Notes: I've never written a fanfic nor anything in second person, this came as a complete surprise.
Loneliness Gives You Too Much Time to Wonder
Winter always makes you sad.
You're in New York, surrounded by millions of people on the island of Manhattan, you've never been more alone.
They say to you, "For her, Aya." And you concede. You leaving makes it easier for her, to have a normal life, at least a chance to. They are right.
You live alone now, and on the last Sunday of every month, you visit the orphanage you passed by on your first day in Harlem. You wonder what else you can give besides money.
Kritiker doesn't contact you except for the occasional updates on the sister you've left behind. When you watch the kids or they come to talk to you, you try to stop yourself from thinking about the family you have lost. You think about what Schwarz was like growing up in Rosenkreuz instead, their pain, and how no more children will be put through that again. Crawford did good to end it. They all did, and you too.
You work a day job in a library that grants you peace. You spend a lot of time reading.
Sometimes you go to the cafe next door and watch the flower shop across the street, thinking about those years in Tokyo, a place no longer yours to call home.
Your colleagues ask you sometimes, about your family, your past, if you have any lovers. You smile and ask about them instead. There is too much to be said and nothing to be said at all.
You can't explain the nightmares of your family's murder, when they haven't experienced the first natural passing of a family member they love. You can't explain the way your heart feels scooped out and empty for someone you would give your life for, when their breakups are about differences, loss of interest, someone new.
You can't explain how when he woke up without memories of Weiss, Omi had said, "For him, Aya." How those words were physically numbing, a blinding pain through your body. You can't explain the way you walked away from the only good thing in your life.
You don't know how to talk to these people. You stand in the same space, but in your heart you feel galaxies away.
There is a bleeding so deep and internal they will never see nor understand. It's not something you can explain, you wish it was simple to, like mathematics or science, no emotions and experiences necessary.
Sometimes you sit by Central Park just to watch the clouds change.
You think about the first time you saw blood on your hands, your sister's, years before your first kill.
You think about him, the first time you met, when he asked who you were, gave you a name.
You think about the path of revenge paved with blood and monsters and nightmares. Haunted, but with the love of your team and the feeling of belonging, like family.
The hollowness in you now hurts more than that time, somehow.
Avengement has become the reason for your existence for so long that when it's over, it feels like someone's pulled the rug out from under you and you're free-falling. Like in limbo, a feeling of not-belonging, that you're overstaying your years. You weren't expecting to walk away from the end of Weiss alive.
You try to do things that make you happy. You try to be normal.
They are meaningless but for the brief moments of joy, and when those pass, the hollowness always returns stronger.
You almost think you miss the sufferance of those years. You don't know what to do when the only thing you've desired your whole life has been fulfilled. You don't know what can be more meaningful that makes your continuing existence worthwhile.
It's not that you don't want to try at normal. It's not that you want to stay alone forever.
But you know you can't make friends again, you're tired of your own stories. Living trapped in your head for seemingly eternity now, you're too old to share even a little, to go out, to meet someone, anyone. It's easier to live alone than fear the time it's over.
You wonder sometimes, if maybe in another life, you can meet the guys and lead an idyllic life. Just four college kids sharing a dorm.
Normal sounds beautiful in the books.
Another day passes, and you try not to wonder, wonder if Yohji sees anything in the streets of Tokyo with ghosts of you. Try not wonder if he will remember again, one day.
Loneliness gives you too much time to wonder. This too, you have come to accept as your fate.
The room brightens as daylight dawns, the shadows still a dusky blue. You've been up for a while, just watching Yohji sleep. You both get by with less nightmares these days. It's new and novel, you want to bask in this feeling forever.
His lashes flutter and he wakes slowly.
"Hey," you say.
"Hey," he smiles back.
Yohji stretches lazily, he turns a little. His hand finds yours and he laces them together, eyes close again.
The silence is comforting, beautiful. You wish you could have this for eternity, but you know you can't. People like you can't.
You pretend anyway.
"Aya,
If you are reading this, then I guess I didn't make it out of Koua. I'm sorry.
You know it's unavoidable in our line of work, occupational hazard and all that. But you know we did something good. I'm proud of what we have done for the world. You should be too.
I don't have the words to express how glad I've always been that Crashers let you go, we would have never met otherwise. Just know that I am.
Know that, even if the fires tear open the skies and burn through heavens, even if the seas dry up to the centre of the earth, even if there is nothing left in this world tomorrow, I am with you. My heart will always be with you.
Always, always, always.
Y."