Mock Angel
"Oh! Look at that bear! It's so cute, doesn't it just remind you of Omi-kun?"
"Hah, if I touched that kind of innocence with a ten foot poll I'd taint it." ...That was what I wanted to say. Of course, I didn't, only smiled, and responded in a way they expected me to. Their eyes watched me adoringly, with utmost feeling, from the depths of them... from the animal depths.
The feelings those silly girls claimed to have for me, simple, carnal feelings that... perhaps they didn't understand. I, however, know what they really felt, and why. Their feelings were very primitive, the constant urge to find the strongest, most capable mate. That might not have made sense to them - after all, I'm just me, the smart, docile brainiac with no family.
What do they know?
The way they gazed at me though... it scared me more than the way the others looked at me. Horrible missions, those... In the days long before Aya-kun, or Yohji-kun.
The way their hands lingered, the distinct scent of alcohol that only I knew to be drugged, the way their eyes trailed over my body... it made me sick. Hands sliding into my pockets, my need to follow their lead in order to maintain my cover. Of course... they would be dead long before ever seeing what they so dearly yearned for. Those missions that I wished no one had known about.
Never tell, never speak, never slip up. On solitary missions, that was the way. I've noticed how lazy in that I've gotten recently. With the knowledge that there are people covering my back, with the security of going home and actually feeling like it was home... and having that one person who always makes me feel just right. My development of love for my team mates has made me far too soft, and far too pliant.
Their eyes make me feel safe. They let me have a small sense of normality.
Then there are his eyes, the eyes that pick me out of a crowd, and chase away the nightmares. The eyes that figured out my little secret, the missions I had previously agreed to accept. He made me feel comfortable in declining them... told me it was really ok to say no.
Four completely different groups of eyes... The eyes of animal instinct, the eyes of carnal lust, the eyes of safety, and friendship... and his eyes, a category all their own.
They all have their distinct eyes, and the things I can see in them are remarkable, so why is it that I can't see anything in my own eyes? I see what they see... the innocence, the youthful body, the reliability, and the open-heart. I see the shell. So where am I in all this mess? Where's that distinct me that I know is there?
So deeper then, deeper into what can be seen - The girls see naivety, something less than good, something a little dangerous, the appeal for strength that they don't entirely understand. The girls see it, those silly things, and are still drawn like a moth to flame.
The targets saw it, they saw the muscles hidden under the flesh, they saw the talent, the dexterity, the conniving brain, the deceit that they mistook for my 'profession,' though in a dangerously incorrect way. They saw the night-bred skin, the hair that had a lingering aire of darkness... but they also saw the eyes that misguided them... those blue eyes that can even deceive their owner.
The others see it, though there's more to it than even they know. They see the darkness that seeps into my mind on every mission, they see the determination, the pliability, the occassional weakness in guard... they see it all. They know it all. But only he can do what none of them can.
He understands. He can understand my reasoning for everything, even when I, myself, cannot. He knows why I'm determined, why I'm dangerous. He knows why my skin is night-bred, and how dark I am, in truth. Only he knew of the truth maturity of my body, the full extent of my open-heart. He knows where the boundaries are, and he knows what he can and cannot do.
Only he, with his chocolate brown eyes, and soft hair, he with his aire of indifference, and happy-go-lucky outlook... only he understands what others have trouble even trying to fathom. He, the one who is standing beside me at this very last moment of our lives, is the only one who understands, and agrees with what I have yet to say.
He reaches out his hand to hold mine, no pressure, just comfort.
"I love you, Ken-kun..."
"You promised you wouldn't say that," he looks at me, and though his tone scolds softly, there's a small smile tugging at his lips.
"Because previously... I wasn't sure it was true."
His hand holds a little tighter, and with me, he steps forward towards the edge of the fifty-fourth floor window of our most recent target's bedroom. The traitors who didn't deserve it, the targets who didn't beg for their lives, and the friends who would quickly be rejoined.
With Aya-kun and Yohji-kun dead on the floor behind us, an assassination ordered by Kritiker after their withdrawl from the 'company,' Ken-kun and I lean just far enough forward to fall from the window in complete synchronization. It's time the mock angel learned to fly.
Owari
Funny, this only took half an hour to write, really. I needed this, quite honestly... Needed the random, repetative dragging that's so very different from my usual writing style... while going back to my angst roots. I think I was actually inspired on this one by a story I read... ages ago... But only segments of it really filtered through into this. I hope. Of course, if you know the name of the story I read without my stating it, then it filtered through too much...
:Listens as her words echo emptily into the somewhat abandoned K/O section: ...Wow, this is a very lonely fandom these days.
Amy (B.A.C.)