Weiß on the weekend. For the sake of this story I have assumed that all four of them live together above the flower shop, instead of in separate apartments like in the manga.
Weiß Kreuz and all characters are property of Koyasu Takehito and Project Weiß.

Saturday

9:55 AM

He held the stems of the roses in his hand, feeling the curiously light weight of the flowers stiff in his palm. The feel of life against his hand. He had the strangest urge to crush the fragile green in his fist, for the liquid blood of the flowers to drip out on the floor.
"Aya-kun? Are you done with the arrangement? The customers are here for pickup."
He took the knife from between his teeth, carefully cut the stems and placed them in the basket between the gladiolas, adjusting them. Ken could have done a much better job of it. But it was his off day and he was playing soccer with the kids.
"Coming."
Made the final adjustments, bent back and looked at the flowers with narrowed eyes. It would have to do. He was an assassin, not a flower shop man.
Yes.
Picking up the basket, he made his way out the door of the back room and into the shop where Omi paced, looking worriedly at Youji. The long-haired blond had apparently made friendly acquaintence with the two pretty girls at the front counter. At the sound of his footsteps, Omi turned, face breaking into a huge smile of relief.
"There you are!" Taking the arrangement from his hands.
"Don't you have better things to do, Youji?"
At the sound of his voice, the other man looked away for a second from his prizes of the day, then grinned nonchalantly and went back to his lighthearted conversation.
The early morning sun glared in through the windows and outside, the normal Saturday shopping crowd moved between the panes like shadows on the glass, like life itself, endlessly moving.
It was nearly ten o'clock.

10:10 AM

"Ne, Aya-kun?"
The redhead didn't move from his absent scrutiny of the window panes. Were they dirty again? The man spent enough time cleaning the windows. Every time he looked around…scrub, scrub, cloth and spray bottle in hand, face set in a scowl of determination.
"Aya-kun…"
He gave up, watched as Youji said a final farewell to the two girls and they departed out the door, giggling.
"How was it, Youji-kun?"
Youji shrugged. "Nah. High school girls. No fun."
He laughed. "I'm going to do some homework. Take care of the shop and Aya."
"Aya?"
He gestured to where Aya stood glaring moodily at nothing, apron tied around his neck like a surgical gown, hands seeming empty without his katana.
"Oh. Right. Go do your homework, Omi."
"Hai. Remember, the customers come first. Girls come second." He tried to narrow his eyes to drive the point home, without much success.
Youji grinned. "Yeah, I know, I know. What do you want for lunch?"
"Anything you can get."
"Ken left some-"
"No leftovers, though," he cut in, knowing that Youji would be referring to the two-day-old lonely sandwiches plopped in the back refrigerator by Ken and forgotten.
"Damn." Youji reached for a cigarette. Aya glared.
"No smoking in the shop."

10:13 AM

Omi disppeared into the back room and Youji reluctantly took his hand away from the cigarette pack.
"Aya, I haven't smoked today."
"You can do your smoking outside."
Grumbling, Youji headed toward the door. It opened and closed behind his tall form, the small bell chiming softly. Almost as an afterthought, his head popped back inside, eyes wide behind the sunglasses. "Should I just go get lunch while I'm at it?"
He shrugged. "If you want."
"Ok. I'll be back in an hour, Aya. Call me on my cell if you need anything."
He disappeared again, blending in with the crowd outside the windows. The shop was empty. Not much business on Saturdays, without the schoolgirls crowding in the door to moon over them. He grimaced at the thought.
Maybe if Ken were here he could teach him that new arrangement he was always bragging about. Ken was a natural. He should go in for the flower business, after this was all over.
All over.
He stared out the windows again, waiting for someone to come in, knowing no one would.
The phone rang. He moved over, picked it up.
"Koneko no Sumu Ie."
The voice crackled on the other end. "Aya? It's Ken."
"I thought you were playing soccer."
"I finished early. Do you want me to pick up lunch?"
"Youji just left."
"Oh." A pause. "All right then. Well I'll be back in a bit. Are you busy?"
"No." He didn't mean his voice to come out so flat. Not really.
"Um. Well, ok. See ya."
Click.
Silence.
He slowly replaced the phone on its hook, went back to staring out at the road. The clock ticked. Chimed. It was eleven o'clock.
He wondered if Manx would be here today.

11:05 AM

He revved the engine on his motorcycle and the road flashed before him, the familiar feeling of freedom. It had been a good practice today, with the kids. The practices were always good, though. If he made them good.
It was times like this he could see her face in the road speeding before and behind him, hear her voice in the roar of the engine. Yuriko.
She'd gone off to Australia without him, to follow her own dreams. He'd wanted to. He'd wanted to so badly, but he couldn't. He had to stay here. Without a name, without a face, without a legal existance…where could he go?
Assassins didn't have dreams. Only dead wishes, dead and broken like wilting flowers in a cracked ceramic flowerpot.
He arrived downtown. The traffic was already heavy and he had to slow to avoid hitting a pedestrian crossing in front of him. The man turned back and he could see the retort on the other's lips, when suddenly he frowned.
"Youji?"
"Ken!"
Traffic had stopped completely. The light turned red. "Where are you headed?"
"Aya told me to get lunch. No." Youji reconsidered. "Omi told me to get lunch. Aya told me to get the hell out of his sight."
He raised his eyebrows. "He did, did he?"
"Not in so many words, no. The boy doesn't have that big of a vocabulary."
"Youji…"
"Limited to such optimistic and uplifting phrases such as DIE!"
"Youji-kun…"
Youji grinned. "I'm off. I gotta get lunch before Omi starves to death. Poor kid."
"Sure." The light changed. Traffic ahead began to crawl slowly. Youji waved.
"I'll be back!" The traffic picked up speed.
He gunned the motorcycle forward, watching Youji dwindle and disappear on the other side of the street. The engine coughed, roared. The wind whistled past his face, under his helmet, like her kiss.
Yuriko.

11:45 AM

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day

He sighed, placed Macbeth down on the table, open to where he had stopped reading. English at this hour in the morning…and Shakespeare at that! He shoved his chair back, turned on the radio. L'Arc en Ciel blared out at him.
"Turn that down!" Aya's annoyed voice from the next room.
He adjusted the volume, plunked down on the sofa and stared at the dark TV set. There was nothing on at this hour. Perhaps some news. He didn't need the news. News led to missions, and he didn't want missions. Not right now.
He was sure Manx would be by today.
"Chance of heavy thunderstorms this afternoon and tonight," the radio said.
Or maybe not.

12:00 PM

The clock chimed noon as he parked his motorcycle by the door of the flower shop, removing his helmet and running one gloved hand through sweaty hair. He could see Aya slouching moodily behind the counter. No wonder there was no business. The way the boy was standing, it looked more like a morgue than a flower shop.
Aya barely looked up as he entered, coming behind the counter and setting the helmet down.
"No business?"
The other boy ignored him.
Sigh. "I see."
"Ken-kun!" A tousled head sticking out of the doorway to the back living room. "You're back! Did you bring lunch?"
"I thought Youji was doing that."
Omi thought, wrinkling up his forehead. "Oh. That's right."
Outside, the clouds thickened, slowly covering the sun.

12:17 PM

He held the packages carefully, placing them in the thick paper bag, careful not to spill the bowls of takeout. Vietnamese takeout. Was a delicacy these days, with the way they spent money on medicine and bandages. He should speak to Manx. The missions they were taking on were far too dangerous.
He expelled his breath in a puff of smoke, threw the cigarette down and ground his heel against it before moving on. As if she'd tone down missions just for them. He sighed. The one woman he just couldn't seem to get…
The absence of warmth compelled him to glance up at the sun. The clouds rolled slowly across its face, casting cold shadows that abruptly withdrew into pockets of light. He quickened his step. It was going to rain soon, and he wanted to get home before it did.
The crowds on the street were thinning, apparently having the same thoughts. He tucked his hands into the sleeves of his overcoat and hurried on.

12:40 PM

"60 percent chance of rain," the radio proclaimed, in a staticky monotone that reminded him of his elder cousin who he had used to play soccer with when they were kids.
"More like 100, they mean," said Omi, standing by the window. Aya was watering some plants.
He switched off the ancient machine, sitting down gingerly on the couch. Omi's abandoned homework lay scattered over the table, with an English textbook open on top of the stack. He craned his neck to read the words.

To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death.

"Pretty heavy stuff there, Omi-kun."
"Huh?" The boy turned. "Oh. Macbeth. I have a test." He sounded mournful.
He leaned back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The light came on with a click as Aya entered the room, carrying the watering can like it was some sort of weapon. The clock ticked softly. No one spoke.
The way to dusty death.

1:00 PM

The door to the shop swung open and Youji entered, cradling a damp paper bag under one dripping arm. Outside, it had started to drizzle. Ken had turned on all the lights in the store and the shop glowed with the brilliance of night.
"Gooood afternoon!" he proclaimed, holding up the bag like a treasure. "Come and take your lunch! Kindly provided by your gracious host, Youji-sama!"
"Arigatou, Youji-sama," Omi said from behind the counter. He was snickering. Youji grinned.
Ken frowned, unrolled the top of the bag and looked inside. "...oh. Vietnamese."
He watched the other gingerly remove the takeout, grab the wooden chopsticks and snap them apart. Taking a bite.
"Not bad." Ken sounded surprised.
Omi took his portion, wandering back into the other room. To study while he ate, he said. Youji looked over.
"Aya? Help yourself."
He said nothing as he removed his food from the bag, balancing it while snapping the chopsticks, putting piece by piece mechanically into his mouth. Taste was not important. And he was not hungry.
Outside, the rain pattered on the sidewalk like the pattering feet of dead children.

1:57 PM

The TV muttered in the background. Youji rustled the newspaper from the couch. Ken had gone to take a nap. Aya was still in the main shop, staring moodily at nothing. As usual.
He gave up on the Shakespeare, moved to his calculus book and flipped to the first page of the next section.

THE TRIPLE INTEGRAL AS THE LIMIT OF REIMANN SUMS

Never mind.
"Ne, Youji-kun, you think Manx will be by today?"
"Of course," Youji said, not looking up from his paper.
"But it's raining."
The grumble was muffled by the newspaper. "Do your homework, why don't you?"
"You're grumpy today."
"I am not."
Ken came down the stairs, yawning. "What's going on?"
They stared at him.
"What?"

2:30 PM

The rain could be classified as a downpour now, running in rivers down the road and gushing into the sewers. Pedestrians were gone and the few cars that were on the road inched forward through the water like sea slugs.
He'd turned on the radio a while back to keep him lonely company as he swept the floor. Bits of crushed stems and dried leaves and a lone gnawed lollipop stick accompanied the obligatory dirt into the trash can. Behind him, the Hamasaki Ayumi song ended and something soft came on. He couldn't identify it. He had never been a big music fan anyway.
He heard Ken's laughter from the other room. Youji said something and Ken responded, too low for him to hear. Omi said something in turn, and Ken laughed again.
Laughter. How long…how long had it been? He couldn't even remember…
He blinked, standing in the middle of the floor with the dustpan in his hand, and tried tentatively curling the corners of his mouth up. Just a little. It felt strange, like he was stretching cramped muscles. He moved, feeling embarrassed for even trying something like that, placed the dustpan back behind the counter, straightened the flower arrangement on the kitchen table and by the cash register.

"What the heck is on TV anyway, Youji-kun?"
"Err…" Youji changed the channel without looking up from his paper.
"YOUJI! THAT WAS A SOCCER GAME!"

The sound of rain on the window was comforting. He turned off the light in the shop, leaving the only light streaming in from the gray clouds outside. Moved slowly to the window and pressed his face against the cold, unfeeling glass. They were alike, he and the window.
"Aya?"
He stiffened at the voice, stepping back. His nose and forehead left little glistening spots of oil on the clean pane. Turning, he saw Youji standing there at the entrance to the other room, squinting.
"Yes."
The other looked confused, suddenly. "…Was wondering why you turned off the light."
He stared at Youji for a moment.
"It wastes electricity."
Pause.
"You were coming out here to smoke." It wasn't a question.
"I-"
"I said no smoking in the shop. It's filthy."
Youji threw up his hands. "Yeah, yeah, whatever."
The blond disappeared back through the doorway , the warm light streaming out framing him like some kind of angel, an angel in silhouette.
Black angel.
He turned back to the window.

3:21 PM

"I don't think she's coming."
He sprawled out on the floor under the table, yawning. "Does it matter, Omi?"
The boy looked embarrassed. "I…don't wanna do my homework."
Youji got up from the couch and laughed. "Then don't."
"Easy for you to say."
He raised himself up on an elbow under the table and eyed Omi. "What are you doing anyway? You're smart. It shouldn't take you this long."
"English," Omi groaned. "Shakespeare."
He turned the page, read aloud.

Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

"Too depressing for this kind of weather, if you ask me," Youji said. He headed towards the stairs. "I'm gonna go take a nap. Aya still out in the shop?"
He scooted out from the space under the table, took a peek. "Yes."
Youji made a face. His boots clumped on the stairs.
"Why don't you go take a nap, Ken-kun?"
He shook his head. "I already did, after lunch."

3:22 PM

"What was Youji so mad about anyway?"
"…Aya wouldn't let him smoke in the shop."

4:00 PM

The phone rang. He picked it up, but there was no one on the other end. He frowned. It was still ringing. His eyes wandered to the smaller cellular phone at the edge of the table.
He grabbed it. "Yes."
"This is Manx. No mission today. It's raining and the power over here is down."
"Oh."
"I'll be by tomorrow if I can. Looks like this storm is going to be a big one."
"Oh."
She sounded slightly exasperated. "I'll see you tomorrow. Goodbye, Abyssinian." She hung up before he could say anything else.
He went to the lit doorway. "Manx called. She's not coming today."
Omi glanced at Ken. "See? I told you."
Ken grunted.
He replaced the phone on the table and headed up the stares, ignoring the stares from the other two. He would sleep. The rain made him tired.
"You going to take a nap, Aya-kun?"
He ignored them.

4:24 PM

Calculus was done, finally, and he was on history now. He had done his computer science yesterday, the "hard" program taking him about fifteen minutes. It had been his slowest time yet.
Ken was snoring lightly on the couch. Nevermind what he had said about taking a nap after lunch; the other boy was clearly sleeping soundly. He smiled, moved over and turned off the television and the large lamp on the corner table, leaving only his small desklamp on.
He really should do homework in his room. It was much more private.
Stretching out his legs, he yawned. He was sleepy. He'd rest his eyes for about fifteen minutes. Just fifteen minutes…

6:30 PM

He awoke.
Outside the rain was still coming down steadily. The streetlamps had come on and the window was wet in the shady gray of twilight and mist. He turned over in his bed, debating whether to sleep for a few more minutes or get up.
He got up.
The carpet was soft on his bare feet as he padded down the stairs to the small living room. Ken was passed out on the couch, snoring away. Omi…
The poor kid was slouched in his chair, eyes closed, breathing deeply. He looked uncomfortable. He was going to wake up with a crick in his neck.
Feeling an unexpected impulse of kindness, he walked over, picked the boy up gently, and set him down on the floor under the table next to the couch, the space which Ken had occupied hours earlier.
He glanced out the doorway to the dark shop.
…it was empty.
Feeling gleeful, he took the pack out of his pocket, took a cigarette out, lit it. The thin cloud of smoke hovered in the darkening light of the shadows. The streetlights cast strange patterns on the wet glass in the rain.

7:00 PM

The shadows blurred and came into focus as he opened his eyes. He could hear someone singing softly in the store, clattering dishes.
He tried to sit up, banged his head on the table. Someone had moved him while he was asleep. He crawled out and looked at the clock.
Whoops. He'd slept for two and a half hours? Looking at the pile of homework and books ruefully.
Oh well.
Ken was still asleep on the sofa, mouth wide open.
"Youji-kun?"
"Nani?" A faint reply.
Youji. He stumbled into the store, rubbing his eyes. Youji was setting plates out on the table.
"Why didn't you wake me? And why are we eating in the store?" He noticed the view out the front windows out of the corner of his eye. "And why haven't you closed the store?"
Youji frowned. "What's wrong with eating in the store? There's a table. And why don't you close it yourself? I'm busy!"
He made an inarticulate sound in the front of his throat, but the other didn't respond. Grumbling, he stepped outside into the rain, lowering the heavy storefront. By the time it was over, he was moderately soaked.
"Youji-kuuuuun!"
"You're dripping. Go change."

7:25 PM

Dinner was leftovers, which was all right with him. None of them had the energy or initiative to cook anything, and there was no stove in the store anyway. And it was a long walk up the stairs.
Youji finished his sandwich and pushed his chair back. "I wonder when the rain's going to stop."
"Thunderstorms all night, according to the radio," Omi said.
Aya chewed, staring thoughtfully at nothing.
He washed his stale sandwich down with the last of his soft drink. "I'm going to my room."
"Going to bed so early?"
He glared at Youji. "No. There's a soccer game on, and I want to watch it in peace, thank you very much."
Youji smirked.

8:11 PM

"Ken? Can I come in?"
The roar of the soccer game startled his ears as he stepped into the other's room. Ken was perched on the edge of his bed, staring raptly at his tiny television as if it were some kind of celestial revelation.
"Ken? Ken!"
"Hmm?"
"Did you borrow my shampoo?"
He half expected Ken to ask him what shampoo was. The boy blinked, then looked up.
"…oh, Youji. Uh, sure. It's…uh, over there. You know." He waved absently, eyes going back to his game. Let out a startled expletive as someone missed a goal.
"WHAT KIND OF MOVE WAS THAT?"
He left quietly. He'd just use Omi's shampoo.

9:01 PM

The shower water splashed and he could hear Ken singing in the bathroom. He didn't have a bad voice, actually.
But what did he know?
He sat quietly on the edge of his bed. The clouds covered the moon and the neon glow of the streetlamps looked strange on his walls. He should turn on the light.
He got up and stumbled on something by the door. Looking down, he saw a half open textbook at his feet. Picked it up.

STUDIES IN BRITISH LITERATURE

He thumbed through absently, noting a bookmark in the somewhat tattered pages. Opened to that part. It was a play…Shakespeare?
Someone had circled the bottom of the page, made notes by it. He read it, slowly deciphering the English.

It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

How interesting.
Closing the book, he walked across the hall to place it in front of Omi's closed door, then walked back to his own room and turned on the light.
Full of sound and fury.
In the bathroom, Ken had stopped singing. The water turned off with a slight banging noise in the walls.

9:37 PM

"Youji-kun, have you seen my English book?"
"Nope. You leave it downstairs?"
"I didn't see it. Thanks anyway."
Walking to his own room, tripping over something in the dark.
There it was.
He opened his door, set his book down on his desk, then left again. There was still some time for him on the computer before he was too tired to stay up any longer. It had been a tiring day.
He hadn't done anything today either. Perhaps that was why it had been so tiring. He'd slept too much.

10:01 PM

The glare of the computer screen was bright in the darkness of the basement.
"What are you doing?"
He jumped. Aya stood on the stairs, red hair contrasting against the dark room. He hadn't heard anyone come in.
"Looking for things. News. Anything that we might have a mission on." He scrolled down the webpage. There wasn't much. A few thefts. Local thugs, probably. He wondered what Manx would bring tomorrow, if she came.
He heard Aya turn. "You should get some sleep."
"Hai. I will, once I finish writing my journal entry for the day."
"…Journal entry?"
He blinked. Aya sounded confused.
"I keep a journal everyday. You knew that, right? Mostly it's for missions. We didn't have one today…but I'll just put that down. So I know I didn't forget anything."
Aya stood there for a moment, shadowed, then left.

10:18 PM

Journal entry.
He lay on his bed, the light off, listening to the rain.
Youji's room was dark and Ken's light was on and so was his radio, muffled through the wall. His own room was still and silent and cold.
He had never kept a journal. Journals were too intensely private and public all at once, baring his own soul to anyone who might read. And even if it was to himself, he didn't like it. Thoughts were meant to be kept to oneself, in the form of thoughts. Not meant to be written down. Writing could not always be trusted.
Besides, what would he say in such a journal?

I tried to smile today.

The light in Ken's room turned off. The rain streaked the glass of the windows like tears.