"It's the end of the world as we know it!
It's the end of the world as we know it!
It's the end of the world as we know it,
And I feel fine. . ."

It was your average, sunny day on our average, everyday street, and in our average, flowery flower shop. Youji was (unsuccessfully) trying to fill a flowerpot holding yellow tulips with fresh soil, Omi was pruning some tired-looking mangolias, Aya was taking orders, and I was doing the heavy-duty carrying - such as moving some indoor trees to the back of the shop. As usual. And, as usual, we were all being mobbed by hordes of middle-school girls who always comtemplated buying something, but rarely did, as it seemed they were more interested in me and my teammates than the flowers.

Strangely, the infinitely popular song "It's the End of the World" was going 'round and 'round my head. Humming it, I just hoped it wasn't an omen or something. I don't get morbid songs stuck in my head very often. 'Course, I rarely get any song stuck in my head. I don't have much of an ear for music, and I can't seem to catch the melody.

"Oh, is that that old "End of the World" song? Wasn't that the theme of Independence Day?" one of the girls asked me. "That movie was so kowaii!"

I stopped humming it abruptly; if she could hear it over the noise of the shop, I was being awfully loud. Leaning over to pick up another pot, I nodded.

"Oi! Ken!"

Startled, I jerked up my head and didn't look where I was going. And I wouldn't be Ken Hidaka if I didn't manage to step in some spilled water right then and fall. The poor cherry tree crashed to the floor next to me and spilled potting soil everywhere while I landed on my butt ungracefully. Some of the girls around me giggled, and I felt my face flush. Usually I'm not this clumsy in the shop.

"Yeah?" I answered, mustering what was left of my pride as I rose again.

It was Youji who had called me, and he looked amused. I put on my best glare, but I'm not really all that intimidating, anyway, and Youji knows me too well. He just smiled. "I got a date in half an hour, and Omi's off for groceries then. Just you and Aya here, OK?"

Why he was telling me this was beyond me, because that was the way things always were if someone had to leave. One or two people stuck around, and the others did whatever it was. Of course, I would be struck dead if Omi *was* 'out for groceries', or Youji had a date. The current mission required gathering information on the schedule of the target, and Omi, with his observant qualities and ability to hide, was perfect. As was Youji, who could charm anyone into giving him information. He just tended to go *too* far. "Sure. Isn't it always?"

Of course, the girls moaned in disappointment, and some began to disperse, to my great delight. Sometimes I get tired of having them swarm over this place.

Youji was still smiling at me. "Good. I'm gonna snatch lunch. See ya." He grabbed his dark leather jacket off the hook near the cash register and flung it over his shoulder, humming.

"Ken-kun! Clean up the cherry tree!" Omi reminded me cheerfully, and I shook my head to return to the present before responding "sure" and crouching over to set the tree upright and sweep the soil back in as best I could.

I couldn't help but be a little embarrassed. I'm 19, and I'm not the youngest in Weiss Kreuz, but it's days like this that I feel like the kid who has to be watched. I'm not as smart as Omi, not by a long shot, or Aya. I'm not witty like Youji. I know I have a temper about the length of my little finger, and I'm a well-acknowledged klutz - I don't think many days go by where I don't trip over something. But I'm not just a little kid, and I'm far from stupid. So why do I feel like this?

Setting the cherry tree back up, I glanced at the clock. 1:40 P.M.; just about time to water the flowers. They needed it a lot in this heat. I turned on the hose, warned the hordes of girls to move out of the way, and sprayed the gardinias.

Watering large, collective groups of flowers doesn't take much thought, and I found my eyes wandering towards Aya. The redhead was stolidly taking orders of flowers, not sparing a blink for the 'fangirls'. I have to admit, part of me admires him. He is mature and calculating, excellent at everything he tries.

I wish I were like that.

Don't get me wrong; I'm not complaining, really. I know I'm needed. I feel like I'm depended on when it comes to missions and the like. But outside our real job, no one really depends on me at all; I'm the boy who's watched. Like leaving me and Aya in the shop. I never watch the shop alone.

"Oi! Ken-kun!" Omi's voice was somewhat amused, and somewhat dismayed.

Abruptly I realized I had been watering the same plants for the past 5 minutes. A blush sprang to my cheeks. "Sorry!"

Aya raised an eyebrow at me, and I flinched a little. Why was I thinking so hard? Deciding to stuff my self-centered complaints, I turned to the roses.

I should have known that Aya wouldn't let me off so easily.

At 6 o'clock Omi and Youji hadn't returned, so Aya and I closed shop. I had managed to stay accident-free for the rest of the day; it was a triumphant me that smiled as I went downstairs to the store fridge and grabbed a Coke before sluffing out on the couch.

This was the room Manx gave us jobs in, but when she wasn't around, it was also where we planned missions and occasionally just hung out. I figured I had the room to myself for the next hour or two, as Aya typically left the shop right away and did Aya things. Usually I leave, too - to play soccer with some of the kids at the park - but today I was gonna relax. I popped the Coke open and took a sip.

"What's going on?"

I yelped at the unexpected voice and somehow managed to fall off the couch onto my butt (for the second time that day). The Coke spilled some, and I slammed it onto the coffee table before clambering to my feet. "Geez! Aya . . . " I glared at the brown liquid dripping down my soccer jersey. "Can't you be less startling?!" I demanded.

Aya was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, looking nonchalant, as usual. Nothing startled or really bothered him. Another thing I was envious of; my temper seems to flare at a moment's notice, and I am, frankly, jumpy. "You were distracted today. What's wrong?" he repeated.

My anger drained away into the floor somewhere, and nervousness replaced it. Aya isn't easily put off-track, either; he would keep asking until I told him what was eating me, but I wasn't sure I wanted to 'fess up. I tore my eyes from his dark violet ones and shuffled towards the kitchen to grab a napkin, mostly to give myself time to think.

Aya followed me, naturally. "Well?" he demanded.

The man doesn't know when to quit, I thought darkly as I snatched down a napkin from the top of the fridge and began to try and rub the Coke out of the jersey. "I dunno," I replied noncommitally, avoiding the question. Geez . . . the stuff I was worrying about was so stupid! Thinking about how Aya would probably react made me decide I *definitely* didn't want to confess. He'd probably think I was some sort of sissy, girly, gay guy. Not the image I wanted to portray to my partner-in-killing.

"You 'dunno'." It wasn't a question; it was an accusation of lying. I flinched as if struck.

"Well . . . " I looked up at Aya. Whoops; big mistake. His eyes caught me, and they looked like purple thunderheads. I swallowed a little. No wonder our targets seemed to just freeze when he glared at them! "I . . . it's stupid," I finally admitted. "It's not important, either. I'm over it now."

"Really." It was another question that really wasn't a question. His expression was serious and requiring of me, like his eyes.

I felt my face flush in embarrassment, and annoyance flared up, too. "Yeah. So just lemme alone, would ya? Sheesh! You don't quit!" I huffed and brushed past him to the couch. I flopped on it and snatched up my Coke.

Aya turned and watched me. I could feel his eyes seeming to bore into my back, then searching me as I sat down. It was making me nervous, agitated. I scrubbed my hand on my jeans and kept my eyes averted, until I finally sputtered, "What are you staring at?!"

"You," he replied in his quiet, serious voice. "You're not telling me everything."

Damn straight I wasn't, and I didn't intend to, either. And if Aya was being this intent, I wouldn't rest until I did. "Do I have to?" I asked. It came out as more of a plea then I meant it to.

The couch shifted as Aya sat on the other side, causing me to jerk my head up to look at him. Aya didn't ever get comfortable and sit on the couch; he was always standing down here, at least when I was around. He leaned forward and gave me another intent look, and I pulled away a little, wanting to huddle. Aya was giving me the creeps inadvertently. "It will be easier to work together if we aren't questioning each other's integrity."

I blinked. "This is making my integrity questionable?"

"You have been acting strange. You are not a nervous or absent-minded person." Aya's tone was that gentle-harsh one he used when he wanted to sound nice, but expected results. His eyes never lost their intensity. "Does it involve the mission?"

I shook my head vigorously. "No! Nothing to do with work -" Suddenly I realized I had been conned into admitting there *was* a problem. I reddened again and stared at my Coke. "That is, it wouldn't be if there *was* a problem," I added belatedly.

The couch shifted again as Aya sat back. "I see," was all he said, and we were both silent for a while. I found I couldn't drink the Coke. It was hard to find my appetite with Aya's eyes riveted so firmly on me. I flushed, because somehow it was embarrassing knowing you were being watched.

"Is it your position in relation to the rest of us?" Aya suddenly asked. He inquired in a dull, everyday tone.

I immediately opened my mouth to protest, then found the words died in my throat. Aya had hit the proverbial nail on the head. I gaped at him and actually had to remind myself to shut my mouth. "Um . . . " I began, but Aya's eyes said that the redhead already knew he'd struck home. I felt my blush deepen; I was a total idiot! "I know it's stupid," I muttered. "Don't laugh." Not that there was any danger of that. Aya never laughed.

Instead, Aya nodded. "I suspected. You speak about yourself like you're worth less." It wasn't cruel-sounding. He was just stating the truth. As usual. "Why?"

I fidgeted and kept my eyes on my Coke. He had to be thinking I was an idiot. I was, after all. "Well . . . I'm just . . . me. I'm not smart, or fast, or coordinated, or contained. I'm just Ken Hidaka." I glanced at Aya and found he was still just watching me with those hawklike eyes. I dropped my eyes back to the Coke in my hands. "Your average, everday teen. Clumsy, kinda dumb, and forgetful."

Aya shifted, and I looked back up at him. He was frowning slightly, and I grimaced, waiting for him to tell me how stupid I was being. Instead, though, he leaned forward, bringing our faces too close for comfort. I scooted away a bit. "You think you have no value because you're 'average'," he said.

I blinked. "Um . . . yeah," I admitted. Where was the berating? Part of me was still really wishing I had just gone out and played with the kids at the park.

"You are buying a lie," Aya stated, standing up. He looked at me with those cold violet eyes, but it wasn't an intimidating glare. "You have value. I appreciate your youthful innocence. It's refreshing."

I stared at him, and rose shakily. "Huh?"

"We have had our innocence taken away, but you have retained it. I appreciate it," he repeated. Aya quirked an eyebrow at me. "Are you hard of hearing? You seem to be missing things I say."

I shook my head, and Aya nodded curtly and turned to the stairs. "Tell Omi and Youji to call me when they return." He jogged up them silently and walked out.

I blinked after him again. Aya was just full of surprises today. Appreciates me? I snorted and slumped back onto the couch, taking a sip of Coke. The American Gold Cup men's soccer game was going to be on in a few minutes. Time flies when you're scared shitless.

Still . . . it was nice to entertain the thought of being appreciated.

Maybe Aya wasn't the cold guy he seemed to be.