Transparent Inhibition

by Icicle Raindream

There's more to Aya than what meets the eye... *shounen ai*

Transparent Inhibition

By: Icicle Raindream

Disclaimer: Everybody knows that Weiss belongs to Koyasu Takehito and not me, so I'm not making anything off writing this fiction.

Notes: Sorry, guys…this little ficcy here has got some language in it. It seems that the idea I had in my head formed into a scene that just had to have a spot of bad words in it. The scene wouldn't work out for me any other way. Besides, we're talking about Aya here…Mr. Constant Bad Mood (but my favorite guy!) so…I couldn't help it. Blame my muse. I was forced to write this fic this way, I'm a victim! Okay, okay….I'm shutting up. Enjoy! Drop me a line!

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He didn't know why it bothered him so much. He didn't have any idea as to why every time that girl came through the door of Koneko no Sumu Ie, his scowl seemed to take over his features and his eyes darkened a shade. He glowered at her as she passed him, wanting just to take his hose and shower her with the freezing water, wanting to hear her scream rip through the daylight and see her shiver in fear. Forget the katana. He wanted to drench her to the bone.

And he supposed it had been Yohji's fault, that damn womanizer. He scoffed at the thought. Women. Who needs them. They were nothing but fake. Fake smears of fake makeup and fake clothes bundled up with fake personalities to produce nothing but more fake. Ken had been taking too many lessons from the man who swore up and down that those damn leather pants he never went without didn't pinch in the most tender areas on a daily basis. Perhaps that was fake, too, but it had passed onto Ken. Ken and that…girl.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Aya fought with the recognition that the damn girl was very attractive. Thin, just a tad shorter than Ken, with long blonde hair that curled by her shoulders. Blue eyes lined with mascara and long lashes to be batted whenever Ken neared proximity made Aya close his eyes and swallow, the bitter taste of bile lingering in his throat. He trained the hose diligently on the flowerpots lined on the curb in front of him.

She came barreling out of the door, making the bells above give a loud jingle, aching in Aya's ears. Her laugh made him grit his teeth and the slap of her shoes urged him to swipe them out from under her. Her shrill voice caused nothing but goosebumps.

"Oh, Ken…when did you become so funny?"

His laugh answered her back. Aya was able to read his expression without even turning around to see the two of them walking out of the Koneko together, knowing that one of Ken's muscular hands would be planted on the back of his head and his cheeks would be heated up in an embarrassed blush. He stumbled for words, as Aya predicted.

"Oh, I don't…really know…" Ken's voice faded with his weak response, then perked back up a second after. "Aya?"

Aya jerked to attention, aware suddenly that he was flooding the sidewalk with hose water and completely ignoring the intended plants. He heard Ken's footsteps walk up next to him and glared down at the puddle underneath his feet, determined to look as if one glance from him would pertain to certain death.

It didn't frighten Ken, apparently. A warm hand latched onto Aya's arm, the one holding onto the green garden hose. Ken's voice was in his right ear.

"You've got goosebumps," Ken observed, proceeding to rub his hand up the length of Aya's arm. "Are you sick?"

Aya saw the girl's figure out of the corner of his eye and was tempted to answer Ken with a blurted yes, I am. Very sick…Instead, he focused his vision back on the plants on the ground and shook his head curtly.

"I'm fine," he answered, voice deathly soft and firm.

Ken's hand dropped from Aya's arm and was immediately snatched by the young girl possessively, who eyed Aya with curiosity for some unknown reason.

"You're sure?" Ken sounded a little worried, as if he could tell that Aya hadn't said what he'd originally wanted to.

Aya didn't answer him, just turned the nozzle to the hose and switched it off, dropping it lifelessly onto the ground next to him. He bent towards the nearest flowerpot and began running his hands over the leaves, checking for the dead ones. Ken's footsteps dragged on the pavement as he backed away from him.

"Okay, then," he said uncertainly.

"Come on, Ken," the girl persuaded, tugging harder on his arm. "We're going to be late for our reservation!"

Aya closed his eyes as the couple's footsteps receded down the street and mixed into the trafficked noises of downtown Tokyo, fading into the conglomerated sounds of life that pulsed around him on the sunny Saturday. He stayed crouched in front of the dripping plants, biting his lip. Reservation, his mind mocked. He'd give her a reservation. For one. A date with his katana and the garden hose. Cement underneath wobbly legs and blood mixed in to boot. The shrill voice crying into the night. The fake clothes shredded and falling to pieces. The makeup smeared across her face to run in ugly lines of hatred. The laughter of an unfulfilled soul permeating the night sky.

"Hi, hello? Earth to Aya! You alive in there?"

Aya snapped his head up at the sound of Yohji's voice. He hadn't even heard the bells on the door jingle or Yohji's boots slap against the pavement as he exited the flower shop. He had been too caught up in his bloody fantasy with the young attractive girl to realize Yohji had been standing there for a full two minutes. He glared underneath crimson bangs, looking up at him.

"Hey, man, chill out." Yohji held his hands up in surrender, his sunglasses perched on the end of his nose. "Shit. You look like you're gonna burst. Flowers piss you off that much?"

Aya scowled. Yohji shifted his weight, dropping his hands to his waist. He cocked his head towards the flower shop behind them.

"Omi needs help arranging forty-five bouquets for pickup tonight," Yohji informed him, and Aya caught the scent of his cologne as it wafted through the air. "I'm outta here, so it's your turn to do the dirty work."

Aya stood and brushed past him, his shoulder contacting Yohji's briefly and uprooting Yohji from his spot, making him step aside for balance. He turned and yelled at Aya's back as the door closed behind him, bells jangling.

"Hey, man, lighten up!"

Aya didn't respond, just let the door shut against his words. He turned around and stood facing the glass door, just looking at Yohji, glowering beneath the strands of vibrant red locks that framed his face. He could read the words on the older boy's lips as he strode down the street, hands in his pockets, glasses over his eyes, heading towards a destination no doubt filled with women. The words barely touched Aya, melting against the sheen of his cold exterior.

Tsk. "Tight ass."

*

Omi yawned for the fourteen thousandth time that night as he wrapped the tissue paper carefully around the long, thorned stems. He glanced up at Aya across the table, who was fixated on his own bouquet, hands gliding over the flowers and paper with graceful, fluid movements, intent on finishing his task. Omi set his completed product aside and thumped his forehead down on the table, bringing Aya out of the somber trance he'd fallen into. He blinked at Omi, hands slowing in their expert dance around his bunch of flowers.

"Go to bed," he ordered mindlessly, glancing down at his half-finished bouquet.

Omi nodded against the table, then pushed aside his recently finished flower package and dragged himself to his feet. "I thought," he began, interrupted by another yawn, "that these were supposed to be picked up tonight."

"Be grateful," Aya clipped, on the verge of snapping at him. "We're still not finished with them."

Omi nodded, blinking sleepily into the dim lights they'd left on overhead. "I'm sorry, Aya-kun. It was an accident."

The flowerpot full of soil. Wet soil, to be exact. Aya could still feel as it sloshed over his boots and covered the floor, could still hear Omi's high-pitched squeal of surprise as the pot crashed to the floor and shattered. Aya watched him rub his elbow tiredly and sighed through his nose.

"Go to bed," he commanded again, and went back to his bouquet. Omi obeyed and tromped up the stairs, out of his sight. Aya was alone, as he preferred to be. He didn't even seem to mind, now that he was alone, that they had been set back in arranging the flower bouquets because of the broken lacquer pot. It really wasn't that big of a deal, and Aya realized he had been a little hard on the young boy. Omi had always tried to do what was right. Sometimes it made Aya sick.

He didn't know what the hell right was anyway. Right wasn't something to be defined, at least not in Aya's eyes. Right didn't mean shit to him and it never would. Right was whatever the holder deemed it to be and Aya held it as nothing. There was no sense of right or justice in an assassin's life, especially in the empty, broken-souled assassin's life that Aya had created around himself.

Suddenly disgusted with the flowers in front of him, Aya shoved away his bouquet and slapped his hand down on the table. The inside of Koneko no Sumu Ie felt somehow constricting to him; the need to get out was overwhelming, something he couldn't ignore. It was like the feeling to hose that damn girl down and show her for what she was worth. Fake trash.

The bells above clanged loudly as if signaling that it was midnight as Aya stepped outside, his apron left behind, tossed on the table with his few unfinished bouquets. He stood on the curb with his hands in his jean pockets, the soft wind blowing his maroon eartails to caress his cheeks with their touch. He saw nothing as passers-by occasionally graced the sidewalk with him, heard nothing as the cars on the street in front of him passed each other in calm silence.

Aya couldn't remember when he had acquired the cigarette. He couldn't remember how many puffs he had taken in or how long he had been standing on the curb in front of the flower shop. He couldn't remember the face of the young man who'd offered him the smoke or recall the color of the lighter. He couldn't remember ever having the urge to inhale, or recollect when Yohji's filthy habit had passed to him. He couldn't remember if he'd simply dropped the cigarette or had bothered to snuff it out entirely. All he could remember was the voice.

The sound of someone being pushed up against the brick wall, around the corner of Koneko, the voice that yelled out in pain and shock. The voice Aya could recognize in his sleep, the shout of anguish that he'd heard on numerous occasions, accompanied by a loud, "K'so!"

Aya found himself around the corner, skidding to a stop to observe the scene before him. That damn girl laughing maniacally as the man standing in front of him repeatedly bashed Ken's face. Aya could see the gash above Ken's eyebrow, bleeding into his eye, mixing into the crimson liquid that ran from his nose. His hands were trying desperately to defend himself, but they hung limp after several failed attempts to block the fists speeding for his face.

And the man didn't know what hit him. All he felt was someone grabbing onto the back of his shirt, his feet lifted off the ground. His strangled cry of shock as the fists started for his own face, pummeling with a tenacity that burned like fire, unrelenting in their path of destruction as he stumbled to keep his balance intact. He couldn't decipher who was doing the damage. But Ken could.

He stood, sagging against the wall, one hand hastily wiping at his nose as he sniffed hard, trying to free his face of blood. He watched as Aya repeatedly pounded the man to the ground until he was still, then turned to Ken's date with anger flashing in the plum colored eyes.

Ken reached out a feeble hand. "No, Aya, don't!" He choked, coughing on his words, doubled over with his hands on his knees.

Aya caught his painful plea and stopped in his tracks, averting his advancement on the attractive young girl before him, who had spent the last few moments gaping in horror as her boyfriend was stomped into the gravel by the tall, skinny boy with crimson hair and lavender eyes. He looked over his shoulder at Ken.

"Mis…misunde-misunderstanding," Ken gasped, glancing up at Aya, offering a frail explanation.

Aya's posture straightened as he looked into Ken's eyes. He spat the words at him, breaking Ken's lie in half with a single word.

"Bullshit."

Ken had never heard such hatred in Aya's voice, laced around the words that seemed to shoot themselves into his ears. The tone wasn't low like it normally was when Aya was declaring threats, but out in the open for everyone to hear, as loud as Ken had ever heard Aya speak. His eyes weren't internally lit with anger, instead they blazed from the outside in, gleaming into Ken's eyes with ferocious emotion, almost as if the older boy could barely contain himself. Ken staggered back against the wall after attempting to approach Aya, flustered with the whole situation. He was unable to speak as he watched Aya turn to the young girl again.

Aya seized her by the hair, reaching for the nape of her neck and grasping tightly to the thin strands attached there, having conquered complete control of her head. The blonde strands ran over his bare arm, tickling his skin with curls, making him wish he could set it on fire. He glared down at her frightened face as she whimpered, hanging limply from his hand. Her fake makeup and fake attitude were outdone by her terrified expression as her wide eyes welled with tears. Aya was taking his chance to expose her for the fallacy that she was.

"Don't ever," he growled at her, "fuck with Ken again." He gave her a hard shake with his hand and then released her with a violent shove, sending her screaming into the night, her voice bouncing off the walls of the Koneko as she raced around the corner and fled out of sight, sobbing. It didn't bring Aya any satisfaction.

Behind him, Ken fell to his knees, clearly winded from the attack. Aya stepped somberly over the unconscious figure of the man whom he'd just mauled and calmly escorted the trembling Ken back into the Koneko, using his shoulder for support, one arm around his waist.

Once inside the flower shop, Ken opted to retire for the evening, limping upstairs, and Aya went back to his still incomplete bouquets. He sat at the table, apron draped over his lap, fingers once again smoothing over the green tissue paper, wrapping it tenderly around the thorny stems with the same hands that were slightly stained with blood. His thoughts drifted again…to his fantasy. The fake girl and her fake clothes and her fake smile and her fake laughter and her fake makeup and her fake attitude. Too much falsity for anyone to handle. Aya should have killed her, he knew. He knew one day…this wouldn't be a fantasy anymore. She would meet face to face with the garden hose and his katana, and Aya would watch gleefully from behind maroon bangs and plum colored eyes as he twisted the sharp blade through her stomach and retracted it at will, the arctic temperature of the hose water washing over her forever stilled form. He would laugh, from the bottom of his heartless, frigid soul.

And the meaning of right…it was still shit. But somehow, that shit meant more to him after the events of tonight, as if helping Ken back to his feet and steering him back home had been some raw definition of the crappy word. It felt different now…the pressure from Ken's sagging body still pressed against Aya's shoulder and he wondered absently if it would go away. Part of him didn't want it to. It reminded him that he was still alive.

He got up from the table again and began to walk, his apron falling carelessly to the floor. Aya didn't know why he found himself turning the knob on Ken's bedroom door and walking into the middle of the darkened bedroom. He didn't know why he settled himself on the edge of Ken's mattress, staring down at the younger boy with the covers pulled up to his chin and the scab over his eyebrow. He didn't know why, at the moment Ken opened his eyes and curiously said his name, Aya recoiled his outstretched hand and shoved it into his pocket, getting to his feet as swiftly as he could manage. He didn't know why he left Ken's bedroom and shut the door behind him, swallowing the words in his throat. He didn't know why everything had bothered him so much. That girl, and that girl with Ken, and Omi's accident…he didn't know.

Aya settled himself back at the table and continued wrapping the bouquets of flowers alone, his mouth suddenly gone dry. He felt dizzy and tried to shake it off, having replaced it with anxiety instead, reminding him of the sleep he had gone far too long without.

He didn't know why that night, as he stared into the dimness of the Koneko fisting one particular flower bunch in his hand, his thoughts were filled with Ken. He didn't know why he beat the tar out of the man attacking Ken. He should have just left it alone. Ken was a big boy and could handle himself, and yet Aya couldn't help but wonder what might have happened if he hadn't stepped in when he did… He didn't know why he suddenly had been so able to tell Ken what he saw it all as. Bullshit. Yes, it was. It all was just a pile of bullshit.

He didn't know why, when the appropriate time came, the words to tell Ken had vanished. He didn't know why the words had formed in the first place and he had foolishly folded back into himself again, as was his usual custom, hiding away in the depth of a snapped rationality that was the jaded Ran Fujimiya. Ran Fujimiya, who spoke hardly above normal talking level, Ran Fujimiya, who saw everything for what it was but never had the guts to say it, Ran Fujimiya who needed something else besides this life. He had waited until something inside him was sparked, ignited. He didn't know what it was, that catalyst that had enabled him to yell back at the wounded Ken, as if it were his fault that his date was just another false person in this perpetually false world.

Aya squeezed the stems of the bouquet together, feeling the thorns break through the thin tissue paper and stab into his hand, closing his eyes and clenching his teeth. It was going to be another all-nighter, one of those times where he stayed up alone with only his dying thoughts to haunt him.

* * *

A sharp rap came upon his door. "Aya? Aya, are you in there? I want to talk, can I come in?"

The maroon-haired man of twenty years stood at the window, one hand pulling absently at one eartail, his mind devoid of any thought, any emotion. The voice broke through the wood of his door, splintering it so the fallen pieces of lumber gently splashed onto the carpet behind him, and he didn't turn around to look. It was all his imagination.

The knock came again, this time a little more desperate. "I know you're in there, can't I come in already?"

Aya leaned his forehead against the cold pane of glass, dropping his hand down to his side, inhaling the murkiness of his bedroom. He didn't feel like talking and he was overcome with fatigue, but he pushed himself to his feet anyway and faced the door as the impatient occupant of the hall stepped inside and closed it after him.

Ken stood with his hands twisted together, looking as if he had come with a speech prepared but expected to forget it. Aya folded his arms and leaned back against the wall next to his window, tucking his face into his chest.

"Listen, uh…I just-just wanted to…thank you, for last night. It seems like I may have gotten myself into something a little over my head and you really saved my ass…so, I just wanted you to know…I appreciated it…and…" Ken's voice broke off as he stared at Aya's still form. He stepped forward and tried to peer into Aya's face, craning his neck up to look into the older boy's eyes; see if any of his babbling had registered.

Aya's look was blank, cold, unheeding. He obviously wasn't impressed, but Ken had worked too hard on this token of gratitude and he would be damned if he was going to let it be shoved back in his face.

"You bored?" he snapped, hands releasing one another. Aya glanced back up at him briefly, but his expression wasn't altered. It made Ken's anger simmer even more.

"Well, you know, that's okay. It's all right, Aya, I understand. No problem." He let the words run from his mouth, dripping with sarcasm. "Just wanted to let you know, there is someone who appreciates you and cares enough to make a smacked ass out of himself trying to let you know. And I also want to thank you for making me feel about two inches tall right now. No problem, my friend. Keep up the good work, 'cause at this rate you'll be deemed a world hero by the end of the day. Thanks a lot, this is just what I needed." Ken swiveled on his heel and stalked out of Aya's room, his face burning in a painful blush. He heard the door slam heartlessly behind him, the victim of his own flabbergasted action, and he smacked his forehead in disgust, disappointed in his inability to control his own emotions.

"Shit, dammit!"

Ken's words were echoed with the sound of his own bedroom door slamming, and Aya faced his window again. He pressed his forehead to the glass, feeling as the sharp cold rained over his body. That wasn't how it was supposed to go.

* * *

"I thought I might find you here."

Aya heard the soft tone of voice take shape behind him, carrying through the velvet wind to press against the shells of his ears. He glanced down at his lap, noting that for the first time he actually realized how he was sitting. One leg folded underneath, the other bent up. One arm tossed drunkenly over his right knee. Crimson bangs shuffled across his forehead as dark lashes swept onto his cheeks, and he turned his face up to the midnight sky.

The stars shone brightly, but none of them were for Aya. They were there to tease, to taunt, to stick their tongue out at the assassin, an every night admiration turned to jealousy as they held a life unreachable for him. He didn't reply to Ken as his footsteps made their way to his side.

"You know," Ken ventured softly, "you are the most arrogant asshole I have ever met in my life."

Aya switched his gaze carefully from the sky to Ken's face, where it stared into oblivion, looking out onto the desolate street below, in front of Koneko no Sumu Ie. His hiding spot had been discovered. Ken knew now how much Aya enjoyed just climbing to the roof to be alone on some nights. Mostly the nights when he didn't know what to do with himself. But he didn't know what to say. Ken was almost being sweet.

Aya tugged on a disheveled eartail, tucking it behind his ear. He looked away from Ken as the breeze blew roughly across the rooftop.

"But you made me realize," Ken suddenly went on, catching Aya's attention again. The older boy sat still, ears poised to listen. "It's just who you are."

Aya cocked his head. "Is there a point to all this?" he demanded softly.

Ken folded his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels next to Aya's form. He kicked at an unseen pebble on the roof floor, scuffing his toe against the gravel-like stone. "Yeah, there's a point, Aya. But most people never get around to it because you always scare them off."

Aya shrugged, unwilling to get into a debate with Ken, especially about something like his own feelings or how he acted. He couldn't give a lesser damn what the social population thought of him.

Ken kneeled down by Aya, staring so intently at his face that Aya couldn't stand it. He turned his head and looked clearly into Ken's blue eyes, wishing he hadn't tucked his hair back. It usually provided a small veil around his face, but now he was stripped of his shadow and was open for Ken's scrutiny.

"You don't scare me," Ken told him levelly, his lips in a straight line, held thin. "I think there's more to you than what meets the eye."

Aya couldn't help himself. "I thought I was just an arrogant asshole?" he shot back, lavender eyes narrowing.

Ken got back to his feet and sighed. "Aya, you are who you are," he agreed sadly. "But it doesn't have to remain that way." His body turned and his footsteps receded back to the door that led to the rooftop.

Aya turned his vision back to the dark street below, with its patches of asphalt lit by eerie orange lights along the path. The shadows swept over the road, melting like fallen snow.

Before he left, Ken said over his shoulder, "People can change."

Aya looked back down to his lap, closing his eyes.

"My door is always open, if you need it to be."

Aya bit his lip as the door closed behind Ken, leaving nothing of him but the trace of his scent, the fabric softener mixed with sports deodorant and something that resembled a light cologne. The hair fell from behind his ear and lay upon his cheek, swathing it in crimson darkness.

Ken was too soft hearted to take in the lost, yellow burden that was Ran Fujimiya, hidden underneath a badass murderer façade.

*

Monday afternoon, Aya found himself back on the sidewalk in front of the flower shop, standing with his apron tied a little too tight around his waist, holding the garden hose and watering the flowers lined on the curb in front of him. Yohji had taken the previously watered flower plants in yesterday afternoon and had created quite a stir within the lady crowd. Aya had scowled to himself as he heard Yohji's laugh as he attempted to tame the bunch of young ladies clamoring for a chance to help him, and today Aya swore that if it happened again someone was going to lose a limb. Perhaps Yohji. That would teach the pretty boy a lesson. Women were worthless piles of fake. Girls were women and women were girls--the only one acceptable being his sister. She was the only one he could tolerate, because deep down, he loved that girl with everything he was worth, even if that counted for nothing.

Aya stood facing the flowerpots, holding the hose towards the ground, feeling as the sun rose higher into the sky and beat down, bathing him in its golden rays as if trying to assure him that he was a valued member of society, instead of the murdering sludge he knew he was. His dark reddish locks swayed in the wind, smoothing over the bridge of his nose and kissing his forehead, feathery on his face. It was silent for a while until he heard the ruckus come from the doors of Koneko no Sumu Ie as they opened. Two pairs of footsteps slapped onto the sidewalk.

"I'm sorry, Yoko, but if you're not here to buy then I can't help you, all right?" Ken's voice dismissed her with a familiarity Aya couldn't embrace. "I have customers to attend to."

"But, Ken, wait, please," her shrill voice begged. "Let me explain, at least."

Aya stiffened at the sound of her voice and he squeezed the hose involuntarily, the muscles in his hand contracting sharply.

"I got enough of an explanation," was Ken's reply. "And the scars to remind me of it."

"But if you'll—"

"I'm sorry, Yoko. I have to go." Ken's footsteps turned towards the door and Aya heard the bells jangle loudly. He stood completely still, water spurting from the hose, drenching the flowers and squirting onto the street behind them.

He heard Yoko's sigh. He heard her tentative footsteps as they came nearer, and suddenly he found himself facing her, violet eyes flashing with contempt.

She glanced up from the sidewalk in front of her and halted abruptly, staring with wide blue eyes. "You," she breathed, clasping her hands over her heart. "I remember you." She pointed an accusatory finger at Aya as he clenched the hose tighter in his hand. He glared at her, the hose now running water over the cement between them.

"Leave," he hissed, glowering.

"You can't just order people around," Yoko began, putting her hands on her hips. How old was this girl? She was whining like a small child. Her voice grated on Aya's nerves and he couldn't stand to hear another note of it.

Garden hose: check.

Aya turned to his right, facing her fully. He stuck one finger over the end of the hose and sent a spray into the air, creating a flying wall of water. He watched as it leapt downwards toward Yoko and cascaded over her small form like a freezing waterfall. She yelped, frozen (almost literally) in her spot in front of Aya.

"Leave!" he repeated, finger pressing harder against the hose's opening. Water continued to shoot at her, splashing onto her yellow sweater and making it stick to her body, pricking her skin like needles. She hopped from one foot to the other in shock, staring at Aya with disbelief written across her face. Aya noted that the blonde locks he'd once wanted to burn were matted to her head unattractively and her eye makeup ran joyously down her face in royal blue streaks.

Yoko gasped and sputtered and shook, her arms wrapped around herself, then finally managed to find her feet and raced away from Aya for the second time in three days, leaving her wet trail across the cement sidewalk that led deeper into town. Aya listened to the sloshing of her shoes as it dimmed and faded away, then turned back to his flowerpots with a smirk.

The three other Weiß members were the lucky witnesses. Ken stood inside Koneko with his jaw temporarily wedged in the floorboards. Yohji flicked his sunglasses to his head and wiped his brow with his apron, laughing under his breath and shaking his head. Omi hid his face behind his hand, but it did nothing to stifle his giggles and he had to turn away from the sight of Aya calmly watering the rest of the plants down as if nothing had happened.

"Oh, well," Yohji sighed, smoothing his apron back in place. "I guess she should have listened to him the first time."

Ken nodded, unable yet again to speak because of Aya's actions. He just stared at the taller boy's back, his eyes fixed on the lime green apron tied around his lanky body. Why would he do all this just for me?

Aya's smirk lasted longer than he thought the initial reaction would. His thoughts twisted in his mind, creating a feeling that resembled contentment.

Katana: on deck.

*

"Aya, wait."

Ken's words halted Aya in his tracks in the middle of the room, facing the half-closed door. The mattress of Ken's bed shifted and Aya heard soft footsteps pad over to him, retracing Aya's earlier path. He wasn't going to get away so easily this time, not if Ken had anything to do with it.

"Don't leave."

Aya felt Ken's hand clench around his wrist and he swallowed dryly, closing his eyes for a brief moment. He could feel Ken's body heat as it rose from his skin and dissolved into his own, floating over to him in a lulled state of sleepy life. He tugged gently, testing the waters, and found that Ken wasn't so willing to let go of him.

"I want to talk," Ken told him then, tightening his grasp on Aya's wrist.

The older boy shook his head slightly, blinking in the darkness of the room. "I don't," he replied.

"You obviously came here for a reason," Ken speculated. "Again."

Aya shook his head again. "I have no reason," he whispered. He pulled his arm again, but Ken didn't budge, fingers clutching even harder than before.

"Aya…"

"Let go of my arm."

The room was still for thirty seconds, then Ken jerked his hand back abruptly, causing Aya to stumble and face him, eyes glaring as he looked down into Ken's face. The younger boy stared back with determination, living up to the you-don't-scare-me speech he had given Aya a few nights ago.

Aya glanced down at his wrist, where Ken's hand held so tightly his knuckles had turned white. "Let go of my arm," he warned again, locking his gaze with Ken's.

Ken narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth, an expression of anger Aya had never seen directed at him before. The soccer player indeed had nerves of steel, something Aya had never credited him with. Still, Aya's arm stiffened and he pulled again, unrelenting in his urge to get away from all this.

"I was wrong," Ken admitted angrily, cutting the circulation in Aya's arm off. "You're never going to change. You'll stay an arrogant asshole for the rest of your life." He narrowed his liquid blue eyes at Aya's stone face. "It's what you want."

Aya sneered and lurched back from him, tearing his arm from Ken's grip disgustedly. His wrist stung as he turned for the doorway and stalked towards it. Ken's voice was no warmer than a cool winter's eve as he turned and walked down the hall, seeing nothing before his eyes, feeling nothing under his feet, but involuntarily catching Ken's last sentence.

"Why, Aya?…Why?"

Aya rested his face against the windowpane in the safe haven of his room. He wanted to answer Ken's meek question, but he couldn't. He just pressed his flat palm against the glass, smearing it with the oils from his fingertips as the pins and needles ran from his shoulder to his wrist.

He closed his eyes, and the truth was inevitable. He didn't know why.

* * *

Boots. Muddy boots.

Muddy boots as they scraped along the reflexive coating of the immaculately clean floor of Koneko no Sumu Ie, tarnishing it and ruining Omi's hard efforts to keep it pristine in its appearance. Aya slogged through the minutes, hearing the blade of his katana drag against the floor behind him, adding crimson life fluid to the mud. His left hand was on his side, feeling the ooze as it melted between his fingertips and soiled his clothes, dripped onto the floor in front of him. The sword was clutched half-heartedly in his right hand as his footsteps pounded in rhythm with his heart.

Aya blinked dazedly, his maroon locks in his eyes, helping to blanket out the already dark Koneko no Sumu Ie. He let go of his katana and it clanged loudly on the floor as he fell to his knees. His side ripped open farther, widening the gash. Self-inflicted.

Aya felt the cold floor underneath his head as the blood rushed to his face. He lolled on his side, then flopped onto his back. Somewhere in his throat, his voice had been lost, and so he lay in the middle of the floor, the katana down by his feet, just watching the ceiling as the shadows crept stealthily across. He blinked again, feeling as though his eyes had gone dry.

Then he heard the whispering.

"Yohji-kun, it came from over there!" Omi voice penetrated from the bottom of the stairs, where they connected to the main floor of the flower shop. Aya heard Yohji's annoyed tsk as he agreed with the youngest Weiß member.

"Tryin' ta get some goddamn sleep 'round here…" Aya heard the soft footsteps of the tallest member of the group, carefully placed on the floor as the wire was tightened in his hand.

The moon's light shone through a crack in the wall, catching Aya's attention as the bright line appeared suddenly and threw itself onto the floor next to him. Something within the light fueled Aya's voice, and he heard it thumping through his hazy head as his lips took control of his mouth functions.

"Wait!" Ken's voice hissed suddenly. "Listen!"

The three painfully awake Weiß members stopped dead in their tracks, standing next to each other with their ears cocked towards the noise in front of them. It came from the darkness, a soft sinister whisper that repeated itself like a song on replay.

"Neither death nor devil, I am only a murder…neither death nor devil, I am only a murder…" The glacial laugh rose into the air above Aya's sprawled form. It left him feeling empty. "Neither death nor devil, I am only a murder…only a murder…death nor devil…"

Ken gasped and threw off his claw mitt, shaking Omi up and causing Yohji to look at him in alarm. "K'so!" Ken screeched. He took off like a bat out of hell and dove onto the floor in front of Yohji and Omi.

He stared down at Aya's face. "Aya!" he shouted. He reached a hand out and gently slapped at one of Aya's flushed cheeks, feeling the burn spread across it. "Aya, can you hear me?"

Yohji and Omi came up next to Ken, standing behind him. Yohji retracted his wire and Omi stuffed his darts carefully away, the both of them staring down at the form of cold, cynical, stoic Aya with his blade dirtied at his feet. The trenchcoat was gone, replaced by slimy crimson liquid that sluggishly soaked his clothes.

Aya stared up at Ken, unable to see his face through blind eyes. "Death nor devil," he whispered, his hand reaching up towards the shadowy form over him. "I am only a murder."

"Aya, what happened to you?" Ken grimaced as Aya's rock-solid fingers gripped the shoulder of his T-shirt, wrinkling the material in his hand.

Aya laughed again, feeling the coldness well up inside him and fill the open-hearted noise. "Only a murder." His fingers left a bloody hand stain on Ken's shirt as his returned it to his side, where the blood still seeped from his wound.

"K'so," Ken breathed. Aya was apparently totally out of it, and so he reached across the long body and removed Aya's hand. It dripped blood onto the floor next to him as it slapped down.

Ken ignored Aya's hand and gently lifted his shirt, pulling it up past Aya's ribcage. He could see the older boy's pale skin in the moonlight, the stomach heaving heavily with breath as the heartbeat pounded against the ribs. The blood continued to pour down Aya's left side.

"We need to get him cleaned up, now," Ken said over his shoulder, and Yohji and Omi split in a fraction of a second. They ran up the stairs together, calling orders to one another as Ken looked back down to Aya's still form.

"This is probably going to hurt," Ken told him, stretching his hand over Aya again. He pressed his flat palm against Aya's side, trying to put pressure on the bleed until Yohji and Omi arrived with the gauze.

He saw Aya wince, his body shuddered, and suddenly the older boy looked directly into his eyes. Ken saw the tears glittering in the dim light of the moon.

"Don't…hurt…me."

Aya's voice drifted from half-closed lips and pinged against Ken's ears. He bit his lip, then opened his mouth to apologize. "I'm sorry, Aya, but I've got to stop—"

"Don't…hurt….me!" The sentence was repeated, louder this time, cutting Ken off. "She said…don't hurt me…"

Ken frowned at him. "What are you talking about, Aya?"

The laugh came again and Ken felt Aya's smooth warm skin push up against his hand, squishing blood between his fingers.

Katana: check.

"Aya?" Ken's voice was hesitant. He had never seen Weiß's leader this way, so disoriented, spouting off meaningless sentences and lying on the floor with no recognition that he was slowly bleeding himself dry. Ken's heart started to pound.

"Here." Yohji's voice made him jump and Ken looked over his shoulder, attention temporarily distracted from Aya's mumbling. He grabbed the wad of gauze Yohji was holding out to him and replaced his bloody hand with it, pressing it firmly against Aya's stab injury. "We've got to move him," Ken said, looking at the blood that surrounded Aya, puddled on the floor beneath him. "Omi, put pressure on this wound," he instructed.

Omi obediently obliged and Ken removed his hand, uncaring of the blood that splashed from his fingers onto Aya's ivory stomach. He hefted the spent black shirt up and yanked it carefully over Aya's head. The older boy's eyes suddenly flashed at him, still full of tears as his crimson locks fell back into place over his forehead.

"Ken…"

"Hush," Ken murmured as he handed the soiled shirt to Yohji. "We're taking you upstairs."

"Ken, she didn't want me to hurt her, Ken…"

Yohji discarded Aya's shirt and helped Ken pull him to his feet, Omi shifting from his knees to stand upright, hand still planted firmly on Aya's gash. Ken stood in front of Aya, looking up into his face as he sagged against Yohji.

"Aya."

He stared back with watery eyes and blinked. The tears didn't fall.

Ken glanced at Yohji. "Take him to my room."

The eldest Weiß boy nodded. The three of them hoisted Aya up the stairs together, the wounded member quiet for the moment, just allowing them to transport him. He was spread across Ken's bed, staining the sheets underneath him with wet blood.

As Yohji and Omi left, they glanced curiously at one another. They could hear Aya's voice, chanting under his breath as the door closed behind them, Ken voluntarily taking the job of babysitting the injured assassin.

"Neither death nor devil…I am only a murder…neither death…nor devil, I am only a murder…neither death…"

*

Aya could still see her. He could still see the way her eyes shone at him through the darkness. He could still feel the way the breeze blew in from the half-open window.

Aya, you must be cold. Let me shut the window for you.

He could still hear her scream as it rang through the air between them.

Ran ni-chan!

He could still hear the sickening thump as her body hit the ground. He could feel the way the blade of his katana resisted as he yanked it out from her fleshy stomach. He could still hear her small whimpers from the floor.

From where he stood, he could still see her hand, trembling, reaching into the air for him, her fingers shaking, curling and uncurling against the murky darkness of the bedroom. He could still feel her fingers as they tugged on his arm.

But I like it! Besides, Mom and Dad are waiting, right?

He had knelt down to her side. He could see the blue penetrating, beaming from her dying pupils into his own hatred-laced violet ones.

"Omae…"

It had been her last word. Aya had stood up from her and walked away, boots trailing through the blood underneath her fallen form, silenced forever.

You…

I remember you.

It had been too much and yet not enough in the same instant. She was gone, and yet she wasn't gone. Aya hadn't known what he'd felt when he'd walked away and he couldn't remember how his own katana blade had made it halfway through his side. He could only focus on one thing.

I killed Aya.

But it wasn't the truth.

*

Ken easily awoke from his fitful slumber, which he'd fallen restlessly into after keeping constant vigil on Aya for hours. He stirred, opening his eyes.

The room was still semi-dark, the light of not quite early morning shining against the drawn curtains around the window. He was lying on his side, and behind him he could feel the rustlings of the fallen leader of Weiss. Aya was dreaming, and Ken wasn't so sure he wanted to wake him. He did, however, roll over to observe the older boy as he had been doing practically all night.

Aya's eyes were closed, held tight as if the older boy was refusing to open his eyes. His head jerked from one side to the other and his left hand clawed madly at the light sheet Ken had drawn over him. Was he having a nightmare?

Ken reached a reluctant hand out to shake Aya's shoulder and gasped as the plum colored eyes suddenly shot open, fixing intently on the ceiling. Aya's form stilled, his hand still attached to the sheet over his body. Ken didn't move, afraid of…something.

Aya's head turned to the side, his eyes focusing on Ken's, looking past the younger boy's still outstretched hand, which slowly wilted back down onto the mattress between them.

Ken's voice was small and low. "Aya?"

Aya blinked at him and Ken stared back.

There was no movement.

Abruptly, Aya's hands shot out from his body, catching onto Ken's nightshirt. Ken cried out as Aya yanked him over, fisting handfuls of his shirt, twisting the material between desperate fingers. Ken landed on top of the lanky form, clutching Aya's hands in shock, his eyes wide. He didn't want to reopen the wound he had spent two hours cleaning and bandaging, and he struggled uselessly against Aya's iron-clad grip, pulling at his hands and shifting his weight to his knees, straddling the older boy. Aya hauled Ken's face down, so close to his he could feel hot breath upon his cheek. Violet colored eyes glared into watery blue ones.

"Aya," Ken's voice wobbled, "what are you doing?"

"I killed her," Aya fumed, his voice deathly soft and menacing. "She's dead."

Ken thought madly, trying to pull his face back from Aya's. The older boy's lips were too close to his and Ken didn't want to find out where he was going with this anyway. He tried to brush the matter off, hoping and praying fervently that Aya would let him go and drop back off to sleep.

"Who cares," Ken answered. "We're assassins. It's what we do."

Aya didn't accept his words. "I killed her. She's dead."

Ken kept pulling away from, trying to untangle his shirt from Aya's fingers. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said breathlessly.

"Don't you understand the meaning of death?" Aya spat at him.

"Let go of me!" Ken cried, pulling back, stretching the cotton of his shirt. His eyes filled with tears as he continued to yank away.

"Aya's dead."

The words halted Ken's movements in a flash. He stopped and stared down at Aya's face, frowning. "What?"

"I killed her," was the whispered response.

Ken shook his head at him. "No!" he shouted. "You're lying!"

"I killed my sister." Aya's hands let go of Ken's shirt and dropped to his side in defeat.

"No!" Ken repeated. "Stop saying that!"

"She's dead."

"No! Stop it!"

"Dead, Ken. All dead."

Ken reached his hand down to Aya's face and covered his mouth with it. "Stop it, Aya! Stop saying that!"

"Dead…"

The tears rolled down Ken's face as he shook his head again. "Shut up!" he cried. "Shut up! Stop saying that!"

"You want me to stop telling the truth?" Aya asked him quietly, the words sifting between Ken's fingers.

Ken retracted his hand and sniffed hard. "You've been trying to help her for so long," he told Aya. "Why would you suddenly stop? Why would you kill her?"

The answer was soft. "Because she tried to hurt you." And it didn't make any sense.

Ken frowned, looking down into Aya's face. "Aya-chan never tried to hurt me," he told him gently.

Aya shot up from his position on the bed and brought his hands up, flat against Ken's chest. He shoved hard, sending Ken tumbling from the bed with a loud yell as he sneered at him.

"Who's talking about her?" Aya demanded as the younger boy rolled to his side.

Ken glared up at him from the floor as Aya stood before him, pale skin gleaming in the soft glare of moonlight with the white bandage wrapped tightly around his left side.

"You were," Ken sputtered to the carpet. "What the hell is your problem tonight?" He rubbed ferociously at his eyes, clearing them of tears. Obviously the brooding leader of Weiss was still way out of his rational mind. It hadn't come back to him yet.

On cue, Aya shook his head, clenching his eyes closed, and brought one hand up to his temple. He was still and the room was hushed, the older boy looking as if he were trying to recover some part of a lost memory.

"It felt like I was killing my own sister," Aya replied finally. The words sounded forced.

Ken wiped his flushed face and pushed himself up to his feet.

"That's why…" Aya's left hand flattened gently against his now soaked-through bandage and he broke off. Ken just stared at him.

Aya looked at Ken.

And he tried. He tried to open his mouth. He tried to say something, he really did. But nothing worked. Nothing came out, and he gave up.

Ken sighed, giving up on the argument and letting the anger decompose within him. "Come on," he coaxed, opening his arms to Aya. "Let's get you fixed back up and into bed again. You need to rest so you can heal."

Aya let himself be pushed willingly back into Ken's bed as the younger boy climbed in next to him, the mattress groaning in quiet discontent. His mussed red locks lay against one of Ken's pillows, his eyes half-lidded as he watched the young assassin reach across his slim torso and carefully remove the thick bandage. Aya tried to hold back the wince as his wound was revealed to the cold air, but Ken caught it anyway and sent him a contrite look as he slid off the bed for a fresh bandage, trying to move quickly so the deep injury wouldn't reopen.

Aya closed his eyes as Ken reapplied a generous amount of gauze to the wound site and gently taped it down, smoothing his flat hands over Aya's side. He was slow and careful in his movements, making sure the bandage was fixed properly in place, leaning his weight over Aya's body. Aya could feel Ken's warm breath against his chilled skin, and it sent goosebumps up over him. He shuddered slightly as Ken pulled his hands away from his wound.

Unbeknownst to him, Ken had not only pulled his hands away from the hurt site, but he had also locked his gaze on Aya's face. He didn't miss the look of acceptance that came over the older boy as Ken's right hand glided once more over the bandage, just for leverage.

Ken bent over again, pressing his knees close to Aya's form, leaning his right hand on the slim portion of mattress on Aya's left side, by the wall. He just barely touched the tip of his nose to Aya's ribcage, inhaling the scent of ointment and soap and black leather from his clothes. The older boy took a deep breath, the action sending Ken into a serene state of sleepy darkness. He listened as Aya's breath exhaled through his nose and then brought his left hand up, sliding it past Aya's belly button as he pressed his cheek to Aya's skin. Despite how cold the crimson-haired, violet-eyed leader seemed to be, his skin was burning hot with intensity and desire as Ken's left hand made its way past his ribs, over a nipple, and spread out on the right side of Aya's collarbone. The older boy arched slightly, his head leaning back as Ken's hand smoothed over his neck.

Ken opened his mouth and breathed heavily against Aya's stomach as he shifted his body, bringing it up over Aya's until both hands were planted on either side of his head. Ken stared down at Aya's calm face, eyes closed as if he were sleeping. Ken knew it wasn't true as Aya's slim lips parted slightly, taking another deep breath. Ken dipped his head and ran the tip of his nose down Aya's neck, continuing to breathe hard, liking the reaction it caused Aya to give him.

The older boy lifted his chin even more, allowing Ken access to the deeper parts of his neck. The younger boy was doing nothing more than breathing against his hot flesh and Aya found it to be calming, as if Ken were trying to wash away the memories of Yoko's death. Perhaps he was, but Aya didn't know. It was better if the pair of them forgot about that young attractive girl and got on with their lives. She had caused them both nothing but strife.

Ken lifted his head and briefly ran his mouth over Aya's chin, proceeding to breathe harder against the older boy's lips, which were still half-parted with ecstasy. He felt a strong hand slide under the back of his nightshirt, feeling the muscles of Ken's sculpted back as he lowered his mouth to Aya's.

Ken didn't know what he had been expecting from Aya. He didn't know how Aya would respond to all this, to him, but the reaction Aya gave certainly was not what he would have thought.

The older boy kissed him back.

And then pushed the lip-lock a little further.

Ken found himself held tightly against Aya's chest, one arm wrapped possessively around his back underneath his nightshirt as their tongues mingled slowly with each other, feeling the wet heat between their mouths, the warmth of each other's lips. Ken liked this; he liked knowing that somewhere underneath his frigid, temperamental attitude, Aya was just a regular young boy who needed simplistic human actions to get him through his burden of life. Like touch. And embrace. And kiss.

The two stayed that way for a while, ardently kissing each other until one or the other of them was exhausted and finally they had to sleep. And one still had to heal. Both inside and out.

* * *

The next day had been back to work as usual for the young caretakers of Koneko no Sumu Ie. Omi and Yohji respectfully didn't say anything to either Aya or Ken, once the two materialized down on the first floor of the flower shop, about the peculiar events of the previous night. Obviously there was no need to question Aya about his condition since he was able to be up and walking around, and what had taken place after he had been escorted to Ken's bedroom last night was nobody's business.

Yohji bit down a laugh as he dutifully swept the floor, focusing all his energy on it. A sudden phrase had leapt into his head as he gathered the dust from the floor. The answer to everyone's unspoken questions. If these walls could talk…The customers of Koneko would probably think twice before coming back if they knew midnight assassins were selling the goods.

Aya carefully tied his apron around his waist only, folding down the top half so he wouldn't have to put pressure on his wound site. He was already heading outside for the flowerpots on the curb. They needed to be brought in to be shelved.

Yohji watched as Aya bent down over the first flowerpot, gently running pale slender fingers through the leaves. As he held the pot between both hands, Aya attempted to stand up, but halfway through the motion his legs faltered. It looked as if his knees buckled under pain as he slumped back to the ground, one hand holding onto the pot, one hand on the cement for balance.

As Yohji went to set his broom down and help his injured comrade, he found himself shoved gently aside as Ken walked past him, the bells jangling overhead as the door swung open and closed. Omi cast a curious glance at Yohji as he took up his broom again, and the older blonde shook his head at Omi as if to say, none of our business. The younger boy agreed silently.

Outside, Ken knelt by Aya's side and took the flowerpot from him. Aya's eyesight bathed the cement in front of him, the older boy almost refusing to look at Ken, who was willing to offer his services. It was silent. Then,

"Maybe you should rest for a while," Ken said quietly, trying to peer around Aya's crimson hair shield.

Aya bit his lip angrily. "I don't need to rest," he hissed. He stood up abruptly, ignoring the jarring pain through his side, and turned to Ken as the younger boy faced him in surprise, as if he were expecting Aya to keel over any moment. "I'm fine." Aya snatched the flowerpot from Ken's hands and stalked inside with it.

Ken stood on the sidewalk with the sun beating down on him. He didn't see the group of girls who passed by him, entering the flower shop. He didn't hear the birds tweeting in a nearby branch on a tree. He didn't hear the loud honking of a truck on the road. He just stared at nothing, thinking about how stubborn that damned redhead was.

And then the young man with chocolate dark hair and deep blue eyes swiveled on his heel and charged through the entrance to the Koneko. His destination was in the back of the room, by the doorway. His footsteps didn't stop until he had taken a death grip hold on Aya's skinny wrist and yanked the lanky boy through the doorway. Fortunately, Yohji and Omi were too preoccupied in the front of the shop to notice any strange goings-on in the back.

Ken seethed as he fisted the front of Aya's shirt, balling the cloth in his hands. He mercilessly slammed the taller boy up against the wall, looking up into his face. The dull thud echoed throughout the small hallway.

"What the hell is your problem?" he cried, frowning at Aya.

Aya glared back. "You are my problem, Hidaka," he spat out. "Take your hands off me."

"You are such an asshole!" Ken shouted back, unfazed by Aya's tone. The older boy looked like he was ready to spit fire. Ken could relate.

"Old news," Aya responded, his words clipped. "I heard you the first time. Take your hands off me."

Ken reared back and slammed Aya against the wall again. "Just remember this," he bit out angrily. "This…problem of yours saved your skinny ass last night. Otherwise you'd probably still be lying on the floor." He let go of Aya's shirt and stalked away, feet pounding up the stairs that led to the bedrooms.

Aya looked down at his shirt, where it puffed out in wrinkles where Ken's fists had been. He leaned his head against the wall, one hand coming up to his side, his breathing short.

Ken was right. About everything.

* * *

Ken knew it. He knew that Aya hadn't used him. Last night wasn't just some twisted fluke between close friends who both needed comfort. It wasn't a "you save my ass, I save yours" type deal, either.

Ken had never seen Aya look so calm in the dimness of his bedroom like he had last night. Aya always had the appearance that something was taking place behind those sharp violet eyes, that his brain was spinning with preplanned murders and mission operations, and he looked like he knew what he wanted all the time, and at any second he could turn and demand it to be so. Last night had been the only time, Ken realized, when he had seen the real Aya. That almost helplessly lost, serene young boy with pain on his body and calm written on his face was the true persona of the one Weiss followed loyally during the night.

And so Ken had no regrets, and no hesitations, as he quietly pushed open the rooftop door and slipped out into the night air. He didn't bother to mask his footsteps as he tromped lightly towards the form of Aya, who was sitting on the edge of the roof with his legs dangling over the side of the building. If Ken didn't know Aya better he would have guessed the older boy was contemplating suicide. Then again, Ken didn't know what category Aya's act of last night fit into, but he pushed the thought from his head. The older boy was just sitting, motionless.

It was silent for a while, Ken standing behind Aya, who stared at the dark street down below. The only sound was of passing cars and night owls.

Finally, Ken bent down close to Aya and placed his chin on the brooding assassin's shoulder, where it fit into the groove of skin nicely. He wrapped strong arms around him and sighed through his nose, blinking at the orange street lights before him. Aya was still, his hands in his lap, legs still protruding over the side of Koneko. Ken heard the words as they brushed over his ear.

"Arigatou, Ken."

The vibration of Aya's voice through his back was soothing as the words were spoken and then carried away, picked up by the night breeze. Ken placed his hand over Aya's mouth to shush him, then removed it once his lips closed. The two were silent together now, enjoying the cool night.

Ken didn't know how long it took him to realize that Aya had leaned his head against his own. He just felt the pressure and the heat and smiled to himself as his eyes slowly sunk shut. This somber boy in his arms, this quiet one thinking about nothing in particular, this was the real Aya, the one who didn't glare or appoint orders or act condescending to anyone else. Indeed, Ken had been right. There was much more to Aya than what met the eye.

And Aya knew. He knew why before he hadn't had the words to say to Ken.

It was because no words were needed to say what he wanted to say, for such a long time. And now he wasn't bothered so much anymore.