The fan spun slowly in the dim-lit room, its gentle whir nearly deafening in the complete silence otherwise. Light squeezed its way around the curtains to fall on grey colored tapestries. Aoshi Shinomori hardly blinked in the stillness. He almost felt afraid that any movement would disrupt the perfect stillness. It was nice to simply sit like this. He hadn't had a chance to relax in quite a while. Blinking once more, he let out a low sigh, expelling the air through his nose. He closed his eyes and listened, the sound of the fan growing stronger as he concentrated.
A sudden crack of someone stepping next to his door caused Aoshi to jump. "Kuso," he cursed silently in Japanese. He always cursed in Japanese. It was as if the foreign language somehow dulled the harshness of the words. Yet another one of his tricks to make himself feel less "evil", he guessed.
He heard the door open and close, and soft footsteps crossing the floor behind him. These sounds, he knew, would be lost on the majority of people, as his roommate was as unnaturally quiet as he. Years of practice had honed his skills, both at stealth and detecting it.
"Kenshin" he greeted solemnly, his voice a steady low monotone. It never varied from that tone. He felt, rather than heard, the man in front of him. He slightly inclined his head in the direction of his roommate, his black bangs shifting ever so slightly as he did. Opening his eyes, he looked directly at the small, red haired man beside him. Kenshin smiled at him in his innocent way, his hair easily reaching down to his lower back.
"It's good to see you, that it is," replied Kenshin, still grinning. His irregular speech pattern was expected by his roommate, as well as his exuberant happiness. Aoshi never understood how the man could have such an innocent smile. Assassins such as him rarely did.
Such as he used to be, Aoshi corrected himself. Kenshin no longer killed as he had for the government. That had been twelve years ago. Aoshi closed his eyes. Twelve years ago, they were on opposite sides, trying to kill each other. Twelve years ago he had killed at his boss's bidding, never knowing who or why. Two hundred thirty seven kills. Two hundred thirty seven murders.
Kenshin had more, he knew, though he wasn't sure the exact number. But the lifestyles both men lead now couldn't be more different.
"Who did you save today." It was a question, though it almost sounded as an accusation by Aoshi. Kenshin's smile never faltered; his bright green eyes still warm. But he knew that Aoshi didn't agree with his way of atonement.
"A young mother and child, on their way home. They took a dangerous route to travel, that they did."
"You know that they will probably just be attacked again later when you are no longer around to protect them." Aoshi's flat monotone droned.
"True. But this one is still glad to do what he can to help them, that he is." Kenshin finished with his smile.
Aoshi didn't say anything, simply closing his eyes. Kenshin knew that it signaled the end of the conversation. He watched as his onetime enemy sat there, unmoving, in a meditative stance. He would do that often, many times all day. At first, Kenshin was afraid that he had lost the will to live. But he understood this man as few others could. They were of the same material, even if they had been on opposing sides. Looking around the room, the telltale sign of killers was obvious to him.
The place was spotless, completely clean and orderly. Nothing was crooked or off, every placement of every tapestry pleasing to the eye. Killers were like that many times. They needed to be in control of their own environment. That meant nothing that would lead to chaos, and a messy or dirty room was chaos. It was exaggerated, he knew, but that was how their minds worked.
"Do you remember them often." The monotone question broke Kenshin away from his thoughts, turning to look back at his friend. Aoshi looked at him once again, his ice-blue eyes hard and penetrating. Kenshin sat down on the chair across from him and waited; he knew that his friend wasn't finished speaking.
"Your victims. Do you remember their names, their faces? How many you have killed?" Aoshi asked again, his voice as empty as the emotions he longed to once again feel. Life had left him all but completely numb inside, unable to cope with the intense emotion of his crimes. He watched as Kenshin rubbed his face, blinking a few times to clear his eyes. When Kenshin finally did look back at him, the joyful vigilante was gone. In its place was a cold, hardened assassin such as himself.
"Three hundred, exactly." He spoke, his voice deeper than it had been before, and without his unique speech pattern. "I vowed never to let it reach that number. It was going to be my last kill, to stop one short of the mark. But his daughter came out just as I killed him." Aoshi understood. It was one of the rules of being an assassin. Leave no witnesses.
Kenshin's eyes were dark, and his voice almost sounded horse. "She was four years old."
That was when Kenshin had finally run, finally broke. The government thought he had snapped and lost his mind. They hunted him for years, trying to tie off all loose ends. But when they hadn't found him after ten years, they gave up and presumed him dead. Aoshi knew all this. It was similar to what happened to him. Only he didn't run away immediately. He had stayed to kill every single man in his program, as well as the official in charge of it.
No, the difference between the men was that Kenshin had not actually snapped. Aoshi had.
"How do you live with that knowledge." Came the next monotone question. Aoshi saw Kenshin slightly grin at it, though there was no humor behind his smile.
"By knowing that my life now is one of repentance. By doing what I do, so that others will not have to go through the same tragedies that my target's families had." He answered softly.
Aoshi closed his eyes once more, exhaling softly. Through his mind ran the face of every murder, every single one. Men, women. Children. God, the children…
Kenshin watched his friend silently, his heart breaking for the man. Both had done what no one ever deserved to be put through. He watched as his friend fought the numbness inside, threatening to consume him. It was something that you couldn't let consume you, or there would be no way out. Kenshin knew this, for he had been in the same position.
A single tear made its way down Aoshi's cheek, dripping softly on to his black jeans. He felt Kenshin leaving, allowing him to think alone. Alone. All he ever was. Just like the families of his victims. Alone…
Another tear slid down his cheek.