Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Hello, Goodnight ❯ A Matter of Logic ( Chapter 6 )

Yohji Kudoh is not gay.

Yeah, you heard me.

I know this might seem rather incongruous, given my earlier statement about me being in `love' with a certain red-headed coworker. I have to admit, that one even threw ME for a loop. It required quite a lot of deep thought and personal introspection.

I have introspected that the problem here isn't me, but quite obviously Aya.

No, no, hear me out. It's actually quite rational.

I've been keeping a tally. For over a year (which aside from yielding important scientific data has proved an excellent way of appearing attentive in the shop.)

I am loathe to admit this, but Aya gets more girls than any of us. Infinitely more. It's a sad truth. I haven't had the heart yet to clue in Ken and Omi. They're better off not knowing.

When I say `gets' please keep in mind that I don't mean he actually accepts their attention. Just that he could have a crap load of girls if he felt so inclined. Aya, I think, is actually quite a good candidate if someone around here must be exposed for a closeted homosexual. Not to point fingers or anything, I'm just sayin'.

Anyway, at the most, he's only marginally--no make that fractionally--better looking than the rest of us. Sheesh, if at all, mind you, I'm being generous here for the sake of reason. But taking into account the pure disagreeable pissiness of his personality, there's just no way that the stats even out. No sane girl should go for a personality like that when they have yours truly standing right there on the side-line. It defies all logic (and I am a master of logic, I used to be a detective.)

Quite obviously, something deeper is going on here.

I have come to the conclusion that there must be some sort of biologic factor that as a matter of pure evolution makes Aya uncontrollably irresistible. Pheromones seem like a safe bet. Aya is apparently walking around exuding a cloud of chemical warfare against which my solid heterosexuality cannot help but be reduced to a tragic casualty.

So not my fault.

I mean, seriously. Look at my track record. Aya's the only guy. Against…huh. I can't say how many he's against, I've lost count. Against way too many girls than any gay guy could possibly stand to look at. In comparison, it's laughable, Aya shouldn't even count.

Besides, if I were gay, then it wouldn't just be Aya, would it? Surely I'd be having sketchy deviant thoughts about other guys too. Like Ken and Omi….

…Excuse me for a moment. I need to go soak my head in bleach.

Ahem. Anyway, as I was saying, logically, if I were gay, those ridiculous dreams I keep having where Aya is a stripper working at a safari lodge in South Africa wouldn't just be about Aya. There'd be other random dudes in my head too. That's just the way it is.

I'm straight, and Aya is a danger not only to my reputation but probably to my health and sanity.

It really is time I ended this.

Yeah, I need to get over him.

There's just one problem….

…I don't have a fucking clue how one goes about doing that.

You could say that my realm of expertise lies more in the territory of breaking up with people. This whole `getting over' thing is a brave new world.

Not that I don't get attached to people! I do. It's just been a while. And besides, the last person that held the potential for me to maybe possibly someday need to `get over' was gunned down while I was still quite effectively attached! And, well, I guess it's hardly a secret that I didn't do such a good job at `getting over' her. Hm, yeah. Hey, what'd you have to go and bring that up for? Now I'm depressed.

I don't have time to be depressed, my machismo has been violated.

So at first I was thinking that I just need to clearly prove to the world the irrefutability of my sexual orientation. That's the obvious course of action. I need to shut up the stupid ditzes like whats-her-name-Flycatcher who couldn't recognize a perfectly legitimate straight person if one walked by and punched them in the face (which doesn't sound like too bad an idea.)

But you know what? I've decided to be a better person than that.

Yes, my deep meditating on this topic (oh my god maybe the stupid hippy really did get to me,) brought me to the difficult conclusion that I need to start by simply proving it to myself.

And Aya.

It's above all important that Aya is enlightened to the status of my unshakable heterosexuality.

The rest of the world can just go screw themselves.

…Or choke on some sugar-free granola. Hey, I'm not picky.

So how do I go about doing this? Aya has already clearly shown his cynicism in regards to my so-called `track record,' the traitorous asshole. He won't be easy to convince.

Luckily, the solution is obvious.

The trick here was letting myself think this over sensibly, without letting my wounded ego get too much in the way. Let's look at the facts:

I. Am. Not. Attracted. To. Men. I am just having a bit of a `problem' because I have to eat-sleep-and-breathe around Aya, whose indiscriminating sex appeal is screwing with my radar.

Hence, this is all in my head. I don't actually want to do anything with the guy, I just can't stop thinking about him. I only think I want to do stuff with him…heh. I'm quite confident were I actually to try it I'd find myself thoroughly repulsed by the actuality. Yep, definitely.

Therefore, the only logical way to handle this is to seduce Aya.

Clearly.

I need to give myself a good solid dose of unpleasant reality so that we can both put this whole embarrassing business behind us and I can confidently return to my perfectly normal heterosexual existence.

Okay, maybe `perfectly normal' wasn't the best word choice there.

I digress.

It's just like when your parents force you to smoke a whole pack of cigarettes to make you sick so that you never want to touch them ever again.

Hm, come to think of it, that tactic didn't work so well on me….

Bad example. This is totally different. There's no chance it won't work.

Anyway, this is the point where you congratulate me on my willingness for self-sacrifice in the name of the greater good. Obviously only someone with complete and utter confidence in their masculinity would be willing to take such drastic measures. If nothing else, this very plan proves I'm straight.

Which is why I'm knocking on Aya's door right now.

There's a pause, and then it slowly swings open to reveal a blank-faced Aya. A scowl quickly materializes upon making eye contact. Guess he was hoping for a visit from someone…less me.

“Well,” I start cheerfully, “by a complete and utter coincidence I just happened to be strolling down this hallway.”

“Imagine that,” he mutters, raising his arms to be folded across his chest defensively.

“And since your door just happened to be here, I thought I'd knock and say hi,” I press on.

He doesn't respond to that, just stares expectantly.

“So, uh, hi,” I say, thrown a little off my game by his compulsive eye contact.

“Is that all?” Aya grunts.

“Well, it also happens that I haven't had dinner yet,” I add. “Have you?”

“It's one O'clock in the afternoon,” he says, “I haven't even had lunch yet.”

“Oh good,” I plow on, “then your schedule's clear.”

“What?” he says.

“You're free for dinner then,” I clarify. “Don't eat too big a lunch.”

“You're joking.” Aya's stony scowl slips a little into one of his rare confused expressions.

“Do I look like I'm joking?” I ask, getting a little irritated by his lack of appreciation for just what an ordeal I'm putting myself through to have the consideration to ask him out.

“Yes,” he says, “you always look like you're joking.”

“Well this is me not joking,” I say, matching his crossed arm stance.

“Imagine that,” he repeats.

“Well?” I say.

“I don't feel like cooking you dinner tonight, sorry.”

Perhaps I'm just too cynical, but Aya didn't sound all that sorry to me.

“No,” I correct him. “No, I wanted to go out. To a restaurant.”

Another blink of confusion. “With Ken and Omi?” he asks skeptically.

“No,” I say, the frustration is probably overwriting my cheerfulness now. “Just me.”

He stares at me for a full two minutes, expression blank again.

“You.” He says, “Want to go out. With me. To a restaurant.” He reiterates, as if speaking to an incompetent child, “Alone.”

I nod, not trusting myself to say anything, lest it be laced with too damaging a dose of sarcasm.

He continues staring, I half expect him to follow it up with another round of `imagine that.'

Instead he announces, “You're paying.” It's a statement, not a question.

“Obviously,” I nod again. I'm not sure yet whether that was an affirmation that he's actually considering going, or just some sort of test.

“I'm still pissed at you,” he adds, “I have a lot of practice at holding grudges; you can't buy me off with dinner.”

“It offends me that you think I would ever invite anyone on a date for ulterior motives.”

My almost-sincere dismay is met with rolled eyes. “Yeah, sure,” he snorts. He then pauses and his face drops back into a frown. “It's not a date; I just don't feel like cooking.”

Damn. This really isn't going the way I rehearsed it in my head.

“So I'll see you at seven?” I ask optimistically.

Aya uncrosses his arms, reassigning them to rest on his hips. “You're not going to try anything creepy, are you?”

I try to sculpt my face into an appropriate expression of sincere hurt that such an idea would even cross his mind.

“Me?” I hope I sound adequately shocked. “You think I would?”

He gives me a long, evaluating stare.

“….”

“I'm bringing my katana.”