He looked at Aya, standing still, smiling to herself. She seemed different somehow, like a whole new person. Someone he didn't know. Her dark hair played across her cheeks, ivory profile and bright blue eyes shinning within themselves. Has she always been that pretty...? An image flashed across his eyes, a young man holding Aya's hand, leaning forward to kiss her. Ran blinked and the image was gone. Aya had turned away from the flowers.

"I thought maybe we could get some hot dogs," she was saying, almost to herself. "Is that OK, Ran?"

He jogged up to her side, his bike jangling. "Yeah, I guess so..."

"There goes 'I guess' again." She laughed, a short little sound that never reached her eyes. It made him stop in his tracks.

"Aya...?"

She smiled. "I'm all right."
 
 
 

One last bang at the ketchup bottle, and a spurt of gunky red liquid spurted out onto the plate, splattering against their hot dogs. A mess. Ran dabbed his napkin over it. Damned ketchup bottles. The mess was spreading, and Ran just gave it up as useless. He crumpled up his napkin and threw it into the trash. Aya scooped up some of the ketchup and spread it over her hot dog. He could see she was laughing, even if her lips were still.

Ran coughed. "Did you want to talk about... anything?"

She looked up at him in silence, still spreading out her ketchup. "No, nothing in particular. You just seemed... you know."

"I'm all right. You don't have to worry. I'm just tired..."

She took a bite from her hot dog. Her teeth grinding meat. He tried not to cringe. She wiped her mouth and looked up at him again. There was something strange about her, as if something wanted to explode behind her eyes. She tried to smile.

"I kind'a... I dunno... I kind'a miss you, Ran."

He blinked. He set his hands palm down on the table. He coughed. He chuckled and pushed back his bangs. "Ah..." He had nothing better to say. A blush was creeping up his cheeks, and he hated himself for it. He wanted to laugh. He thought he was laughing. He could hear his own voice as if from within a tunnel. Baka, he was saying as he laughed, I'm not going anywhere. Don't be silly. He looked into Aya's eyes. Had he really said that...?

"I know," she murmured, embarrassed. "It's just that you're always either studying or working and... Well, I..." She coughed. "Iya, it's all right."

He sat in silence, gazing down at his hands. I need the money, he heard himself say. She asked why, and he could only shrug in reply. For stuff. I'm tired of asking kaasan for money. He heard his words as his mouth pushed them forward, hanging between them, mingling with the sound of teeth grinding over food. Empty. He trailed his fingers over the table.

He said, "I'm all right," and smiled. It was the best he could do.
 
 

November 1995: Coda

He slid the door to his room closed and pulled on a sweater. His coat was waiting in the hall with his overnight bag. Everything he owned fit in it. Everything else stayed behind. An uncle in Sapporo would come for the rest in a few weeks. He picked up his keys and walked down the gravel path slowly. He didn't look up at anything, rock garden, plum trees, lanterns tastefully arranged to light the path. He placed his bag in the trunk of his car, shut it carefully, and came around to get behind the wheel. The car started in a rumble that ran through his bones.

First the restaurant.

He stepped in as usual, to the sound of Tajima stacking his trays while Sonoyuki scowled at Kodayashi's voice calling out. Order No. 619 is getting old here! He walked among them like a zombie, seeing each one of them as if for the first time. All so handsome and alive and beautiful. Tajima's hands stopped him before he reached the double doors to the boss's office.

"Yo, Fujimiya, where the Hell've you been? Kodayashi says he last saw you Wednesday of last week. Is everything all right...?"

He shrugged and smiled a tight grimace. That seemed enough for Tajima. The elder boy stepped back and clapped him on the back. "Yoshi. Glad to see yer OK, man." He walked away without another word, and Ran watched him leave without really noticing that he was no longer even seeing him. It was Kodayashi gazing at him, asking the same question.

"Last I saw of you," he was saying, "your sister had come in and you were leaving early. We had to pull some mighty hefty strings to get a replacement. The boss's not going to like this, Fujimiya. He called you a few days ago..."

Ran walked past him with the same tight smile he had given Tajima. He could tell Kodayashi was worried, but there was nothing else to say. Nothing he wanted to say. He pushed open the swinging doors and stepped into the boss's office. The smell of cigarettes drifted up to meet him and he knew it would be short and worthless. Resign, shake hands, walk out. Leave the nametag with Sonoyuki.

He bypassed the hospital. He bypassed the site of the explosion, yellow police tape keeping curious passer-by at bay. He turned his eyes away. He didn't want to see. He looked down at his feet. One foot in front of the other. Walking, he was walking. The smell of restaurants swirled around him, AC drifting out from stores, high heels clicking over the pavement. He closed his eyes.

Goodbye, everyone... goodbye everyone... everyone... goodbye... With each step. Goodbye. It didn't seem real. None of it. My sister was in an accident, Tajima. She's in a coma. An accident, Tajima. Some arseholes bombed my father's building... None of it seemed real or believable. Listen, my father was accused of something... I don't know... I didn't know my father. Was it drugs...? None of it seemed real at all. We can't crawl out of our skins... Listen, these words we use, they're never enough. He stopped. The sun beat down on a silent world covered with early snow. Grey and black and white. Words are never enough... Is that it? I wanted to tell her many things. I want to say so many things. It doesn't'... He sighed. An old lady blinked at him as she passed, burdened under her shopping bags. It doesn't make any sense... Aya...
 
 
 

He climbed the steps of the motel slowly. His car looked up at him from below, a silvery sports car his father couldn't come back to claim. He shut the door to it, sliding the locks into place with a click. He headed towards the faucet lining the back wall and switched on the light. A yellow haze flooded into his face. His face. Still his face. He frowned at it and reached up to finger his hair. Bright red. It made him look paler. He ran a hand through it in absentminded strokes and turned to pick up what he had carried with him from the car.

A heavy bundle, hunter green cloth decorated with bright purple plum trees, golden tree trunks. He held it in his arms and felt its weigh as it pulled at his muscles. It was real. Real weigh. He untied the bundle and knelt on the ground. A black sheath, a simple design. He clutched it against his chest. A sword. A heavy, silvery sword. Bullets are a mercy, lodging into the skin and all of those reports about people not feeling a thing, not seeing what had hit them. He unsheathed the sword and gazed down at the refracted light. A sword was face to face and there and slicing through your flesh. Cutting you in half. He tightened his grip around it, releasing it slowly before he wrapped it again.

He stood up slowly and leaned against the faucet's edge. His hands were covering his face. His hands were covering his tears. They slid down his hands and into his skin. Into the skin he could never break out of. His own skin. Trapping him inside.

Just as he expected.
 
 
 
 

Author's Note

This story has to be dedicated to my house mate Yohji, simply because it was written after I complained about having nothing to do, to which he replied: "Write another Weiß story, Aya." And so this was born, after much hassling Yohji for a plot. He suggested I write about Ran and Aya, and so I obliged, push over that I am. Heh.

This entire story is fiction (of course), excepting the restaurant Tokyo Hands and the character of Kodayashi, both of whom exist in the manga. I somewhat prefer the manga to the anime, actually, so I've chosen the manga's explosion over the anime's car accident as Aya chan's accident... ::bows to the ever present hovering presence of aya chan:: The anime Aya chan refers to, by the by, with the flowers that change colour in the breeze, is Go Nagai's 1970's series: Dinamo.

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© December 19-20th, 1999 Team Bonet. Weiß Kreuz is @ 1997 Project Weiß and Koyasu Takehito. Yonde imashita, domo arigatou gozaimasu. Thank you for reading.