A/N: First Angel Beats! fanfiction. This is for all the Naoi Ayato fans out there. :]

Naoi Ayato sat in the darkness, his hands wrapped tightly around fisted bedsheets. The air he breathed in curled into his lungs and tasted heavy on his tongue. He was tired. His eyes were half-lidded, his strength crawling away, and the noise in the background—of flashing cameras, shouts of exclaim, amazement, happiness—were all things that his ears had subconsciously blocked out, things that he would not let himself hear, things he would rather die than hear again.

A moment later, his brother entered his room, the shuffle of feet and the tatami mat melding together in an almost synchronized noise that fixated in Ayato's head. The clanking of noise when his brother set the trophy down was muffled.

"Ayato?"

"I'm fine," he answered, to the unsaid question his brother hadn't asked. He could feel his brother kneel down next to him anyway, could see his hand reaching out. From the swirls of darkness that were visible to only him, the hand outstretched was something Ayato did not want in his world—in his space; part of him.

"You aren't letting me touch you," Naoto's voice came again. "Are you si—"

"I'm fine," he repeated, speaking from his head and not his heart. "Just tired."

"You're lying to me," Naoto insisted, hurt. Ayato curled in on himself. It was so easy to cut into his brother—it was so easy, and some dark and hateful part of him wanted to crush all the strength and skill Naoto possessed.

"So why are you still here?"

"You need me here." Naoto said, and he reached forward, sweeping the dark atmosphere away, pulling his brother close against himself. Ayato could only fall back against him in a silent plea of surrender. "I'm sorry," he could hear him whisper. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"You're not," Ayato whispered back, and his voice was lonely, quiet, longing, almost. "I hate you."

In his mind, from where he could see, the sky was clear. The clouds floated by. The flowers danced in the soft breeze, and Ayato saw himself sitting in the lush grass, holding a solid, firm pot. The characters engraved on the underside of the pot said 'Ayato'.

Ayato, he repeated. Ayato. His name. Ayato.

A-ya-to.

Owari

2010.08.20