Note: this is chapter 1 of a work-in-progress. Please just tell me if you see anything wrong, like grammar, spelling, facts, etc.
Pairing: Ken/Ran
Dysmorphophobia
If Hidaka Ken had ever taken the time to sit down and make a list of things he did not like, the list would have been long—partially because, as any acquaintance of his new, he had the tendency to think too long about little things. For instance, he wouldn't have really needed to include black-and-red soccer balls on the list (because they reminded him of hornets, and he had stepped on a hornet as a child) but., after an hour of trying to make sure the list was complete, he would have surely added this particular variety of soccer ball. Soccer itself, though, was not, and would never be, on the list.
Among the items that would have been listed first, because they actually mattered, were mirrors, cameras, men who wore makeup (though no, not for the reason you might think), movie stars, models, doctors, hospitals, and to the agreement of many people, burnt meat (once again, not for the reason you're thinking). Ken avoided these things in his life. He had removed the mirror in his apartment as soon as he'd moved in (it had been stored under his bed for an entire week before he accidentally broke it). He only used his television set for watching sports matches and news and weather channels, though he had been persuaded to watch cartoons a few times by the children he coached in the beautiful art of soccer. When he was sick, he did not go to the hospital, but most men don't go to the hospital for little things like fevers, food poisoning, and broken wrists (things he periodically suffered from, mostly at his own hand). Ken had even switched to vegetarianism for a few months to avoid burnt meat, before deciding that he was just not the "tofu kind of guy".
There were some things that Ken hated that he could not avoid—he couldn't even try to avoid. He hated smokers, for instance, and he worked with one seven days a week. He disliked the company of teenage girls, but he worked in a flower store that always found itself jam-packed with them. He hated computers, or at least the more techy-sciency-stuff, but he worked with a skilled programmer and hacker who had opened a mail account for him (which he never used or shared with other people).
He hated criminals—rapists, traitors, embezzlers, people who cheated on their math tests, even—but he found himself in their company all too often.
At least...at least then, he knew that there was a solution. Crimes could not be forgiven, or undone, but dangerous people are as easy to kill as the innocents they harm.
It was for this dislike, this hated thing, an item at the top of the list, that Ken was waiting in a hallway of an unfamiliar building with someone he'd only met a few hours before.
He sighed, bored by waiting for orders from Omi. He'd been given another costume to wear—this time, a cleaning company uniform, which his companion wore as well. Ken knew that Youji was far away, both physically and spiritually, dancing into the arms of their target's mistress and possible bodyguard. Dancing was on the list of things that Ken did not like, but he envied Youji's ability to blend in with strange and unusual crowds—even his ability to talk to people he didn't really know, like he was their best friend, lover, and confidante, all rolled into one. Ken bristled at the stiff, quiet man beside him—that skill would've come in really handy with their new teammate.
Ken turned to look at the tall man, to try to size him up. Birman had barely introduced him to the group before sending them out on their next mission. In all fairness, the group of three had known about the mission a week in advance and had prepared for it. What threw the group off this time was the fact that they'd only prepared for three, and even if the fourth member would prove useful, he didn't have a place in schedule. Omi had rushed to secure another uniform for the new member, and Youji had tried fruitlessly to get more information from him than his name.
Aya...Ken thought. He made a face. It seemed like that name—simple, open, almost happy-sounding—didn't suit the man in front of him. He was tall, pale, closed-off (from the looked of his crossed arms and averted gaze) and unhappy. His unnaturally red hair hung around his face in what had once been a hair style, but now looked overgrown. Ken had yet to see his face close enough to pick out his eye color, though he remembered Youji saying something along the lines of "That guy must be wearing contacts..."
Ken did not know the new teammate's specialty—what type of weapon he used, what type of gun he carried, if he liked working behind-the-scenes or charging out in front—but he could judge from his body language and silence that the red-haired man liked to work alone.
He shifted from one foot to another. His legs felt like lead from running around earlier that day to only stand in place for three hours at night. He wanted to run around. He wanted to do cartwheels. He wanted Omi to call them into the room at the end of the hallway so he could slice someone's chest open...just to give his muscles a chance to move.
Come on, Omi. What are you waiting for?
"Aya," he said after another minute of agonizing, boring, might-as-well-be-dead silence.
Aya turned his face slightly and looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "What?" he asked monotonously.
"You..." Ken choked. Talking to him had been a bad idea. The other man's gaze suffocated him—his eyes studied Ken's face too hard. Oh, they're purple—what, really?! he thought, having finally been given a chance to see Aya's eyes. But it wasn't the color of the eyes that was most alarming—it was the intensity.
Aya was sizing him up, too—he just didn't need to look at Ken's whole body to do it.
Instantly, he felt what he knew Aya must have seen in him—you shouldn't even be alive right now.
Ken laughed loudly and turned away from Aya, covering the back of his head with his hand to completely block the view of his face from the other man. He felt nauseous. After a few moments of breathing, he turned back halfway and without looking at Aya, he asked, "So, do you like sports?"
It was a stupid question, but Ken decided, arbitrarily, that 95 percent of all questions that people ask each other when they first meet are stupid anyway, and the point was that he was reaching out, to get to know the guy.
It would be enough to see more than one emotion from him.
Aya turned away and did not answer.
Ken watched him for a moment, then took a deep breath and let it out. He walked around so that he was across from Aya, and even though the red-haired man was not facing him, he knew that Aya could not completely ignore him. "I guess that's a 'no', huh? I gotcha," he followed-up to his own question.
Part of him felt that Aya was being cold and stuck-up, but another part knew that personal questions were not allowed for their group in the first place. Of course, he wanted to make an effort to get along with Aya so they would be able to work together, but Ken knew that some 'types' needed encouragement to interact with other people, and so he would give Aya the benefit of the doubt.
Now that I think about it, he doesn't look like the athletic type, Ken thought. He's all pale and scrawny. He must be a really good shot, or just REALLY low on money.
Ken looked at Aya again and noticed that a single long, gold earring hung from his ear. "That's nice," he said, gesturing to it. Aya looked back at him, reaching up self-consciously to touch the earring, to hide it from Ken. Must have sentimental value, Ken thought. "Where's the other one?"
Ken's list of unlikeable things did not include men who wore earrings. Sure, it included men and women who had too many piercings, and unsightly tattoos, but an earring or two on a guy was alright. The feminine piece of jewelry suited Aya, or so Ken thought.
What Ken hadn't thought about was the possibility that Aya also had a list, and that nosy people who asked him too many questions were on said list. If he had really known Aya (which no one did, or ever would, it seemed) then he would have known that though the taller man liked very few things, he would not have created a long, cluttered list of unlikeables just to fill up a page of paper.
Something that ranked above nosy people on Aya's list were questions about his past, and although Ken didn't know it, that was the sort of question he had just asked.
"Buried," Aya replied curtly.
Ken swallowed. He wasn't sure of what that meant, but it creeped the hell out of him.
"Cool, cool," he replied, wishing that Omi would send them the damn--
"Siberian? Abyssinian?"
Both men turned to the radio in the cleaning cart they'd been standing nearby. When Aya did not move to pick up the radio, Ken rushed past him and responded, "Hey there, Om—Bombay, what took you so long?"
There was a pause. "Sorry, Balinese got side-tracked, though I'm sure that's not the story he'll give you later..."
Aya snorted but did not comment. Ken rolled his eyes and waited for Omi to give them the order to move. He quickly patted his pants pockets to make sure his bagh nakh's were with him—he had lost one of them before on an earlier mission that, like this one, had also involved waiting around for several hours.
Oh, right, he remembered. Cartwheels.
"Balinese has brought the target to the back room, along with two bodyguards. Do not waste any time in reaching him and finishing the mission. I'm depending on you."
"Hm," Aya grunted as the transmission ended. He dropped to the floor and reached for something under the cart, leaving Ken to speculate until he pulled out a...
"Oh, yeah, that's inconspicuous," Ken spat sarcastically when he realized Aya's weapon of choice was a full-size katana. Aya did not answer, but instead stood and began to walk towards the service door to the room at the back of the dance hall.
Ken was fast on his heels. "You're not seriously going to use that for what I think you're going to use it for you, are you?" he asked.
This was ridiculous. His weapons, Omi's projectiles, Youji's wire—all could be hidden with ease. Some of them didn't even set off metal detectors. But a full-size, old-school, samurai sword?
It wasn't just impractical, it was downright melodramatic.
"I'm not a mind-reader," came Aya's quick reply. He picked up speed when he heard Ken following him.
Ken stared at his back before shaking his head and donning his bagh nakh's. This guy won't last a month...or maybe even the end of this mission, he thought, nodding to himself to affirm his doubt physically.
He came to an abrupt halt when Aya suddenly stopped, turned, and unsheathed his sword to bring the bottom of the hilt right under Ken's jaw. Ken's body went rigid but he had the presence of mind not to back away from the threat.
"Say it," Aya commanded.
Ken glared at him, offended that his new teammate would use that tone with him. It's just like I'm a dog... "Say what?" he asked, cocking his head to the side as he smiled back at Aya, determined to not let the taller man know that he'd caught him off guard.
"Whatever you're thinking."
They stood still.
Ken remembered the mission.
"I...wasn't thinking anything," he answered weakly. Damn him...I'll get him back for this. If we had more time I'd show him what's what but since Omi told us to hurry... He cleared his throat and added, "Anything at all."
Aya's eyes narrowed for a moment, and then he pushed his sword back into its sheath. "Good."
There it was again. Those eyes, on his face. Didn't he have the decency to just not look? Ken scowled, and when Aya didn't turn around he pushed past him, brushing one hand over his cheek and elbowing Aya in a none-too-subtle fashion. "Come on," he said roughly. If he's going to talk to me like a dog then I owe him the same treatment. To make a point, Ken turned for one moment and patted his knee, beckoning Aya by saying, "Here, boy, come and do a trick for me and I'll give you a doggie biscuit."
He knew that he'd gone too far—that he'd been too obvious—but he didn't care at the moment. His heart was pounding, there was no blood in his brain, and Aya was starting to think that he outranked Ken.
A strange look crossed Aya's face, but before Ken could really register it, the service door banged open and a pissed-off Youji exited, tracking blood over the floor and winding his wire back into its case on his wrist. He stopped when he was a few meters in front of Ken and just glared at the two younger men.
Ken peered past him into the back room. Three dead bodies, all male, littered the floor and benches. Ken realized that whatever woman Youji had been distracting had not been invited to the same party as the fine gentlemen who were, thanks to Youji, soaking in their own blood. Youji had proven that sometimes, a team of two was just as good as a team of four.
Scared by Youji's silence, Ken spat out the first joke that came into his head. "Did you, uh, have your period or something?" he asked nervously, motioning to the blood on the floor.
"Shitheads," Youji spat as he stomped past them.
Recognition of the situation hit Aya's face, and he turned to follow Youji down the hall, towards the exit they'd secured. "Will I still get paid?" he asked.
"How the fuck should I know?!" Youji shouted over his shoulder. Ken winced when he heard the door slam shut.
Omi buzzed back onto the radio. "Abyssinian? Siberian? Balinese...? Do you copy? Is something wrong?"
Ken gave Aya a short glance before answering Omi. "We're fine, Omi, everything's fine..." he winced again as he heard the door to their exit open and slam shut again as Youji stomped back down the hall. "We'll be out in thirty seconds."
"That's good to hear, Siberian." Ken realized that he had, once again, called Omi by his name on a mission. Oops.
"WELL?!" Youji shouted at Ken and Aya. Aya blinked at him, unimpressed by the show of anger.. Ken bowed his head to avoid Youji's ire and grabbed Aya's arm to lead him out of the building. "See you soon, Bombay," he said before turning off the radio.
Youji dropped them off in front of the flower shop before accelerating far more urgently than was necessary and tearing off in the direction of his apartment. Ken suspected that he was heading home only to clean himself of the smell of blood, throw on clean clothing, and head to a club of some sort. As he listened to the engine of Youji's car go into overdrive, Omi asked weakly, "Something...bad happened, huh?"
Aya grunted. Ken kept his mouth shut to prevent himself from unleashing a string of insults against Aya, who had pissed him off in the first place.
A glance in Aya's direction told him that the red-haired man was still carrying the katana. Unbelievable.
"I'll see both of you tomorrow, then," Omi said as he turned to leave.
"Wait," Aya said quietly.
Omi halted in his tracks. "...yes, Aya?" he asked. Ken noticed that he put a little more emphasis into the older man's name than was necessary, and instead of leaving immediately, he folded his arms and stayed to listen to the conversation.
"I need to go somewhere tomorrow morning," he said. "I'll be back before the afternoon."
Omi's usually large eyes narrowed, and his face turned blank for a moment—it was his thinking expression, Ken had learned. It passed quickly enough, and Omi nodded, giving Aya a small smile.
"We'll see you then!" he said cheerfully. Aya gave the smallest of smiles in reply before stalking off into the night. Ken watched him go, and decided to wait for a few minutes before following suit...his apartment was in the same direction of Aya's, or so it seemed, and Ken didn't want to risk being alone with him. The temptation to sneak up on him and rip his spine out was too delicious.
As Aya disappeared, Ken realized that Omi had remained behind, too, and that he was studying his face.
Ken looked away. "Is something wrong?" he asked, shaken once again that night by physical scrutiny.
Omi nodded and stared off after Aya. Ken's blood pressure dropped and he took a deep breath.
"Can we sit down for a minute? I need to...talk to you about something," Omi replied without really looking back at Ken.
They found a snack shop that was handing out the day's unsold merchandise to entice nighttime customers to buy drinks, and sat down on a bench nearby the flower shop. Ken dug into his sandwich, suddenly aware of the hunger he'd built up while waiting. Omi barely touched his food, and instead sipped his drink slowly.
This was another look that Ken knew. Omi wasn't just thinking now...he was planning, calculating. He knew that whatever Omi wanted to talk about now was important, and he doubted that he would be given the full picture of whatever situation he was about to be dragged into.
"It's about Aya," Omi began.
Ken nodded. Aya was a troublesome guy. In one night, their teamwork had turned to crap, and Ken was fairly certain that if he hadn't had a damned partner to work it, he would have been able to complete his part of the mission without any problem. "What about 'im?" he asked, taking another bite of his sandwich.
"I need you to follow him tomorrow," Omi replied.
Ken nearly spat out the mouthful he'd taken. "What?! Seriously?" he asked. When Omi nodded, a confused expression crossed Ken's face, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before continuing. "Look, I don't know where the guy lives, or where he's going, or when!" he said. Ken knew he was spinning out of control a little bit, but he had no idea how Omi expected him to accomplish this task, or why.
Omi nodded. "I know it's strange, but trust me, this will affect the fate of our team." His somber tone shut Ken up a little bit, and he waited to hear Omi out. "You can't let Youji know about this, or Aya, of course, " he said, "but there's something about...Aya...that I'm not sure about."
"Do you think he might be a spy?" Ken asked.
While Weiss had consisted of Omi, Youji, and Ken, there had been several reports of attempted assassinations against the Takatori family. The assassins were always found dead, usually mutilated, their bodies set out on display as a sign that the most powerful family in town was not to be fucked with. There had been one instance in which a man who had sought revenge on the Takatori family had survived an encounter with Takatori Reiji's bodyguards, but he had disappeared before his photo could be taken. He had never been identified by any media outlet, and Ken, along with everyone else who had heard the report, assumed that he was dead—that the Takatori family had found him and prevented him from trying to finish what he had started.
Ken doubted that a handful of bodyguards could have cut down so many assassins, considering the fire of hatred that burned throughout the city for the Takatori family. He knew that if he'd suddenly found himself in a crowded room with Takatori, filled with armed bodyguards, that he'd...he couldn't stop...
Poor Kase. You only tried to help me, but I...should never have brought you into my problems.
Ken shook himself out of his own pity, and covered his face with his hands as he remembered the rumors that spies had found their weigh into Japan's underground—spies on the payroll of the Takatori family who sought to keep their employer's empire strong by breaking up anti-Takatori groups and slaying anyone who spoke out against the family.
If Aya was a spy for the Takatori family, Ken vowed to kill him. It wouldn't ease his mind but it would give him something else to think about for a while.
Omi laughed softly, and Ken pulled his face away from his hands to look up at the boy.
"I don't know what to think," Omi replied quietly. "The truth is that..." he cleared his throat. Ken narrowed his eyes as he realized that Omi had almost given away more information than he'd intended, but he listened and bit back his questions.
"I just need to know where he's going tomorrow," Omi finished.
Ken sighed. "Is that official Kritiker business?"
"As good as."
Ken went home defeated. He kicked little rocks here and there, wondering how the hell he was going to track down Aya and follow him without being noticed. He made a face and thought to himself, I hope he's a spy. That way, I can rip him apart tomorrow. Tonight left me unsatisfied...
He stopped when he realized that he was worked-up because he'd been denied a chance to kill that night. His usual outlet hadn't been doing the job. Ken wished for a moment that Omi would tell him he didn't need to tail Aya or go to the shop the next day. He just wanted to throw on some half-clean clothes and take his kids out of school to play soccer. Or, maybe more to the point, he wanted to play a real game with some guys his age—not for money or anything, and not completely serious, but he wanted the workout, the exhaustion, the pleasure that came only from unrestrained physical activity.
Uh, he thought. I sound like Youji.
He saw a cat in his path and noticed that he was standing right in front of a crack in the sidewalk. The cat meowed at him and Ken took up a defensive stance, pretending that he was keeping goal and the cat was trying to get past him. He moved from side-to-side, and the cat lazily walked towards him, straight down the middle. Ken scooped it up and held it over his head triumphantly.
"Come on," he chided the cat. "Aren't you supposed to have good reflexes?" The cat yawned, bored. "I guess not," Ken joked. The cat meowed at him and he let it down, but made sure to pet its head and neck before letting it walk away.
He took the stairs to his apartment three at a time, thundering down the hallway to his door and unlocking it while making a good deal of noise with the keys. Ken stripped off his borrowed uniform and took a shower, then changed into a shirt and boxers. He felt restless and he couldn't stand the thought of going to bed or watching television.
Ken all but ran to his balcony and threw open the glass door, then rushed to the railing and leaned over it, looking down. There was no good use for his energy but he could at least watch the cars go by. He knew Youji was down there, somewhere, and he strained to hear the sound of an overworked car engine...
"Are you going to jump?"
Ken nearly did jump, and he held onto the guard rail for dear life as he looked around for the source of the voice. In the dim light, he could make out the figure of a tall, thin man, standing on the balcony next to his and eating from a cup of instant noodles.
"Aya?!" Ken shouted. The red-haired man stared back at Ken wordlessly.
The idea that this was a fantastic, horrible coincidence struck Ken only for a moment before a switch flipped on in his brain. "Are you stalking me or something?" he shouted over the empty space between their balconies, a little too loud, and also a little too angry for the occasion.
Aya's expression was indiscernible. "Why would I stalk you?" Aya asked quietly. "I just met you today. I have no interest in you."
Ken huffed. "Then why are you right next door to me?"
"This place was cheap. That's all I care about," Aya replied. Ken watched the steam that floated over his cup of noodles. As it shifted in the night air, he guessed that Aya had taken another bite.
He scowled. He was still hungry, he didn't keep his fridge stocked properly, and those noodles smelled damn good.
"Cheap, huh?" Ken asked, too prideful to ask if Aya had any extra cups of noodles. "What, is that why you're eating crap from a cup or something?"
He'd intended to bite hard, but when Aya simply replied, "Yes," Ken clamped his mouth shut.
Does Aya have money troubles or something? Even if he does, we get paid pretty well. He should be able to eat better than that...
Ken cursed under his breath. Aya had just become interesting. He wanted to follow him, to see what Aya was spending all his money on.
"Goodnight, Aya," he called out as he fell back into his apartment. He received no reply, but he hadn't expected one in the first place.
As Ken sank into bed, he took a few deep breaths to slow his heart rate. He was suddenly excited, and also pissed off. Why couldn't he tell Youji about this? If Aya was dirt-poor or in some kind of terrible debt, he wanted to rub it in the red-haired man's face in front of the others. It would serve him right for barking at Ken like he was a dog. They were equals—but hell, Ken had seniority on the team!
I wonder how old he is.
I wonder if he finished school.
I wonder what he really wants to do...
Ken frowned. They had all left lives behind. He didn't know what Omi and Youji were missing out on, and he didn't care to guess. Other people's pain was too much for him to bear.
The night around him was quiet, but he could feel something stirring. Not too far away, Aya was probably getting ready for bed, moving around in his apartment like a normal person. They could all lie like that—pretend to be normal. Omi could pretend to go to school, but even when he was there, he would think about the missions and how the team was working together. Youji could flirt with women but Ken had never seen him in a long-term relationship. Ken could pretend to be a soccer coach, and a florist, and occasionally a motorcycle enthusiast, but underneath it all he was just...
...dead and twisted.
Aya just wears it on the outside, he thought. Ken amused himself by imagining that Aya didn't brush his teeth or wash his hair or take his clothes to the laundromat—he just thought about swords and killing and how to avoid going outdoors and letting sunlight touch his miserably pale skin. He probably wrote poems about death and blood. He probably hated talking to women and wished for an all-male society so he could practice what he knew and avoid the things he was unfamiliar with. Ken figured him to be a virgin, no doubt about it.
He set an alarm for the early morning and chuckled himself to sleep. The last thing Ken did that night was pull a pillow over his face. Gradually, the bad feelings about Aya disappeared and Ken wished he'd been more receptive to the new teammate. He forgot everything Aya had said...and could only remember the way he'd looked at him when he drawn his sword under Ken's jaw.
Ken swallowed. He didn't like that piercing gaze at all. He couldn't stand the thought of Aya seeing what laid beneath the smooth, constructed surface of his face, completely artificial, something he couldn't identify with, something that scared him whenever he looked into a mirror, something that wasn't Hidaka Ken, and would never be.
"Uh..." he moaned under his pillow. "Aya...stop looking at me..."
Unfortunately for Hidaka Ken, not all painful things could be avoided. He would endure that painful gaze tomorrow...only after...tailing...Aya...
