In Fear Of
The Weaver Atropos
Chapter 2 -- In Disbelief

Ken coughed. Or, tried to. All he managed was a weak gargling sound. It sounded as if he were choking. Which would explain why Aya, who had been nodding off in a chair by the bed, rushed over to his side. "Ken?"

The brunette coughed once more, this time bringing up a shaky hand to rub at his dry lips, and was surprised when steadying fingertips splayed themselves about his back. Pausing, he turned to his right and, blinking, found himself face to face with two concerned violet orbs. He jumped.

"Aya-kun!"

Aya raised one pale eyebrow. Ken blushed despite himself. "What are you doing here?"

"You're in my room, Hidaka."

Ken's chocolate eyes widened. Then, as if disbelieving, he whisked his head from left to right, wincing only seconds after doing so. Groaning, he lifted his land to his mouth and frantically tried to escape the confines of Aya's bed. The same ill feeling of the day before was working its way up his throat, and he didn't have the strength to fight it. Guessing what it was Ken needed to do, Aya gave his sheets a fierce tug and watched as the soccer player made a mad—albeit unsteady—dash to the bathroom. A few seconds later, the retching sounds began.

Aya tossed a thoughtful glance at the shirt Ken'd worn the day before. He'd been pondering at the blood on it all night…and he hadn't slept much on account of it. Aya didn't remember a time when he'd lost sleep over anyone that wasn't his sister…he hadn't thought he was capable of the fact anymore—

Just as Aya's subconscious made the trek back to the time of his parents' deaths and his sister's accident, Ken stumbled back into the room, face pale and drawn. He attempted to smile at Aya, but succeeded only in mustering a pained expression. "Don't worry about it…I'm okay."

As far as Aya could see, Ken was anything but okay—but he doubted the chocolate-haired youth would care much for his evaluation.

Rather slowly, Ken began making his way back to Aya's bed, holding onto whatever lay close-by to keep his balance, until the only thing within his reach was Aya himself. The normally stoic redhead was amazingly receptive to Ken's needs, shifting so that the younger boy could grab onto his shoulder…and Ken did. "Man…I feel like shit."

"You threw up blood."

Ken, who had only just managed a sitting position on the bed, raised weary eyes toward his leader. A light smile caressed his lips. "Really, now?"

The careless words seemed to infuriate Aya—who, until the moment—hadn't known the cheerful brunette could be anything but.

Ken waved a dismissive wave before the other man, "Relax, Aya…it's nothing serious."

"Throwing up blood? Ken what are you—"

Another dismissive wave. "It's nothing. Happens every now and then."

Aya looked aghast—fact which was ghastly in itself. Ken, bemused, let his eyes linger on the tall man. "It's not something that should be taken lightly, Hidaka."

Sitting up, Ken coughed and let a slight shiver run through him before returning his gaze towards the elder man. "How'd you know I threw up, anyway?"

Aya jerked his head towards a chair on the left-hand side of the room. There, obscured only slightly by the darkness in which the room was bathed, was Ken's shirt. The brunette blushed, his tan skin deepening to the color of warm mocha. He was startled, however, when Aya—rather delicately—reached out and, brushing away his bangs, placed a soft hand at his forehead. "You're still burning up."

Ken chuckled. "How'd I get home, anyway?"

"We'd all like to find out."

Ken looked around. "Oi, where are…Omi and—and Youji?"

Aya turned away, crimson locks rearranging themselves about his face as he did so, and walked away until he was standing before his window. Placing a pale hand by the cooling glass, he replied, "On that mission."

Ken's attention was robbed for a moment. Standing beside the window, with moonlight streaming lazily in, Aya so resembled a melancholy angel that Ken thought he might embarrass himself by saying so. As it was, Ken was barely to keep from staring straight at the redhead's lithe frame. He was beautiful…and while that wasn't a word Ken would normally use to describe a man, it was certainly fitting for Aya.

Aya turned then, eyes locking with Ken's, and cocked his head curiously to the side. "Why are you looking at me?"

Blushing, Ken quickly looked away. He turned his focus to his intertwined hands and sighed. He hadn't meant to stare—and he normally wouldn't've, but he hadn't been able to look away from the tall man...he'd been too intoxicating. "Sorry."

A pale red eyebrow rose. "Well? Why were you?"

Reluctantly, the brunette raised his head. "I…I—I always look at someone when I speak. It's rude not to, Aya."

"It's also rude to maintain eye-contact on something other than a person's eyes."

Ken's cheeks burned in embarrassment. Fidgeting, he turned away from Aya and let his eyes travel over his bedroom instead. "Why did Youji and Omi go alone on the mission?"

Aya shrugged. "Manx didn't think close-range fighters were necessary."

Now it was Ken's turn to raise his eyebrows, "Manx didn't want us on the mission?"

Violet eyes met chocolate. Aya pressed his lips into a thin line, "It was more along the lines of, we were short one assassin, and neither Bombay or Balinese felt comfortable leaving him alone."

Leaving him alone…?

Ken frowned slightly, "Omi or Youji…? And you?"

Another shrug. "It's raining."

Ken struggled to sit himself up and precariously balanced himself on Aya's bed to try and get a glimpse out the window. "Yeah. It is. It's been raining all day—"

"I hate rain."

"Huh?" Ken side-glanced Aya, only to find him staring wistfully out the window, knuckles white at being clenched so roughly. And then, "Me too. Soccer's impossible in rain."

Violet eyes turned incredulously towards him. "You always manage to turn everything into soccer, don't you?"

The brunette shrugged. "It's what I like to do. So I like to talk about what I like to do. Don't you?"

Aya gave a half-hearted nod, but Ken's flame had already been ignited, "Ne, Aya—wouldn't you like to go out—you know, play soccer…go out and run…I don't know. Wouldn't you?"

During his excited rant, Ken had sat up halfway and seemed ready to get up and grab his soccer gear should Aya answer that yes, he would indeed like to go outside and play soccer.

Placing a smooth hand at Ken's breastbone, Aya gently pushed the energetic boy back down. "You're sick, Ken."

Ken heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Just because of the blood? Let it go, Aya. It's normal for someone like me."

Aya threw Ken a skeptical glare. He wasn't particularly sure how throwing up blood—regardless of the situation—could possibly be considered a normal condition. "C'mon, Aya. It's because I'm so athletic. Sometimes I upset my stomach, is all. It's because I run so much."

"Ken—" Aya's voice had taken a warning tone, and Ken was only partially looking forward to listening what would escape his leader's lips. His other side—however masochistic it may be—cared very little for what Aya could say; it was too busy concentrating on the fact that the redhead was keeping him company—and not a silent, gruff company, but a comfortable one.

"Have you ever been to a doctor about it?"

A horrified look crossed the brunette's face. "No. I hate doctors. Hate them. God…I hate them."

Aya seemed slightly surprised at the fervency with which Ken denounced his hatred of all physicians. "Then how do you know it's harmless?"

Ken rolled his eyes and felt his world spin out of control because of it—he brought up a shaky hand to rub at his forehead before speaking. "Because it's been around forever. Kase used to nag me about it, too. But I was always fine…even Coach didn't care much about it."

"I'm not nagging."

Ken shot Aya a poignant look from behind his interlaced fingertips. "Yes you are. And besides…It never hurts afterwards."

Aya didn't seem convinced. As a matter of fact, he seemed even more perturbed at the confession. "It never hurts afterwards? So it hurts while you do it?"

Ken brought down his gaze. "It…It doesn't hurt, Aya…it's just uncomfortable. I mean," Ken's chocolate eyes met Aya's own, "no one likes to throw up…"

"Yes. But most people don't normally throw up blood."

"Aya…let it go. It's nothing fatal. I'm still alive, aren't I?"

The last part of Ken's sentence was said bitterly and, Aya—always having thought of the brunette as a life-loving young-blooded teen, was taken aback by the sentiment. "Yes…You are."

Ken sighed and let his eyes wander over the immaculate white room. It was so sterile. So clean…so untouched. Almost like the redhead himself—cold, distant…unreadable. "I'm thirsty."

The words had been muttered—a subconscious thought made heard—and Ken felt his eyes widen in surprise when Aya, who had heard his request, rose and made to retrieve a glass of water. Ken smiled thankfully. He waited patiently for Aya to leave, the man's footsteps light and soundless, and the minute he was sure Aya was out of sight, let his face twist in pain. His left hand wound itself about his abdomen as his right pressed itself against his chapped lips. "Oh, God…"

It was unbearable. Pain zigzagged and shot throughout his entire body, spreading to the very tips of his fingers before returning and centering on his stomach. Ken's left hand tightened. Despite his efforts to remain upright, the brunette quickly found himself doubled over on the bed, tears oozing through his shut eyes. Fisting the sheets at his side, Ken fought the urge to vomit…it was coming on stronger—the need to release everything. He had been able to fight it before—to pretend it wasn't haunting him…but now…now he could barely hang on.

Ken crushed his hands against the sheets as a harsh wave of pain clutched at his abdomen, causing it to contract and spasm against his will. Once more the bile rose in his throat, and with it—Ken knew—the blood rose as well. And, likewise, Ken knew he would continue to throw up blood until his body so willed it…and—again—he knew that that could take as little as two days, or as much as two months. He hoped for the former…

"…Itaai…"

His head was throbbing…he could scarcely think anymore. Wait a minute…his medicine. He needed his medicine—

Not quite realizing what he was doing or where he was, Ken rolled out of bed and tried to stand. He promptly found himself sprawled on the floor, breath hitching as he found it difficult to breath. Each breath brought a sting to his chest—and each sting, in turn, triggered a spasm. Despite it all, he pushed himself on all fours and made a point of crawling towards his dresser.

His breathing was shallow by the time he made it to the opposite end of the room, but he somehow managed to bring himself up to a standing position. Holding onto the smooth surface of the bureau for all he was worth, Ken weakly pulled open the first drawer. He blinked a few times to steady himself; his vision was blackening and he felt rather dizzy.

Then, just as he was about to delve his hand into the drawer itself, he looked upwards into the attached mirror with the intention of seeing whether Aya had yet arrived. The doorway was empty, but that didn't stop Ken from catching sight of his own reflection. The brunette swallowed thickly. He could certainly understand why Aya had been worried. He looked horrible. Ken wasn't sure if it was the dim lighting in the room or his own bleary perception of the world, but he looked as if a car had run him over an infinite amount of times. His face was sallow, its color a dull jade, and his lips very easily resembled the crackled floor of an Arizona desert. "…I look like shit."

Ken brought up a shaky hand to his face, brushing away the sweaty chocolate bangs and focusing instead on his eyes. They were tired…and awfully red. Not to mention the fact that, from the little he could see, they were caked with discharge the color of dusk. Ken became so focused on his reflection that—in his fascination—he failed to note the outline of Aya's shadow framed on the pale white carpet of the room.

Bringing his forearm to his face, Ken swiped it several times against his mouth, and on his third time of doing so, felt himself precariously begin to lose his balance. Luckily enough, he managed to grab onto the handle of the top drawer before doing so, succeeding not only in staying upright, but in easing open the drawer as well.

Aya, meanwhile, was watching everything transpire with a trained eye. He hadn't quite bought the brunette's vague explanation on why he was throwing up blood and how that was a perfectly 'normal' thing. Aya knew that that type of thing was neither normal nor safe. He also knew that random soccer players didn't get the ailment from simply running. He'd have to check that out later on…

Aya's attention was momentarily grabbed when the soccer player—whom Aya had figured too sick to even move—seemed to lose his balance. The tall redhead was ready to barge into the room, amethyst eyes warning and reproachful, when Ken caught his balance once more. Aya pondered at whether he should enter the room or not. He had no time to even answer his question, however, as Ken shamelessly delved his hand into Aya's personal belongings…his underwear drawer, to be exact.

The redhead wasn't sure what to think. He didn't know what to make of anything anymore…everything seemed to be falling apart all about him…everything. He had gotten used to the fact that his sister might never awaken, that—despite all he'd sacrificed for her—she might never once more open her eyes and call him 'brother'. He understood that…and he'd come to that conclusion partially because of Ken…because the brunette had been so willing to help him forget about his troubles. His sister would always be there for him, Ken had argued once, but she would have wanted him to live out his life without the burden of her own life being there to ruin his. Think about it, Ken had said, why would she want you to suffer on account of her?

"Ken?"

Ken did a perfect about face from Aya's drawer and felt himself hit the ground a moment later. Wincing, he was only slightly aware of the arms that gently encircled his waist. "I…" Ken trailed off momentarily when a mixture of soft cologne and Aya's own unique scent hit his nostrils. "I need my medicine."

"And that would be in my drawer, because…?"

Ken's chocolate brown eyes unfocused for a few seconds, and the young boy looked dizzily about him. "Your…drawer?"

Aya nodded slowly and tightened his hold on the smaller boy just as he seemed to lose consciousness. "Ken? Ken!?"

"I'm…kay—okay…I'm—" Ken closed his eyes and drew in a ragged breath. "I just…my medicine—it's in my…"

Ken trailed off as if became difficult to breath and his face twisted into an expression of pure agony. His nails dug deeply into Aya's forearm, yet the redhead scarcely showed signs of noticing. He was too worried about Ken. Too worried about the cheerful young soccer player who, in his eyes, was too full of life to ever be this sick. It wasn't right. "Your medicine?"

Ken gave a curt nod and Aya tried to search the brunette's eyes for any signs of future distress. He felt awfully guilty about having to leave him alone in his room while going in search of his medicine—wherever that was. Ken seemed to read his mind. "Don't…don't worry, Aya. It's…I won't," Ken chuckled dryly, action which sent him into a fit of coughing, "…die."

Disgusted by Ken's attitude, but otherwise unable to say anything more, Aya made easy work of lifting the coughing young man into his arms and towards the bed. Now, while Aya was relatively strong, his muscle build was sinewy and lithe as opposed to bulky and muscular. In other words…while Ken was a rather easy person to carry, he was also rather heavy, and Aya found himself stumbling as he reached the farther side of the room. He had gripped Ken roughly and carelessly by the waist in an effort to get there quicker, but that only resulted in Ken's repeated slipping.

"Do me a favor," the redhead began breathlessly, "next time I carry you up—if you can—wrap your legs around me."

Knowing Aya couldn't see him then—his face was firmly nestled within the juncture of Aya's warm, supple neck—Ken felt his cheeks burn and a slight smile caress his lips. Those words, regardless of how he was feeling, sent a sinful chill up his spine. Ken could only imagine how many scenarios Aya could possibly tell him—plaintively, and in that breathless voice—to wrap his legs around his body. And I'd be glad to if I didn't think my body wouldn't react rather deliriously to that…

Nevertheless, the next time Aya's fingertips dug slightly into his hips and gave him a boost upwards, he made sure to squeeze his legs about him…rather tightly…perhaps too tightly. Aya hissed, a sharp intake of breath marring his ever-perfect persona. Ken loosened his grip. "Sorry…"

The redhead ignored Ken's apology, particularly because he wasn't all that sorry about it. As a matter of fact, he had many times imagined this happening—under different circumstances, no doubt—and in all those times, there were only two things that were always consistent: the strong, arousing grasp of Ken's limbs around his abdomen, and the ardent fervor with which the brunette squirmed against his body…touching, kissing…caressing.

"Oh, God…"

Ken, snuggled up into Aya, heard the whispered plead, but could scarcely imagine it had been uttered because of him. He was too hazy to think anymore. All he wanted was to sleep…to return to that dark abyss where the only thing that hurt was his heart…where everything he yearned for became a reality…he wanted to return to the only place in which his love was purely and unequivocally reciprocated.

Finally, Aya felt his legs hit the front of his bed and, rather carefully, leaned forward until he was sure Ken's back was only centimeters from the mattress. Unfortunately, by the time that happened, Aya's body had overbalanced because of its precious cargo, and he suddenly found himself pressed along the entire length of the brunette. And said brunette's legs had only tightened about themselves as he had fallen backwards. Aya could scarcely breathe. Had he opened his eyes, he'd have seen that his fighting partner was having similar difficulties, and not exactly for different reasons.

It certainly didn't help things when Ken decided shifting his weight would be a good idea. In the end, he ended up arching his back against Aya, inadvertedly rubbing against the redhead's more sensitive regions. Aya bit his lip.

It wasn't as if Aya hadn't longed for this—for an intimate contact between the two of them. Between just Aya and Ken—no Youji to tease and flirt and no Omi to smile patiently and amusedly at them…no, just the two of them, entangled within one another's limbs, breathless from a night of passion and surrender. Honest to god, if Ken hadn't been sick, Aya would've ravaged him without a second thought. He needed the release—needed to know he was worthwhile and desired.

Apparently, in Ken's mind, his craving for Aya was enough to eliminate all traces of pain from his persona. He didn't care anymore how horribly his stomach was twisting about, so long as he could continue to feel Aya pressed so sensually, albeit innocently so, against his body. "Don't…don't leave me—alone…"

The redhead seemed startled by the words. He was also rather puzzled. Hadn't Ken wanted the medication a few minutes ago?

"So it doesn't hurt anymore?"

It was a simple question. A simple question that could just as easily be answered by a simple lie. Ken was a good enough liar. He lied to all his soccer charges each day, lied to their parents…lied to Yuriko, to Ms. Momoe…hell, he even lied to himself. Nothing was quite sacred to him anymore. So, realistically speaking, it shouldn't have been that hard for him to lie to Aya. Looking away, Ken softly answered, "No…I told you it'd—it'd fade."

"Look at me."

Ken spared the man who now had him somewhat pinned down against the bed a reluctant glance. He found, however, that he couldn't quite match Aya's even stare for more that a few seconds. He promptly averted his gaze.

"Ken—" the tone was warning, and Ken felt his cheeks burn a deeper shade on account of it. He raised wary chocolate eyes and focused them hesitantly on Aya's violet ones. He felt as though Aya were reading his mind; notion which, had he not known of Mastermind and Oracle, he would have otherwise found absolutely preposterous. Violet-hued orbs narrowed suspiciously as they scanned his face. Ken looked away once more, this time biting his lip as another wave of pinpointed pressure swept over him. There was no escape, however, as Aya's hands rose up to his chin, and gently forced his face in his direction. Drawing in a breath of air, Ken unintentionally let his eyes flutter shut. Aya's fingertips were soft against his chin, and once they'd settled on his face, they splayed outwards towards his cheeks.

Aya's digits made a point of smoothing over the entire expanse of Ken's face, tenderly gliding up and down the contours of the brunette's face. And then, rather unexpectedly, they returned to his chin and clenched it firmly in place. "Don't ever lie to me."

Ken's eyes widened, and he laid there, mouth agape. Granted, he had always known the regal redhead had a penchant for loyalty, but he certainly had never thought that a simple lie—one that hadn't really been entirely voiced—would bother him so. He glanced at Aya with confused, perhaps even hurt, eyes. He hated to see the man angry at him…he really did.

When he'd first met him, Ken had been so infuriated by Aya's condescending manner that he had clocked him a good one. Certainly not the best way to begin a love affair. But Aya had been mindful of him from that point on; he'd realized not to underestimate the brunette on basis of his looks and attitude. Ken, however, had been simmering in silent misery. It wasn't that Aya avoided him—it was impossible to completely steer clear of someone you shared a house with—but he certainly made a point of ignoring him. By nature, Ken wasn't the type of person who enjoyed being ignored. Like Youji, he thrived on the feel of all eyes on him—it made him feel energized, undefeatable, almost. And, the same was true inversely. If he were to be disregarded, his morale would drop, his shoulders sag, and his spirits plummet. Sadly, from the minute he had entered the Koneko, everyone had thought it wise to look away from the 'hot-tempered' assassin. And…realistically speaking, Ken wasn't all that hot-tempered. He just happened to be rather impulsive. He did regret his actions, though, and—apparently—they had all forgotten that he had, in fact, apologized to the stoic redhead for having knocked him unconscious. Not that Aya had cared…No, he had simply walked away, seeming ridiculously annoyed that Ken had even dared to bother him over that trifling a thing.

At first, Ken had feared making Abyssinian angry. It was fair enough…the man was nearly a foot taller than he was, had a glare worth waking the dead, and to top it all off, was an assassin capable of slicing him to pieces. As time wore on, however, Ken came to acquire a respect for the man that was unmatched by any of his teammates. Ken admired Aya; and, eventually, rather than being afraid of irritating the man, he realized that little by little, his motivation to keep out of Aya's way was different…he realized that, instead of wanting to save himself the personal humiliation and physical pain, he wanted Aya to be proud of him—he wanted Aya to admire him…to admire him like he had for so long.

And slowly but surely, he had made it a habit to improve his ingrained idiosyncrasies—he had curved his habit of speaking with his mouth full, had made an effort to avoid walking inside the house with his muddy soccer cleats, and had even tried cooking…once…but that hadn't turned out all that well…

And now…to see the man he had so tried to make proud of him, scowl and flash his eyes dangerously, Ken couldn't help but let the tears cascade through his face…He couldn't help but let them flow down his cheeks, leaving a bright pink path in their wake. Unintentionally, he sniffled, the sound more akin to a sob than a mere intake of breath, and tried to shake Aya's hand from his wrists so that he might wipe the tears from his eyes.

"Lemme go, Aya."

Ken shook futilely against his captor and once more repeated his plead. "C'mon….Aya—please?"

Whether or not Aya heard him was a mystery. Straddled as he was, Ken very hesitantly raised doleful cocoa eyes to find a pair of luscious violet ones returning his stare. Yet, unlike their usual state, they were neither narrowed nor contorted in a crinkling scowl. Rather, they were gazing at him rather intently—a bit forlornly perhaps—and slowly taking in the whole of his face. They skimmed upwards, settling on his unruly mahogany mane for a few seconds, before descending once more, this time studying his high, well-rounded cheekbones…the well-defined jaw…the lively, vibrating pulse of his jugular just a few inches beneath …And, on his trek back, he skipped over Ken's lips entirely, focusing abstractly on the boy's nose instead, smiling absently to himself as he took in the childish pixie nose.

At that particular point in time, Ken was experiencing a rather severe hyperventilation problem. Unnerved but admittedly aroused by the redhead's unabashed perusal of his face, Ken unconsciously licked his lips. It was a bad move…or a good one—

The fact was, Aya's eyes were drawn to the move. In an instant they had snapped to, and remained focused on, the fleshy tip of Ken's tongue. He swallowed thickly. Laying as they were, face to face—chest to chest, Aya was tempted to assume the entire situation was just another fantasy playing out in the back of his mind, product of yet another stressful mission, or an accidental intake of meat too soon before the retreat to bed.

Ken's cheeks burned a dark red when he realized Aya was making no apparent attempt at extricating himself from his body…or from curbing his eyes. And, despite his regular egotistic need to be seen, Ken was beginning to become more than intimidated by it…to put it plainly, certain stirrings in his groin told him he had better get Aya off him soon before the redhead either felt him, or he just threw himself against his leader in reckless abandon. Just thinking about the latter made his cheeks burn a darker auburn.

Aya wasn't really helping much either, what with his intense eyes practically boring into Ken's subconscious. How they ended up in that position, Ken didn't rightly know, but he was willing to bet that—were he to suggest an illicit affair at that moment—there would be more than one eager participant.

Actually, Ken was just a slight bit unsettled at Aya's display. The man wasn't normally the type to be open—much less to allow himself rampant access to Ken's face. "Aya…?"

And then…the most surprising of things happened—staring into his eyes as he was, Aya's eyebrows suddenly furrowed together. A series of wrinkles appeared on his forehead and he pulled back from the brunette roughly and suddenly. He sat back on his heels, drawing in a quick breath and looking about himself a bit bewilderedly, before returning his attention the figure sprawled worriedly on his bed. His eyes snapped towards his bedside clock—and, if possible, his eyes widened almost imperceptibly…almost…but Ken had so long been stealing glances at Aya that the action was all but obvious to him.

Aya pulled himself away entirely from the bed, taking backward steps until his back hit the very wood of his locked door. Locked? Aya cast the closed door a disoriented glance. When had he locked the door?

And, like a man suddenly recovering from amnesia, Aya felt a bold realization strike him across the face. It was twelve midnight—a little after, actually—and for the first time since the day he'd become an assassin, Aya Fujimiya was not at his sister's bedside.

For the first time in two years, Aya Fujimiya had completely forgotten about his daily, compulsory visit to his only kin…

He had forgotten…and he didn't regret it.

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