Hollow
Aya lay silently in a bed not his own, staring up at a ceiling that wasn't his. Not that it mattered, really. The problem was lying next to him, blond hair mussed from sleep and other things.
It wasn't supposed to be this way.
Yohji had courted him for months – not to the point of swearing off other company, but still – and while Aya would never admit it out loud, he'd been a tiny bit flattered by the attention. It had warmed the last remnant of what used to be Ran that Yohji found him attractive.
More importantly, it had brought back the abandoned hope that maybe, just maybe, he could have something warm and alive. Something to cling to when the devotion-driven-to-obsession for his sister wasn't enough to keep him going. Yohji was heat and passion, and Aya had been seduced by it.
He'd given in to the blonde; to the chance of comfort more than the whispered promises of pleasure.
And he had burned. Yohji's touch had set his body aflame, and he'd been helpless to fight it. Whatever doubts he'd held about the older man's self-proclaimed skills had washed away in fevered sensation.
Not enough…
Even as he tried to regain his composure, Aya had known. The fire had been more than he expected, but it wasn't enough. It couldn't warm him inside. With Yohji still inside of him, panting words of gratitude against Aya's neck, he'd felt empty.
Hours later, he was still wide-awake. He'd listened to Yohji's steady breathing as hope died and Ran faded further into the void. Aya doubted his younger self would ever resurface. He was lost now, as lost as his sister. All that was left was the emptiness, and Aya had only one way to fill it.
Ice.
Yohji had tried, but his flame hadn't been strong enough. To try and pretend otherwise would hurt him when Aya could no longer hold the illusion. Sneaking off would be cowardly.
Aya was no coward.
He would wait for Yohji to awaken.
Most likely, his eyes would give him away before he spoke.
Hollow…