Seuche
fatal, not serious…
a Weiss Kreuz fanfiction by laila

Standard Copyright Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz, it’s characters, indices and all the rest of it remain the property of Kyoko Tsuchiya, Koyasu Takehito, Project Weiss, TV Tokyo, Movic and any other individuals or companies whom I may have inadvertently left out. This is a fan work from which no profit is being made or will be made, written solely for the amusement of anyone who may wish to read it and of course myself, as it’s author.

Author’s Notes: Weiss Kreuz, like Angel Sanctuary, is one of those series where I love the setting almost as much as the characters. Consequently, trying to find a clear time period for this fic led to several hours’ agonizing and a massive headache. I couldn’t use the period covered by the OAVsas I know sweet FA about them and I need this to come after so much of the TV series has been and gone that it only left me the possibility of fitting it just before the showdown with Esset. This definitely has to be post-Schreient. Right – I’m setting this then and hoping for the best. I can’t do anything else; I need to use the 'Kapitel' location because it’s the only one I’m sure about. I would have liked to set it safely after but can’t quite swing it. I know – there’s no way there could be enough time for all the events contained in this story to take place, but oh well. Things would get far too confusing if one added Schreient to the equation as well. And I would love cc. This is a work in progress and something whose creation I am treating almost like a second job, and I would absolutely love to know what people thought of it. So please, let me know what you think. Please.
Note that, although the opening scenes do focus on a young woman, this is not, repeat not a 'strange girl enters the Weiss boys' lives, love blossoms' kind of fic. This character is supposed to be important, but rest assured that it is most assuredly not like that.

Warnings: This story contains shounen-ai, bad language, violence, death and some very dark themes, amongst other things. Mature minds of any age welcome.

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Part 1 – Fremder: Out of the night

She didn’t know how long she had been running. Long enough for her breathing to come in gasps, for every snatched breath to scald her lungs, for her chest to feel tight, as if someone had trapped it in a vise and was slowly turning it closed. Her pulse pounded in her ears, racing, the only sound she could hear and, when she paused at the mouth of the alleyway, gazing hurriedly and anxiously around herself – a prey animal apprehensively scanning the area for any sign of a predator before risking a dart out into the open – she had to lean on the scarred wall to stop herself from slumping to the floor. Her feet hurt. She couldn’t discount the possibility that they were bleeding.

It would have been easy to collapse, to sink into blissful unconsciousness but she couldn’t. Not when they were— would they be chasing her still? She had come so far. Surely they couldn’t be? She knew her own worth to them… surely they’d have given up by now?

Surely they would have. But how could she allow herself to believe it?

The girl, her auburn hair falling in tangles into her face, normally pale cheeks flushed with exertion, looked nervously around herself again, eyes darting this way and that, taking in the alleyway, the piles of trash that lined it, the quiet street up ahead, lined with shuttered storefronts, that would be all too busy in a few hours. She could hear nothing but she didn’t allow herself to relax. How far could you run from something like that? Far enough, she had thought. She had fancied this city large enough, anonymous enough, that it would be a simple matter for her to disappear into it, to become just another face in the crowd the way she had always imagined. A clean sheet, a new beginning, starting over – the clichés were all too apt. Now, however, she wasn’t so sure.

Even if they weren’t still pursuing her, this was no place to stay. Their finding her wasn’t the only thing someone like herself had to fear. All too easy to fall victim to some of the more mundane misfortunes that a young woman, alone and hopelessly lost in an unfamiliar city, could suffer. Ignoring the tightness in her chest, her aching limbs, the fact that every instinct she possessed was telling her to drop, to collapse where she stood and who cared if they found her, she forced herself forward, out into the empty street. Traffic lights at an intersection up ahead flickered from green to red and back again, uselessly; at this hour the road was quite empty save for the occasional parked car.

All about her, the city slept.

It was almost dawn; the pale fingers of morning were brushing the horizon, only serving to accent the shadows and make the darkness above her head seem even more acute. There were no stars visible here, the leftover glow of the city saw to that, and the moon glowed wanly, seeming almost apologetic about it’s feeble showing. Soon she would have to find somewhere to hide herself.

The day would break and the sun would rise and soon enough they, all of them, would know that she was gone. The girl allowed herself to hope that, perhaps, they wouldn’t care. They had been disappointed in her as it was; she wasn’t making the progress they had hoped for. She was turning, in their own words, into yet another not-quite-good-enough. They wouldn’t waste their efforts on finding a not-quite-good-enough. They had other, more important, things to do…

But maybe, she thought, it wouldn’t be about me or what I could do for them. Maybe it would be about the precedent. Nobody had run from them before, or at least they hadn’t managed to get far. It was not a comforting notion. Raking sweat-dampened hair from her face she hurried on, stumbling slightly. Weariness enervated her, leaving her clumsy. She wouldn’t be able to go on much longer, she knew it. Maybe she should never have left… no. She had to leave. She had no choice but to leave and, even if she had wanted to go back, and pray it would never happen, she knew the city so poorly that she couldn’t have said with any real certainly where she had run here from. She wouldn’t have been able to find her way back even if she had wanted to.

God knew she didn’t want to. She would rather die than go back to them again.

---

“Have you seen Youji-kun?”

The sun had already risen but there was a slight chill in the early-morning air as Omi Tsukiyono stepped out of the Koneko no Sumu Ie with a large pot of absurdly bushy and verdant bamboo clasped tightly to his chest. He shivered slightly as the cool morning air hit his bare arms – a shock after the artificially warm confines of the flower shop – and wondered briefly if it was worth going back in for a sweater. Probably not. It would warm up soon enough and he wouldn’t be out here that long. Just inside the store Ken Hidaka, re-arranging pots of Dutch hyacinths on one of the shelves, looked up at the sound of the boy’s voice, stepping over to the doorway and shielding his eyes from the early-morning light.

“That you behind there, Omi?” He asked, trying, without much success, to keep back a grin.
“Of course.” Omi replied seriously, peering out from around the side of the plant. “What’s so funny?”
“You might want to put that down.” Ken suggested. “I feel like I’m talking to a tree.”
Omi pulled a face as he gently set the plant on the ground. He hoped they’d be able to sell that bamboo soon; carrying that thing out every day was getting ridiculous. Straightening and dusting off his hands, he glanced over at his companion. “So… have you seen him?”
“Youji? No.” With a shrug, Ken turned back to the hyacinths. No, he hadn’t seen Youji and he wasn’t all that surprised. Irritated, Hell yeah. Surprised, not really. It was just Youji being Youji and not even worth getting annoyed about for all that he was. “He was off out last thing I knew.”
“Meeting someone?”
“Probably. But what can we do?” A slight sigh; accepting it. “He can look after himself.”

Omi nodded, heading back into the store to pick up another pot plant. It wasn’t exactly unlike Youji to vanish off by himself in the evenings, he had to admit, irritating though it could undoubtedly be. Still, there was no doubt that it was a good sign Youji was acting rather more like himself again; recently he had been in quite a slump. No wonder. He was grieving Asuka and Asuka’s resurrection as Neu, the betrayal Omi and Ken had seen coming and which Youji had refused to believe in – and her death, death which had come at Youji’s own hands. Ken could relate to that and rather wished he couldn’t: Omi thought it was no wonder Youji felt low.

Omi hadn’t seen Aya all morning either but he knew from long experience that it really wasn’t worth getting too worked up over where the redhead had got to either. Like Youji, Aya would show up; he always did. He wasn’t always around first thing in the morning. Normally that didn’t matter much, but if Youji wasn’t here either that changed things rather. Besides, Aya was generally back by the time the morning rush began.

Omi suspected Aya took himself off for the sake of a little space and time alone and if he’d gone somewhere this morning no doubt he had his reasons for it. Aya had a lot on his mind at the moment. He was worried about his sister and, perhaps, about Sakura too. And Aya wasn’t the kind who appreciated people intruding, no matter how good their intentions may have been, into his private circumstances. He was definitely getting easier to know, however – or was it that Omi was becoming used to him? Bit of both, maybe.

“You’d think he’d be back by now, though.” Omi said as he stepped from the shop again, a rather smaller pot plant in his arms this time. “He didn’t say he was going to be out all night, did he?”
“No… Aya’s not round either.” Ken replied, unconsciously echoing Omi’s thoughts.
“Aya-kun? I’d guess he wanted a bit of fresh air, or something like that.” Omi said. “He’s been kind of preoccupied lately.”
“Yeah, well we all know why that is.” Ken replied. Aya-chan. Obviously. He added, needlessly, “He’s worried about his sister.”
“I know, but— oh.”

He broke off and looked up at the sound of footsteps, glancing down the road at an approaching crowd of schoolgirls. Maybe they were just headed this way, but… Omi looked around at himself, at the displays of flowers outside the store and at Ken, steadying one or two of the pots he had been laying out. They didn’t look that unstable— well, better safe than sorry when it came to things like that. The shop was ready enough, he supposed. There were still one or two things to do but they could wait a while. Perhaps Youji would do them when he got back. Omi bet Ken was annoyed Youji’s absence, more so considering he himself would have to set off for school himself soon. Well, Aya would be here before it came to that, Omi was sure.

A few minutes later, the four girls in their trim high school uniforms clustered around the storefront admiring the pots of cut flowers and pretending to be utterly unable to make up their minds – the morning rush would be beginning in earnest any time – Aya Fujimiya walked quickly up to the store, through the open door and ducking out into the storeroom to retrieve his apron. He didn’t reply to Omi’s cheery ‘Good morning’, but that would have been rather too much to expect. Hell would have to freeze over before Aya started bothering with pleasantries, Ken thought, then told himself to cut it out. That was just Aya’s way; they were used to it by now, or should have been. And at least he was back, right? Ken reminded himself to yell at Youji when the man finally decided to show up. It wouldn’t make the blindest bit of difference to Youji’s future behavior but it would make Ken feel a bit better.

When the redhead stepped out a few moments later, hands behind his back as he fastened the ties of his apron, he looked as neat and composed as always. Ken thought he looked like he’d been up for hours and wondered, does he ever need to sleep? He wasn’t all that bad in the mornings himself but privately always wished he were rather better. Ken made another mental note, this time to remind himself not to compare himself to Aya ever again because he always came off worse. Aya was tall and pale and enigmatic; Ken more sort of wasn’t. He looked every inch the prototypical boy next door and he knew it.

“Where’s Youji?” Aya asked in lieu of any greeting, somehow contriving to ignore the admiring glances of a couple of the whispering schoolgirls, no doubt passing comment on how lucky they were that the three young men were all in the shop at the same time.
Ken shrugged. “Don’t ask me. Out’s all I know.”
“He’ll turn up, Aya-kun.” Omi said comfortingly. “He always does.”

Youji still wasn’t back, though, when Omi started to ready himself to leave. Aya was dealing, in his usual coldly competent way, with a blushing brunette who giggled every time he spoke to her though he was doing nothing more compromising than asking whether or not she wished to have her narcissi wrapped. Ken seemed to have become entangled with another, more persistent schoolgirl who was claiming to possess an almost pathological interest in Dutch hyacinths. Thankfully, he himself was largely unoccupied – good thing too, as a glance at his watch told him it was time for him to head off to classes himself.

Which was when he noticed the girl. She was stood on the pavement with a group of others but stood slightly to the rear, her hands clasped behind her back. At this distance he couldn’t really make out her face – her blue-black curls fell into her eyes, obscuring them – but from what he could see her complexion was pale, almost as pale as Aya’s, and her features were small, even and surprisingly expressive.

Something about her seemed strangely familiar.

“Ken-kun?” Omi caught at his teammate’s sleeve, interrupting his diplomatic attempts to find out whether the girl with the fondness for hyacinths was fond enough of them to consider buying one.
“Sorry, one moment?” Ken said to the girl, then looked over at Omi. “What is it?” He didn’t seem annoyed by the interruption; there was only so much he could find to say about hyacinths before starting to repeat himself.
“Do you think she looks a bit like Ouka?” He asked, gesturing toward the girl he had spotted.
Ken blinked, picking the girl Omi had indicated out of the crowd. “Ouka? Well… maybe a little,” he said, then laughed briefly. “Omi, she’s got her head down. Even if she did I couldn’t tell from here.”
“You can’t?”
Ken smiled apologetically. “Sorry.”
Luckily, Omi seemed prepared to leave it. “Don’t worry. Ken-kun, your customer’s waiting…”
Ken nodded, then turned back to the hyacinth girl. As Omi unfastened his own apron and left the shop floor headed for his room, he could hear Ken apologizing to her. Omi probably shouldn’t have interrupted, but… he supposed he had just been startled by the sight of her. By the sounds of things, though, Ken hadn’t been able to see the resemblance. Maybe that meant there was nothing to see.

When he came back down, carrying his bag and his crash helmet, he scanned the groups of schoolgirls from the comparative safety of the shop. Omi had wanted to take another look at the girl who had reminded him so strangely of Ouka, but he was disappointed; he couldn’t see her anywhere. He supposed she and her friends had left whilst he was collecting his bag. Oh, well…

Shrugging off the odd feeling that seeing a familiar stranger had given him, Omi hurried down the steps, his mind already on the day ahead.

---

“Oh, shit.”

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes and picking up his watch, Youji Kudou cursed when he caught sight of the time. Christ. He’d overslept. He’d known from the minute he opened his eyes and had seen the morning light slanting through the poorly-drawn curtains but he’d picked up the watch anyway. Hell, he might have been wrong. Too bad he wasn’t. This wasn’t good, he thought, forcing himself to sit up and massaging his temples with thumb and forefinger. Where was he anyway? A hotel bedroom, that much was obvious from the décor, but which hotel? Youji supposed he could check the matches.

He’d known he shouldn’t have let himself fall asleep.

He almost expected the woman to have left already but she hadn’t. She was still sleeping, her face relaxed. She had looked older last night, older and more austere. Beautiful sure, but rather strict; the neatly-tailored suit she had been wearing had only added to that impression. Asleep she looked quite different. It was kind of interesting, or might have been had Youji’s regard for her been much more than casual. She wasn’t really his type insofar as he could have been said to have a type. How old was she? Hard to tell with some women. Old enough, anyway.

Youji half-considered tugging his clothes on and leaving, but… he looked at the watch again. Hell, he was quite late enough already, late enough that stopping to take a shower wouldn’t make much of a difference. Besides, it’d be nice to take a leisurely shower and not have to worry about tying up the bathroom or Ken bitching him out after for using up all the hot water. Getting out of bed, he picked up his discarded clothes and padded quietly into the bathroom, pushing his tangled hair from his face and yawning as he closed the door softly behind him and took a quick look at himself in the mirror. Did he have a hangover? Bit of one, maybe, but nothing a cup of coffee and a brisk walk couldn’t cure.

She was awake when he walked back into the hotel bedroom twenty minutes later, dressed in last night’s pants and vigorously toweling off his honey-blonde hair. She wore a hotel bathrobe – almost a pity, that – and had piled her clothing beside her on the bed.

“Running late?” he asked her, leaning lazily in the doorframe.
She looked up at him, pushing her hair from her eyes. “I’ll get by. You?”
“Nothing I can’t handle. Want a shower?”
“Thanks.” She smiled. “I’d ask you to wait, but you’ll need to get back.”
“It’s no problem.” Youji replied lazily. Maybe he wasn’t exactly wild about the prospect himself, but he knew enough not to say ‘okay, sure’ and go for the door. That wasn’t the way to treat a woman.
“Don’t. There’s no need.” She said as she got up from the bed carrying her clothes, stopping just before she reached him. “I’ve got to get to work anyway.” Back came some of last night’s firmness; the woman’s face, previously so relaxed, had returned to its fixed expression of self-possession. Youji thought she was as used to this as he was. No bad thing, really. Besides, he really should be seeing about getting to work himself.

She brushed past him and into the bathroom. Youji stepped from the doorway, allowing her to close and lock it behind her. Letting the towel fall, he tugged his tee-shirt back over his head, frowning slightly when the thin fabric caught on a patch of slightly damp skin. He unstuck it and tugged it down, then crossed over to the windows and drew the curtains, looking out across the street. In the bathroom, he could hear water starting to run.

Despite what he had said to the woman Youji really didn’t want to wait around. There was something unsettling about her, something he had picked up on last night but which hadn’t been enough to deter him from following the dictates of the body. She was… well, he didn’t know, or rather he did but he didn’t want to have to put a name to it. Didn’t like to have to. Besides this woman, whoever she was, was most likely perfectly sweet when you got to know her. Youji had to admit he never saw the very best of people at times like this. Sure, he saw a side of them he liked but he was damn sure it wasn’t their best side. Smiling wryly and sleepily, he headed for the door, stooping to retrieve and pull on his boots and the lightweight jacket he had worn last night. The watch was already strapped to his wrist. She had to get to work? Well, so did Youji.

No goodbye. No explanation. It was better that way.

Youji knew it and, from the way she had handled the situation, the young woman he had left in the shower knew it just as well as he did. They wouldn’t have had a thing to say to one another this morning. As he walked down the street outside the hotel, retracing his steps back to the Koneko no Sumu Ie, Youji guessed that was one way you knew you’d found someone special. You’d want to talk to them the morning after. He’d never had any problems talking to Asuka about anything at all and yet he couldn’t think of a thing to say to these women that wasn’t bluntly flirtatious—

Youji cursed under his breath. He hadn’t wanted to compare this one to Asuka as well but he had; he always did. Idly, he lit a cigarette, walking slowly. He was, after all, late enough already for a few minutes not to make much difference.

More to the point, there were plenty of things he needed to do today without walking last night’s Miss Right to work. Like stop Aya glaring him into an early grave for showing up late for one. Ken’s vaguely maternal scolding he could handle, but there was a world of difference between Ken’s reproaches and Aya’s Leveling Death Glares. With any luck nothing important would have happened whilst he was away. He wondered what he was going to say to the others, deciding to settle for the truth. They knew him well enough by now.

“You’re late, Youji.” Aya said when he stepped into the store.
“Yeah, I know. Sorry.” Admitting responsibility. He smiled broadly but guiltily as he retrieved his own apron, wishing once again that he had a job which didn’t require him to wear anything so uncompromisingly unflattering, and discarded the jacket he had slung carelessly over one shoulder. The day was far too warm for such a thing. “I overslept.”
“Where’ve you been?” Ken asked quizzically.
Youji smiled expansively. “Enjoying an evening with an exceptionally beautiful and talented young lady whose name temporarily slips my mind.” He glanced across at the others as he spoke, trying to gauge their reactions. Much as he expected, Aya pretended to have heard nothing. He wasn’t expecting anything less. He also wasn’t expecting Ken to let things lie that simply and in that regard Ken didn’t disappoint either.
“Meaning you didn’t ask? What’s so great about that?”
“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.” Youji said easily.
Much as he expected, Ken flushed angrily. “Get bent, Youji, that’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“My, my, you still haven’t got a girlfriend?”
“That’s none of your business, pervert!” Ken snapped. “I’m not at all interested in your love life and I’d like it if you kept out of mine.” To his own ears it sounded hopelessly lame. Youji already knew everything there was to know about his love life which would have been almost funny if it hadn’t been so pathetic.
“You’ve got one?” Youji asked, deliberately provocative. “When were you planning on letting us know?”
“Oh, shut up.”

Aya shook his head, stepping away from the register and into the back rooms to check on the nursery, ignoring the bickering voices of his teammates. Ken really should have known better than to rise to Youji’s teasing, he thought. He wasn’t in the mood to listen to an argument, trivial and essentially good-natured though it was. Arguments though, trivial or not, were almost inevitable under the circumstances. They lived too close to one another, always. He could understand the impulses that had Youji take off from time to time, if not the things he chose to do whilst he was absent – Aya did much the same thing himself simply because he needed the space. Because he needed to spend some time alone, without worrying about one of the others intruding.

Time alone. Living the way they did true solitude became exceptionally precious and equally uncommon. To someone such as himself, solitude was a necessity. The other three hadn’t remarked on the way he sometimes vanished in the mornings though they had all apparently noticed it; it was enough that he was always back on time to help set up the shop and deal with the first rush of customers, over for the day. In fact, it wouldn’t be long before the lunchtime crowds started to arrive.

He did, after all, have a lot on his mind at the moment. Aya-chan was gone, taken by Schwartz, and they had no idea where to find her. They didn’t even know where to start. Knowing himself unobserved, Aya sighed deeply. Where was she? What was happening to her? He was worried; worse, he was afraid. It was beginning to get to him and the others, quite obviously, were beginning to notice. And he didn’t know what to do about it. Didn’t even know if there was anything to do about it.

Stepping into the warm, muggy environment of the nursery, Aya concentrated on the seedlings, checking them over for bugs or blight, tending to them, performing the hundred and one little chores that needed to be done to keep the seedlings in prime condition and allow them to flourish best. It was mindless work in a way, but it had to be done and, in a way, it was almost agreeable. It gave him time to think and it was almost a relief to lose himself in routine because, for now, it meant that he could stop thinking. He could almost forget his worry for Aya-chan by losing himself in his work. Moments like this were few and far between, he knew, and they didn’t last long. How often could he say he really, truly could make himself stop thinking?

Almost never. And he wasn’t entirely sure he appreciated it. Aya wasn’t the kind who could live only in the here and now and he knew from bitter experience that the quiet times never lasted long. Knew there was no way to stop worrying about her. That he wouldn’t stop until Aya-chan was found and awake and had resumed her place in the world. Besides, he didn’t like the quietness, the abnormal tranquility of the day. Schwartz were still out there. Esset, too. Plotting and planning and preparing for the endgame. What were moments like this? Nothing more than the unnatural calm and heavy motionlessness that presages a storm on the verge of breaking. When all is still and quiet but you can see the clouds gathering and feel, ever so faintly, the first stirrings of a gale. Somewhere clouds were gathering.

Aya wasn’t surprised. He had always known there were clouds. There always were clouds.

---

Ken was bored. At this time of day, at this time of the week, customers were few and far between. The morning rush had dwindled down to barely anything and there was nothing to do. That was the problem with shop work. No balance, no shades of grey. You were either rushed off your feet or bored to tears. Not that Ken minded the work, in fact he rather enjoyed it. What he didn’t like was having nothing to do. What he wouldn’t give to have just enough to keep himself occupied. Ken wondered if office work was like that. Maybe but really, what would he know? The only things he had ever heard about office work had all been at second hand and the impression he’d gained of it hadn’t exactly been favorable either.

Yuriko had always said it was dull.

Ken wondered about Yuriko sometimes. Far more than he would have liked to admit. Wondered where she was, what she was doing, if she found her new life more satisfying then her old. Had she realized her dreams? He hoped so, hoped she was contented and enjoying herself; if anyone deserved to be happy Yuriko did. And in time she’d find someone terrific who actually deserved her – maybe she’d done so already – and she would forget him completely and, Ken knew, it was the best way. The only way.

Sighing, he walked over to the shelving units and rearranged the pots of flowers resting upon them. At times like this he didn’t have much to do. There were no orders to fulfill, nothing that particularly required his attention. Stifling a yawn, he headed back to fill one of the green plastic watering cans and returned to the floor holding it by his side.

Without really realizing why he was doing it, Ken glanced at Youji out of the corner of his eyes. The young man was stood by the counter monopolizing their sole customer. A woman of course, slightly older than Youji. He didn’t seem deterred by the little girl, still too young for school, who stood yawning and fidgeting by her side. Ken knew Youji was just being himself and he didn’t really mean anything by it – he flirted, he teased, but he did so in such an indiscriminate, scatter-shot manner that it made Ken wonder – though the presence of the child made him feel uneasy; the woman was almost definitely married.

Ken half-considered saying something about it but decided not to. It would only lead to Youji teasing him about his love life, or lack of same, again and he’d had quite enough of that for one day thank you.

Still, he felt bad for the little girl, who was now tugging on her mother’s skirts. The poor kid was obviously bored rigid and clearly couldn’t understand why Mama was still here. Hadn’t she chosen her flowers? Ken felt sorry for her and wished there was something he could do to cheer her up, but he had a feeling mama might not appreciate the florist pointing out that her child was looking bored. Nor would Youji. Ken sighed and turned back to the shelving, straightening the pots disordered in the morning rush, examining the flowers for any sign of browning leaves or fading blossom. He couldn’t see anything. Omi would have spotted it earlier if there had been.

Omi. Ken frowned, remembering the question the younger boy had asked him that morning. Aside from being pale-skinned and dark-haired, he hadn’t thought the girl Omi had spotted looked like Ouka at all.

Youji handed the blushing young mother her receipt; she bowed her head and tucked it into her purse and chided the little girl for her impatience. Ken caught the child’s eye and smiled at her apologetically as her mother led her off, the bouquet Youji had prepared for her clasped to her chest.

“Seen Aya lately?” Youji asked once the woman had walked off.
“Out back.” Ken replied simply. “Still. I think he’s fallen asleep.”
Youji grinned. “Wouldn’t blame him if he had. Pretty dull morning, right?”
“It’s half eleven.” Ken said. “Bad time. We’ll get busy soon enough. And I don’t know what you’re complaining about, you’ve barely been here an hour and most of that you’ve spent flirting.”
“There’s no harm in mixing business with pleasure, Ken, as you’d well know if you just let yourself try—”
“Of course I would, Youji. Whatever.”

Youji could tell Ken wasn’t really listening to him. Smart move, Ken. He had turned back to the shelves, straightening and tidying the pots and ready-made bouquets stood in their buckets, half-hidden behind the absurd bamboo nobody seemed interested in save perhaps Ken himself. Turning back to survey the quiet street, Youji yawned. He was feeling fed up. Across the road, a mother heading back from the shops wearily pushed a doughy infant along in a stroller laden with supermarket carrier bags.

“I’m going for a cigarette.” Youji said after a beat. “Mind the store, okay?”

He didn’t wait for Ken’s response, simply pushed away from the counter and, pulling the cigarettes out of his pocket, left the shop to go and lean against one of the walls nearby, lighting up and resting his hands behind his head, letting his mind go blank. He thought of nothing; there was nothing he particularly wanted to think about. He had smoked no more than half the cigarette, however, when he heard Ken calling his name.

“Youji! Oi, Youji!”
What now? “Okay, okay, I’m coming.”

Straightening, Youji walked the few meters back to the shop – honestly, Ken; what could have happened in the few minutes he’d spent with his cigarette to require his urgent attention? – the cigarette still between his lips. Whatever the problem was Ken was most likely overreacting. He stopped short when he got back though, raising one eyebrow quizzically. Somehow he managed to stop himself laughing out loud.

Ken was stood under the awning, looking across at Youji with a panicked expression on his face as he tried to hold up a tall young woman who was resting her head on his shoulder. He had dropped the watering-can he had been carrying and it lay on its side on the pavement, the water gushing from its open top. The girl looked to be on the verge of collapse and Ken, who clearly hadn’t been expecting anything of the sort when she walked up, was having difficulties keeping her on her feet; Youji gave it about half a minute before her dead weight coupled with Ken’s natural clumsiness landed the both of them on the floor. Though the girl’s eyes were open, she looked barely conscious. If it had been a few hours later, he would have assumed she was drunk. Here and now, though, he didn’t know what to think. By the look of things Ken didn’t either.

“Help me out here, Youji!”
“What happened to you two?” Youji asked, calm and casual as a summer evening. Ken felt like hitting him.
“Can’t it wait?” Ken demanded. “She’s gonna collapse!”

That much was obvious. Stepping forward, Youji gently took the fainting girl’s shoulders and, setting his own arm about her to stop her from falling, pulled her away from Ken to the boy’s all-too-obvious relief. She was practically a dead weight in his arms and Youji looked down at her in concern, feeling her breath coming warm against his chest. She wasn’t drunk, that much was obvious. She was utterly exhausted.

“What happened?” Youji asked again, once he was sure the girl wasn’t going to fall.
“Well… I really don’t know.” Ken said hesitantly. “She asked me where we were. Then she just… keeled over. I didn’t even have time to answer.” He paused momentarily before speaking again. “Has she fainted?”
“I don’t think so. Her eyes are open.” He glanced over at Ken, then back down at the girl. “I’m going to sit her down. Can you go get a glass of water?”
“Water?” Ken blinked twice. Why did people always think a glass of water was such a universal cure? “Well… okay. I’ll get Aya, too.” Aya would be more use than a glass of water; you couldn’t ask a glass of water to think logically. When Youji didn’t protest Ken hurried back into the shop, leaving him alone with the girl.

The girl’s eyelids fluttered as Youji helped her into the store and settled her in a chair; he could see that, for all she was drained – the glazed look in her grey eyes was testimony to that, as was the not unbecoming flush to her cheeks – she wasn’t about to faint. Not yet, anyway. As he crouched down beside her, placing one hand to her forehead and wondering as he did so what he was hoping to find out, she sighed and raised her head, previously slumped forward, lashes fluttering as her eyes focused and she gazed around herself. At the movement, Youji withdrew his hand and gave the girl a wide, reassuring smile. She caught her breath and turned to him, lips parting.

His face was unfamiliar to her. That would have worried her if it hadn’t been such a comfort. She didn’t want to see anybody she knew.

“Are you okay?” Youji asked, stepping back to give the girl some space.
She tried to nod. “I’m—” Her voice broke on the simple word. Her throat was hoarse. She had run all night and walked for several hours more… she was parched and exhausted and her hand, when she raised it to push her hair from her face, trembled.
“Steady on.” Youji cautioned. “You nearly fainted back there. The heat getting to you?”
The girl nodded again. It was the only thing she could say. It was safer than admitting the truth; that she’d been up all night, that she’d been running away. What would the young man before her think of her if she said something like that?
Youji grinned. “I thought it was something like that. Gotta say though, you gave Ken quite a shock back there! He’s not used to having that effect on women.” He was glad to see the girl start to smile.
“You’re not funny, Youji!” Ken complained; Youji turned round to see his friend hastening out of the back rooms and over to the chair the girl was resting in, carrying the glass of water he had asked for. His expression changed from one of mild irritation to solicitous concern, however, when he saw that the girl was sitting up in the chair, eyes open. “You’re awake? How are you feeling?” He didn’t seem to mind that he got no response. He hadn’t really been expecting one anyway.

As Ken stopped short just behind Youji, taking care not to crowd the girl, Youji gestured for him to pass him the glass he was holding. “Sip it,” he instructed as he passed the glass to the girl. “Don’t drink too fast.”
“Hey, Youji,” Ken said anxiously, “are you sure that’s such a great idea?”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s right.” Youji turned at the sound of Aya’s quiet voice. “She might be dehydrated. A doctor could help her better than we can.”
The girl stiffened, eyes going wide. “No,” she said hoarsely, hoping she didn’t sound too desperate, “please don’t worry. I just felt faint.” She sipped the water, shuddering slightly at the feel of it on her dry lips.
“Really.” It wasn’t a question. Aya didn’t sound like he quite believed that.
“Are you lost?” Ken interrupted. When Aya glanced over at him, he smiled awkwardly and shrugged. “Well, she wanted to know where we were…”
The girl smiled gratefully at him, seizing on the suggestion. “I’ve only just come here.” She said softly. “I was meant to be staying with a friend, but…” she hesitated. The first part was quite true, but she couldn’t carry on as honestly as she had begun. “… but I got off the train at the wrong station. I thought I could just find my way to the other one, but I didn’t know how large this place was! So, I got lost.”

The small frown on Aya’s naturally grave features deepened slightly at the girl’s cautious explanation. She was lying and, unused to dissembling, she hadn’t done so with any real skill either. Nobody had to pause before telling someone something so simple as how she came to end up lost if they had nothing to hide and she hadn’t met Ken’s eyes once. It was almost a textbook example of an easily-detectable fabrication. Youji’s quick glance in his direction and his slightly quirked eyebrows told Aya that he had picked up on it as well. Even Ken, naïve though he could be, was no fool; he had noticed there was something amiss. She was lying. But why would she, why would anyone, want to lie about something as simple as that?

What exactly did this girl have to hide?