This is something I managed to churn up one night when I couldn't sleep. I hope you enjoy it.

"Do you know what it's like to love someone? Love someone so much that you're willing to kill them if they asked that of you?"

"…"

"…"

"I've never loved before."

"Never?"

"Yes, never."

The night always brings back memories of the past and expectations for the future. I guess that's the reason why I would like to sleep it away, just fill the darkness with my own oblivion until it overfills to create streaks of light that illuminates in the sky. Only then will I be satisfied enough to rest. For sleeping is not like resting, my mind races as I sleep while my body lay motionless in a mild state of comatose. Is that what it's like for the people in a coma? Forever thinking, but never quite able to shake themselves from their thoughts because that is all that they can do. It must be torture, to think twenty four hours a day and not have the ability to wake themselves up to in order stop thinking. Maybe for them it's easier because they don't have to be plagued by thoughts of bloodshed and pain like I do.

It had been incidental enough, the simple glances that we give each other during the day, the careless touches. It was all so innocent, until people started looking into it. That's the problem with people these days, we like to analyze way too much for our own good and that's why we make careless mistakes, because we think too much. It's a weakness that we all have, thinking.

Funny how I'm doing the exact same thing that I hate so much. Thinking.

I closed the door behind me, making sure that I didn't make a sound to wake up my roommate up. I don't know why I suddenly wanted to take a walk in the middle of the night, but it just felt right to me. Even though I no longer hold the right to use the word right in that sense. It's ironic really, a murderer using his sense of right and wrong. It's almost laughable, if that murderer wasn't me.

My attempts at being quiet failed horribly, I supposed it doesn't help that I'm living in an old building in need of a serious renovation. For a moment, I'm almost glad that my roommate sleeps like rock. It's funny to envision it, that he has the ability to sleep like a rock at night, or to sleep at all. I've always thought of him as the type who would sit in his room with his light on at night, waiting like a finely tuned robot, waiting for the light to filter through his thick curtains in the morning with his eyes wide open the whole time. Waiting…

The wind stung at my cheeks when I opened the backdoor that leads to the outside and I pulled the collar of my coat up to my cheeks to keep the stinging wind at bay. You would think that I'm used to the cold by now because I have to work in it, crouching and waiting in the dark for the target on missions. Truthfully, I hated the wind, and if I could help it, I would stay out of it as much as possible.

Amidst the hustles and bustles of Tokyo, it is actually quite serene at night. One would expect it to be a city that never sleeps, which is true to a sense, but when you live in a city such as Tokyo, that much is at least expected. I wanted the neon lights to assault my vision, to blind me for that one second so that it might perhaps distract me from my thoughts, but it can't be helped.

It's funny how sometimes I feel like I have so much misery that I can drown the world with it. I usually blame it on a low sugar intake, but I know that it's not because of that. Humans like to find things for them to blame their misery on, and I'm no different. Although I hardly consider myself human, not after all the things that I've done and all the hearts that have been broken because of what these bloody hands had done. How many families have I ruined? How many lives? I fear the number if I try to count it.

I started being an assassin to avenge the wrongs that have been done to me, and to prevent it from ever happening again to other innocent people. I traded in my innocence in order to preserve other people's innocence. I thought that I'm going to be the superhero that fights super villains that are nothing but pure evil. I believed in that still, but no one can be nothing but pure evil, not even the guys in Schwarz are like that. We're all humans, somewhere deep inside. The idea is too big for my tired mind to grasps as I continue to walk down the asphalt paved road.

There are groups of young teenagers dressed in peculiar fashion with their hairs dyed in unnatural colors of the rainbow laughing carelessly as they walk down the street. I could have been one of those kids with not a care in the world. I can't see myself in that position now, but I'm sure two years ago, before everything that has happened, I had wanted to be one of those kids. I had worked hard to be one of those kids, and never quite succeeded in achieving their state of superficial being.

Superficial…

Yes, I am superficial but aren't we all superficial? Chasing after every single temporary high to satisfied myself, yet not quite knowing what I'm chasing after. Scarlet… Yes, I'm chasing after scarlet, the color that drenches my hands every time I plunge my blades into unsuspecting victims, the sticky liquid that has become my raison detre.

His hair is that of blood. He can never quite escape it. Sometimes I just want to rip his hair out, because it constantly reminds me of the crimes that I've committed under the false pretense of justice. I can't bear to look at him; his hair is the evidence of my sins and a foreshadowing the sins that I've yet to commit. Sometimes I'm surprised that when I touch his hair, my fingers didn't tingle with the same excitement that the scarlet liquid can cause in me. No, his hair is cold, cold like how my hands are right now, cold enough to burn if I dare to hold onto those strands for more than one second.

As I continue to walk down these nameless streets, my steps in perfect harmony to the beating of my heart. I can almost count to them. One, two, one, two… The repetitive pattern comforts me in this chilly night, if only just a little. The rhythmic beating of my heart like the hands of time, it's probably the only that's constant in my life, the only thing I can count on to always be there, my only comfort.

"Aya, are you my friend?"

"Don't ask such stupid questions."

"But it's not stupid! I just want to know, if you would consider me to be your friend."

"…"

"Aya?"

"…sometimes things are better left unsaid."

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"I don't know."

I'm not sure how long I've walked, or how far I've drifted away from my apartment. I just know that somehow, I ended up in a café, ordering a hot chocolate to warm up my cold hands. The cold has become so unbearable that I had the desire to return home, to find comfort in my own bed. However, it's not possible now, not when my mind is racing with thoughts that I can hardly keep up with them myself.

The waitress smiled warmly at me, just like how Omi smiles at people. I wonder how he can do it all the time, smiling like he really means it. I've lost that ability long ago, I smile for the sake of telling others that I'm okay, so they don't have to worry about my well-being. It has become such a burden to smile these days, I feel like someone had permanently attached two bricks on the sides of my mouth to prevent me from smiling.

"You know, when you smile, it never quite reaches your eyes."

"Oh really?"

"Yes."

The hot chocolate is comforting. It fills me up with the warmth that I craved, but it's never quite enough. It only warms me for that one second, and disappears just as quick, like snowflakes that has melted on my skin. I'm never sure if the warmth I felt was real or not. It's never quite like the sensation of being burned a thousand times over, like the night he betrayed me. Those flames still lick at me at intervals, as if to taunt the fact that I should've died a long time ago.

I look out the window of the small café. Snow has started to fall and I should go back soon. I left the money for the hot chocolate and tip on the table and walked back into the biting cold as the waitress smiled knowingly at me. I pulled the collars of my jacket up and ran as fast as I could, through the snow that is steadily falling all around. The snow covered the dirty urban streets creating a thick white carpet and as I step onto the white purity, my foot prints turned it into grey slush. It's almost laughable how I always taint the pureness; it's almost as if I can't help myself, like second nature. The cold winter air stings at my cheeks. Funny how the cold can manage to burn me just like the flames had.

I slowly crept up the stairs to the apartment, with the stealth of a cat. I don't want to wake the others up from my little excursion, but I can already hear the sounds of giggles emanating from Youji's apartment. He's trying to run away from his thoughts again. How long with it take for him to learn that you can never run away from your thoughts? They're like the shadows that our bodies cast in the presence of light and they'll only fade away once the light's turn off.

I fumbled with the keys in my hands, cursing myself for not having better night vision, and as I inserted the key into the keyhole, the door opened by itself. He's standing there with an irate look on his face again. His scarlet colored hair is in disheveled and he cringes at the sudden burst of light that he himself had turned on. I smiled my apologetic smile and let myself in.

"Take off your shoes before you come in, you'll stain the carpet." He said in a hoarse voice.

"I know, I know." I smiled as I carelessly throw my shoes on the floor and patted into the living room. "Well, good night!" I cringed at my cheerful voice.

"Where were you?"

"I couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk." We're playing the same game again as always.

"Oh." He walks to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. "You know, things will get better." He stated plainly after a long moment of silence. Sometimes I just want to punch him in the face just so I can get a reaction out of him. So that for one moment, the scarlet that I see on him is not cold, but warm liquid that shows that he is a living, breathing human being.

I twisted the door knob to my room and stopped as the door swung open, looking down at the carpet. How does he know? It doesn't matter, he always knows. I felt my eyes tear up, good thing my hair is covering my eyes. "No, Aya, no it won't. It'll never get better." I said through clinched teeth. I sounded like I was angry, but to be truthful, I just hate the fact that he can read me like a book.

I can hear his footsteps approaching, stopping right behind me. I can almost hear his breathing. In, out, in, out… I would have felt my personal space being invaded if it was anyone else, but it's just comforting when it's him that stands behind me. His warmth radiated around my cold body and I almost wanted to lean into him. I can hear the clock tick impatiently as either of us move from our spots. Tick, tock, tick, tock…

We just stood there like statues for a long time, hours, minutes, seconds, maybe even days. Time doesn't matter as we offer each other comfort silently, to let each other know that we're not alone in the world, and that maybe the pain is not so unbearable after all. As we stood there, oblivious to everything else, listening to each other's breathing, and generally being freed from the anxiety of things to come.

I'm not quite sure which one of us was first to move, but just as the moment started, it ended, taken from us by some omnipresent force. He walked on to his room down the hall, and I walked into my darken room, throwing my jacket onto my bed on the way to turn on the lights. I rubbed my tired eyes and contemplated whether or not I should go to sleep, looking at the clock I realized that it's now 4:30AM. I've been gone for a little more than three hours by now, no wonder he was worried. I lay down on my bed and stared up into the ceiling, not bothering to change out of my street clothes. It's fascinating what details one can see during the night, the once pristine ceiling is filled with unnoticeable cracks and I counted every single one of them.

I felt some weight on my bed as I continued to count the cracks. Thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six… Not bothering to look up, I already know who it is. It has almost become a routine now, sleeping in each other's bed at night. We never touch, or turn to each other; it's just comforting to know to feel warmth when one wakes up in the morning. Neither of us remembered who first initiated this, but neither of us seems to care.

He moved under my covers and turned away from me, facing my window. Soon, I heard his steady breathing, indicating the fact that he is asleep and I turned to my side, turning off the light on the way. The light from the outside filtered through the thin, translucent curtains, casting an iridescent blue glow on everything. I didn't dare turn to look at his back, because it's an invisible barrier that we never crossed. I can almost imagine his scarlet hair reflecting that blue light, turning the red strands into a deep wine color.

"Ken…" I heard him muttered.

"Yes?"

"Nothing, I just want to see if you're asleep yet."

I let out a dry laugh, as if to taunt his concern for me. "Since when did that become your problem?"

"… Good night." He said and I felt his weight shifted. For the firs time since our routine has started, he is facing my back, and I can feel his arm draped across my abdomen. The invisible barrier that we've drawn up has been broken, at least for tonight anyway.

"Good night Aya." I said as I leaned into his embrace while his steady heart beat lured me into oblivion. One, two, one, two…