Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. None of them, alright? Some big company in Japan owns them, I just happen to use them to create interesting plot lines.
Fragments: Part One
The cool air wafted through the alley, blowing the smoke and garbage that intruded upon its breezy path. The air caressed Aya's skin with the slightest hint of cold, his pale, naked shoulders shivered slightly at the gentle touch. He shook his head, pressing closer to the cement wall beside him, attempting to salvage any body heat left before the eddying, smoke-filled air robbed him of it. Dragging off of the half-gone cigarette that was clutched between his shaking fingers, Aya began to wonder when exactly he had started smoking. And more importantly, when did he lose it. Of course by it, his psyche was referring to everything. His home, his clothes, his friends; as much as he hated to admit it, they had been that much to him, if not more. Crimson locks fell into white hands as Aya's head dropped in agony.
The pain was getting stronger now; he removed the layers of gauze, staring in disgust at the puckered wound in his side. He mused that the bullet, at least, was gone, just like everything else. They all had exit wounds, he was just fortunate that this one was small. Not like the others. The absences that left large and gaping caverns in his subconscious, plaguing his every waking moment. The wounds from his other losses, Aya suffered much more from. Assassins don't die easily, but even Aya himself could feel tiny bits of life ebbing from him with each shuddering breath. Each was more painful than the last, causing him to plead to his own mind, no please, please let that be the last inhalation, the last breath of life.
Throbbing pain pulled Aya from his begging, leaving his lungs to the mercy of the frigid air. 'Are you ready to die?' The wicked voice echoed through his head. 'Of course you are my darling.' Aya's teeth gritted into a cruel snarl. 'They just won't let you…' The guttural rasp was there, even in his memory, grating painfully against his consciousness. 'Let me help you, my sweet' he threw the cigarette to the ground. 'Help you…' Head thrown back, Aya howled in the excruciating pain of the memory, hands tearing blindly at the legs of his black jeans.
"AYA CHAN!!!!!" he screamed, "NOOOO!!!!!" His cries echoed down the alley, finally returning and dying on his own, pristine ears. Aya fell to the ground, body wracked with heart wrenching sobs as he beat at the concrete of the street with his fists. "No…" his cry was becoming quickly defeated, swallowed up by the surrounding black night. Aya rolled onto his back, a hand wrapped around his bullet wound, which had erupted into burning needles of pain. Struggling to sit up, he pushed himself back to lean against the filthy alley wall, breath coming in quick, pained gasps. He shivered, wishing he had his coat, his shirt even.
The oil of the wall was unctuous on his naked back, causing a sickening greasy feel to spread over him. He pressed the dressing tighter over the wound, hoping that the pressure would alleviate some of the pain. Aya knew he should be in a hospital, knew he should at least try to find one of his companions, turn back on his radio, do something at all to save himself, but he no longer cared. The idea of death was almost warm, welcoming in comparison to Aya's current situation. His eyes slipped closed, blackness enveloped him, surrounding him with an easy calm. A sigh escaped his quickly paling lips, morphing into steam in the frigid air.
Suddenly, the void of his mind's eye was shattered. Wide blue eyes stared at him in worry and fright. As the vision widened, a heart shaped face with cherub lips and sandy hair were pulled slowly into view. Omi…the name was lethargic to come to the face. Even in his mind, the name no longer sounded quite right. Aya's thoughts were becoming gummy and thick. The face was gone. Replaced with chocolate-brown eyes, rimmed with thick black lashes. There was an air of familiarity as a face, barely tinged with angst, came into view, its jaw wide and stubbornly set. Ken…that thought was even slower than the first. And in a second, his countenance vanished as well.
Aya didn't need to see the next face, however, before the name rang out in his head, as clear as Sunday church bells. Youji. If he had had the energy, a smile, or at least a hint of one, would have danced across Aya's lips, fading as soon as it had come. There was no face. Aya frowned. He concentrated for a moment, trying to force a picture into the bleak darkness of his imagination, but nothing would come. Frustration overwrought Aya's tired mind. Why couldn't he see Youji? What was wrong? He tried desperately to conjure up the images of his deep, jade eyes, high cheekbones, his slightly tilted smile, overflowing with warmth and love, his ocean of shimmering blonde locks. But he couldn't do it. For the life of him, Aya could not pull into view even one mental picture of his beloved. The playboy eluded his vision even now, as the pain emanating from his side began to become too strong to bear.
'Aya, you're dying…' The words seemed empty, even as he thought them. 'Use the radio…' He shook his head, almost not wanting to believe he was bringing this thought into being. "No…" he was stronger than that; Aya knew it in his soul if no where else. Aya always had more strength than they had expected, it was his greatest asset, and the redhead was damned if it would fail him now. With a groan, he struggled to his feet, determined not to die in this dismal excuse for an alley, covered in grease and filth. He pressed the gauze harder over his side, violet eyes narrowing with obstinance and pain. The blood rushing from his head was making Aya dizzy, his hand flew to the brick wall in order to keep him from toppling to the side. Lightheaded, but still set on leaving, Aya began to walk. It was more of the weary shuffle of the dead, but Aya praised his legs for allowing him that much.
Placing one foot shakily before the other, Aya made the painfully slow journey toward the opening of the alleyway. A sewer rat scuttled across the darkened path in front of the crimson-haired assassin, causing him to stumble momentarily. He spun around, his free hand flying to the hilt of his katana, preparing to exact revenge from the disease-ridden rodent that had crossed his path.
~ Shit Aya…~ the words drifted lazily through his cloudy mind. ~ Get some perspective…~ Aya blinked, confused. ~ You can't just run around screaming "Shi-ne" at everything that moves, y'know? ~ The flick of a lighter, gentle and rolling laughter. Aya shook his head and tried to focus on his surroundings. The draft from the nearby opening to the street, the damp and slightly musty smell of the alley, its grimy walls, reflecting tainted light. ~ You gotta pace yourself…~ White light flooded his vision and Aya fell to his knees, both hands clutched over his head as if it were about to explode.
Youji took a long drag on his newly lit cigarette, tossing his long hair out of his eyes. "I mean, I understand how frustrated you must feel, but it's just not the right answer." He took another drag before removing it from his coral lips and flicking away the ash. Turning to face the golden sunset, Youji offered Aya a cigarette without looking at him. The other man shook his head, and Youji didn't look at him again before pocketing the package, as if he was anticipating Aya's thoughts. Reading his mind. The fading sunset played shadows over Youji's face, accentuating his raised cheekbones and lightly tanned flesh.
"You don't understand." Retorted Aya with a sniff, leaning over the railing of the boardwalk to gaze out into the ocean, shimmering gold and crimson with setting sun. He folded his arms and laid his chin on them with a sigh, not really wanting to continue this conversation with Youji. Lately, he had just been hitting a little too close to home than Aya was comfortable with.
"I'm not gonna either," Youji protested as he flicked the cigarette out into the water, "Unless YOU explain it to me." Tying his hair back, Youji turned to look at the sullen man beside him. Scoffing quietly, the blonde added, "I mean, would that really be so horrible? Opening up to another human being for once in your life?" He raised his eyebrows at Aya questioningly, jumping up to sit on the railing. He gazed over his shoulder at the ocean that spread behind him for thousands of miles, loosing himself in awe.
Deep in thought, Aya pondered what the other man had said, mulling over it in his mind over and over again. A part of him wanted to just walk away, eliminating this conversation from his memory, from existence. What did Kudo know anyway? He had no clue about anything that Aya was going through. Why did he give a damn anyway? He frowned, unable to answer his own question. The spray of the sea hit his cheeks gently as Aya turned to look up at Youji. Another part of him wanted nothing more than to enfold itself in Youji's arms, safe from harm, safe from pain, alone in the comfort of the other man's presence. It begged him to open up his mouth and let all of his cares, fears, problems, hopes, worries, dreams, needs to come spilling out in an effusion of emotion. Aya opened his mouth and started to say something, but it was choked to a halt in the realization of what he was doing.
Aya shoved any part of him that wished to open up to Youji back deep, deep within him. The lanky blonde looked down at him, "You say something?" Youji's eyes burned with curiosity and what looked to be genuine concern. "I was distracted by the waves." Aya shook his head and averted his eyes from Youji's gaze, staring down at his pale hands. "Beautiful, ne?"
"What?" Aya looked up, slightly flustered.
"The waves," Youji indicated with a sweeping hand, "Aren't they beautiful?" He smiled gently, the sun was now fully behind the horizon, casting deep, royal purple across the sky.
"Yes…" Aya nodded, "Gorgeous…" He chided himself, the desire to wrap himself in the warmth of Youji's arms had begun to return. Shoving away the passion that welled up inside of him, Aya tried to focus on the other, more important issues he was dealing with. The ream was falling apart. He knew it, and he was also responsible for them…all of them. Something had to be done. This Schwarz was a more formidable opponent than they had first believed, and if Aya didn't do something soon, Weiß would be overpowered. He ran weary fingers through his hair, wishing will all of his heart that he could forget all of his duties and be with Youji. Even if just for the evening they had right then. 'He doesn't want you anyway…' Aya spared a glance at the blonde bombshell beside him. 'Why would he? He's got every woman he could ever imagine in his wildest fantasy…'
Aya pushed back the thought and tried to focus on the task at hand. So much depended upon him, and there was so much left to be done if they were to end victorious. He sighed, the weight of the world pressing down on his frail shoulders. This was more than he should ever have to handle, and Aya knew this in his heart. Shaking his head, Aya tried to convince himself to be stronger than before. He must be…must be…stronger…And then, his vision became white…