Ugh, sorry for short chapter. This is actually part one of the final chapter, and there is a long story behind why I had to split it.
---
Manx' office was dark, no artificial lights turned on. She rarely bothered with turning them on, unless there was paperwork to be done. In Kritiker, paperwork could be done at the most strange hour, which was why she was now standing in Shuichi Takatori's old headquarter and gazing out of the window.
When the lights were off, she could see the city down there. The neon advertisements, the shadows of each construction, the traffic-lights…
She folded her hands over her stomach as there was a loud knocking on her door, not turning. The door was opened, letting in light and noise, a man being pushed inside with guns prodding his back.
Yohji had to concentrate in order to not fall every time he received a shove, sneering inarticulate things to his captors. He eyed the back of Persia's former secretary, shouting her name even though everyone could hear him perfectly. She just stood there, long legs and curves emphasized by the tight mini-skirt and long heels. Her cell phone way lying on the otherwise empty desk.
"Release him and leave."
Again, they hesitated to follow the order, expecting Yohji to berserk as soon as he got his hands free. That wasn't too far from the truth, but he held back this time, knowing he had very few cards left to gamble with.
The door was closed behind them again, shutting him and the flamboyant secretary from the world. He stood still, hands tightened into fists, eyes promising death despite his miserable state.
"Treachery is punished with death."
She spoke slowly, her heels making a hollow, clicking noise when she took a few steps forward, closer to the window.
"Manx…"
"Abyssian strayed from the mission and put the whole operation in danger. The instructions are clear, the troops just carried out their orders."
"I … "
"Not a word, Balinese. Bombay informed me of the situation already. He claimed he was the one at fault, for Abyssian attempted to free him. And you, against orders, without permission, went back for him. Do you expect to get away with this?"
There was a loud crack when Yohji's fist connected with the wall.
"You can't execute him for that! Aya is the best assassin in Weiss. This is betrayal, Manx. They cannot kill him for saving the life of a team mate! Omi has your goddamn samples and reports now thanks to Aya, and they fucking shot him." He paused, drawing his breath, looking for something to support himself on and finding nothing.
"Kritiker didn't give you permission to go against missions for empathetic motives."
He spread his arms out on either side of himself in a distressed gesture.
"Then how about permission to survive!?"
Silence.
"This would never have happened if Persia was alive, and you know it!"
She turned around, dark red curls sweeping across her shoulders.
"Persia is gone, Kudoh." There was consideration in her voice, if only a faint trace of it. "And you speak as if I am in charge of the whole Kritiker. What do you want from me?"
Yohji tightened his lips, finding himself in a very undiplomatic mood. Negotiation could go to hell, he didn't have the strength, nor the presence of mind to attempt it. And yet, he had to try, for if he didn't, he would lose something he hadn't even realized was worth fighting for.
"Aya's life. No compromises."
Her mask of cold indifference cracked then. Instead, an expression of weary defeat appeared on Manx' face. She looked drained, as if she had been carrying an inhuman weight for years and years. Heavily made-up eyelashes fluttered when she closed her eyes, placing her hand gently on Persia's office desk.
"There… there will be a price to pay, Yohji. You realize that, don't you?"
Yohji lowered his voice, tension slipping away from him even though he tried to hold on, tried to not let his defenses down and let exhaustion claim him. Instead, he grinned humorlessly.
"See if I care."
She appeared to expect that answer, bringing up a hand to her forehead. Yohji stood there, swaying a little, coat torn and covered in burn-holes. There wouldn't be any compromises, but someone had to take the blame. Considering the fact that Aya was probably dying and Kritiker's impatience, Yohji was more than ready to play scapegoat. For a very odd reason, it didn't seem to surprise her.
Perhaps Manx had known something about them that Yohji had completely missed out, even though he was the one that had been living under same roof as his team mates.
"And one more thing." He added, ready to dismiss himself. "Once his condition is stable, we're taking him home. You hear me?"
Manx said nothing at first, watching Yohji as he turned around to leave.
"You don't trust Kritiker's medical team?"
The door slammed shut, leaving her to her wanted darkness. She crossed her arms, sighing softly before she walked back to the large window.
"Good choice."
---
One, two, three … twenty seven.
Yohji had become painfully familiar with how many steps there were on the stairs in the Koneko during the past few days. Aya was home, safe, secure, alive, but that didn't mean they were allowed to enter his room, the doctors and nurses still hovering over him like vultures over a dying prey.
He had barely seen Aya since that night, having to satisfy himself with what Omi and Ken could report. Apparently, he had gone through a long surgery and had been requiring much blood transfusion. Shot twice, both times in his stomach. Broken arm, luckily not completely smashed as Yohji had first assumed. Smoke poisoning… there was no end to it.
Omi said that if Aya hadn't made an attempt at escape, they would probably have killed him right there. So he had been trying, for what it was worth.
Aya had been shot. By Kritiker's own team. For rescuing Omi. It still sounded unbelievable in his head, no matter how much he repeated it. They all knew that disobeying orders was rewarded with death. It was just so unbelievable that it could actually happen; forcing them all to brutally remember how very much Kritiker owned their lives.
Since that night, he had been having plenty of time to hear the story in detail. Omi had been trapped, the doors shutting automatically when the security system kicked in because the boy didn't make his escape in time. Omi had contacted Aya over the transmitter to tell them his part of the mission was a failure, ready to die, and Aya turned around and cancelled his own chance at survival. Aya ran back, finding the main control center and freeing Omi even when he knew it was against orders.
Who would have thought that?
Yohji sat down on the stairs, leaning forward and burying his head in his arms. They stung badly, the hundreds of burn marks itching despite the bandages and the painkillers he had been chewing like candy.
Who would have thought that Aya, the human icicle who seemed to despise friendship and company and anything that resembled warmth, would willingly throw away his life for one of them once he was given the chance?
For it became obvious to him now – Aya hadn't been planning to survive when he made his choice.
It was a shocking revelation for Yohji. He wasn't quite sure how to deal with it, and perhaps he would have taken time to figure it out if he didn't have other questions that shocked him by far more.
Like trying to figure out what had been driving him to burst into a building engulfed in flames once he heard that Aya hadn't made it.
Bitterness?
For Aya, he did feel bitterness, the kind that left a bad taste in your mouth every time you thought about it. Aya was a prick, uptight, a major pain in the ass and a source for annoyance, but he was still human. And that was the realization that came crashing down on Yohji when Omi told him Aya had failed.
Aya was human. Aya could bitch twenty four hours a day and drink his tea and have nightmares, but Aya could also die. Aya could die and leave Weiss with an empty space, which obviously was something Yohji had been dreading without even being aware of it. He was afraid of losing Omi, and Ken too. But Aya wasn't…
His forehead connected with the top step of the stairway. How could it be possible that Aya was such an isolated bastard, and still so fucking significant for them all? It wasn't right, wasn't fair, was against the rules…
He needed to see Aya. Now.
A small part of his brain started to wonder just how many painkillers he had been eating before getting these thoughts, for he was obviously high. Either way, there was certain things he wasn't quite ready to forgive. No matter what importance Aya held for them, Kritiker had no – right – to do this to him. Deserter… since when was saving a team mate deserting? It wasn't like he had turned on them, wasn't like he was a double agent, and they marked him as a traitor. Yes, he felt bitter.
There was a sound of something breaking downstairs. Yohji stood up, by lifting his upper body first and relying on his shaky arms to support him. His hand shot up to comb a few stiff fingers through his hair, as he walked slowly downstairs. Greasy, probably entangled in a shitty mess. A sigh escaped his lips as he suddenly recalled his original purpose for staying on the stairs. Right, shower. First go and check on what the hell was going on down there, and then shower. Sounded like a plan.
He followed the direction of the sound, peeking tiredly around the corner to see Ken crouching over a broken flowerpot and absently picking up the terracotta shards. There was brown soil on the floor as well, staining their carpet. Ken looked up, opening his mouth but waiting a little before he spoke.
"Oh, Yohji…"
The voice was soft, as if it cost him to speak. When Yohji said nothing in return, he pointed down at the mess with a weak, sheepish grin.
"Was carrying it to the shop… it broke, heh."
Yohji blinked, then nodded absently, holding onto the doorframe with one hand. Flowerpot… broken… it made sense. He blinked again and shook his head.
"Omi can probably vacuum the …"
Ken interrupted him with pointing at the couch in their living room, where a small hand could be seen even from Yohji's angle. The rest was hidden under a blanket and lying there soundlessly.
"He's out. Said he was just waiting for the pack of frozen vegetables to melt so he could get us something to eat. I covered him up, he's probably not going to wake up until late evening."
Yohji nodded for the second time, scratching his itching scalp. Showering was one thing, he couldn't remember whether he had been eating or not for the past days. Now that it was being mentioned - what had he been doing? Got patched up, slept and woken up every second hour, paced around the house.
"Well… just, clean it up then. I'm off for a shower. There should be frozen pizza somewhere in the freezer, if you care to dig long enough. Mind heating one up for me as well?"
Ken started picking up terracotta pieces again, trying to not spread the moist soil further around. Yohji turned, slowly making his way back up. Every step felt like walking in quicksand, he wondered whose idea it was to get them a house with a second floor. After grabbing the first seemingly clean clothes he could get his hands on, which was a t-shirt with some ridiculous slogan on and jeans, he was finally able to lock himself inside their bathroom.
The floor felt cold under his feet when he stepped inside the shower, peeling off his bandages and wincing. It didn't look pretty, those red stripes and small bubbles with puss in. Would probably make his shower hell, but Yohji was beyond caring for such trivial matters now. He turned on the water, struggling to find the right temperature. Too hot and it would scorch his already tender skin. Too cold and he would keep shivering mindlessly like he did now.
But it felt good, gods, it felt good. He lifted his head, letting the stream hit his face. A walking ashtray, that's what he had been about to become, and this despite not touching a single cigarette since their mission. The Kritiker doctors had forbidden him to smoke until further notice. They also managed to inform him of that he was lucky to be alive, if one took into account the stuff and the chemicals he had been smoking inside of that laboratory.
According to Omi, Aya almost got his lungs ruined that night. It was strange, for he hadn't been inside that place for very much longer than Yohji, but perhaps it was a matter of endurance. Or perhaps he really managed to inhale something hazardous.
Yohji reached for the soap, the liquid one that smelled of some fashionable manly perfumes and that Ken always stole. Omi also used that kind of soap, but he always ended up buying something that either smelled of herbs or peaches. Omi's toothbrush was bright yellow with a small flower on, which was why a stranger, or Yohji's old loves, could easily be fooled to believe there was a girl in the house. And then there was also this plain, hard soap that – surprise – belonged to Aya.
He raised his hand to massage his scalp, try to rinse some of the shampoo away, and found that his chest and forearm muscles protested. Seriously, anything for a massage now. Kritiker could at least include that kind of therapy for their assassins and agents, a small compensation for sleepless nights and a ruined life. Or at least a compensation for making them work in a damned flower shop, making about every school girl in the local area get the wrong ideas.
Why couldn't they have been mechanics instead or something? He gave it a thought, imagining Omi run around with a spanner, and then Aya whining over getting his hands smeared with oil.
Yohji rubbed his eyes helplessly, by no means hindering the water from getting into them. He must have been further gone than assumed, for he found that mental picture to be hysterically funny. It lasted for a small moment, then he felt like banging his head repeatedly on the misty glass walls of the shower cabinet.
Besides, Kritiker meant that working with flowers was therapeutic enough. They could be right for all he knew, at least he got to meet a charming woman now and then and impress her with his knowledge of the flora.
The temperature outside of the shower cabinet made Yohji reach for his towel immediately. Water spilled all over, and he noted to himself that he would have to dry up the floor later, or else Omi would throw a fit. That was, if the kid would notice in his current, dazed state. Omi had been out of it for the past few days, Yohji assumed he would set up a tent and camp right in front of Aya's doorstep soon.
That particular idea didn't sound too bad, only he would prefer to camp in his own bed and not move out of it until the next century. Screw the pizza, Kudoh was going to sleep. Ken would only benefit from eating more anyway.
He fumbled for the toothbrush, feeling relief when the foul taste in his mouth was replaced by numbing menthol. Breath probably smelled like hell, a mix of trashcan and burnt rubber. It was strange that he hadn't been coughing up ashes yet. Vapor clouded the mirror, doing him the good favor of not reflecting his face. His injuries, however little, started to sting again, and he realized he would have to put on new bandages or risk infections.
It wasn't much, mostly burn marks, a few cuts from glass shards, and a load of bruises. Medical salve, then a clean band aid should do. He'd been lucky to avoid sprains or broken bones after all that jumping.
Yohji lifted his clean, discarded clothes and pulled on the boxers, jeans following. Let's see, now what was written on that stupid shirt?
You know it's going to be a bad day when you jump out of bed and miss the floor.
Well, no shit Sherlock. Yohji blinked lamely, tugging it on and unlocking the door to let the moist air out. He really ought to check his closet and sort out a few things, for he couldn't even remember that he had gotten it. A gift then, it looked like a typical Ken gift, a little too pessimistic to match Omi's kind of humor. He left the bathroom, hair dripping water onto the towel around his shoulders, filling the hallway with the smell of aftershave.
And a nurse was staring at him.
Yohji stared back bluntly, not moving. She eyed him up and down with an unpleasant frown, as if wondering how he dared to appear in front of her like this. He waited, holding back with the usual pleasantries. She was from Kritiker, she wasn't pretty and he was tired, so if a bitchy comment left her mouth, he would most likely strangle her. There was a notepad in her hand, matching the white, clinical uniform.
"Mr Kudoh." She said suddenly, earning a gloomy scowl. "You may see the patient now if you wish."
Yohji crossed the hallway within a second, shoving the nurse out of his way and barging into Aya's room. He abruptly came to a halt on the doorstep, giving his best to see what was inside even though his eyes couldn't adjust to the dim lighting properly. Aya was lying there, occupying his own bed and resting with his hands above the blanket in a very patient-like manner. Two doctors stood in the farthest corner of the room, conversing very quietly. He rushed inside like a drunk, kneeling beside the bed because there was no chair to offer other possibilities, making the nurse squeak with distress.
"Mr Kudoh, what are you doing!?"
Yohji wanted to ask himself the same, stopping himself from reaching blindly for any part of Aya's body just to make sure the redhead was still alive. He didn't even realize he had been holding his breath, exhaling shockingly.
"I must ask you to act with more consideration, running inside the patient's room like this is completely unacceptable, and…"
Yeah, yeah. Later, damn it. He extended his hand against all protests and let it curl around Aya's smaller one, finding it pleasantly warm and wanting to thank whatever gods that were watching over him. But doing so would simply be uncharacteristic for him, so he didn't. Instead, he dropped Aya's hand as if his skin had been scolded at the contact, realizing that he probably looked pretty damn pathetic right now.
Yep, the doctors were staring, most likely surprised by his reaction. He turned back and grinned, taunting them to dare voicing their stupid questions.
"Yohji? … Aya, is he… ?"
Omi's head appeared in the door opening, shortly followed by Ken. They looked at him, then at each other, before hurrying inside. Yohji was almost afraid Omi would jump on the bed at first, the younger boy's hugging instinct kicking in. Omi wasn't always reasonable when emotions got in his way, even though he was the most considerate one of them all. Ken was different. He seemed to be afraid of be near Aya, and yet couldn't take his eyes away from him. Picking the middle, he just ended up standing in the middle of the room without knowing what to do.
The doctors started their lecture on care and medicine doses for Aya, of slow recovery and how often they would return to check on him. To Yohji, it sounded like excessively much, for he wished all Kritiker scum as far away from the Koneko as possible right now. But neither of them were doctors, and he wasn't about to put Aya's life at stake.
Omi turned on the small lamp on the nightstand, careful to not stumble in the oxygen mask and the other machines placed on each side of the bed. Yohji was surprised to see the younger boy looking like he was on the verge of tears. He stood up slowly, gritting his teeth at his hurting back and turned away. Ken tentatively approached Omi, placing a hand on his shoulder, and none of them could say a word.
The seconds ticked past, until one of the doctors cleaned his throat in a quiet, professional manner.
"I suggest that you all leave now. The patient needs rest, Ms Harada will look after him this night."
He seemed truly unpleased with the situation, probably finding it hard to accept that they had been ordered to send Aya home while he should have been in the hospital under normal circumstances. The nurse didn't seem too happy either, even though they had prepared Ken's room for her while Ken would sleep on the floor in Yohji's room. Manx kept her promises; there was no doubt about that.
Omi dropped the small piece of blanket he had been fumbling with, looking like a small child who had been told they had to home after a too short visit at the amusement park. He looked at Ken, seeking comfort and finding none when the nurse shoved them out of the door.
"You too, Mr Kudoh…"
"Like hell!" He snapped, turning around, yet keeping his voice low enough in courtesy of Aya. Yohji doubted anything could get him out of this room now, not after he'd been let inside. Glare all you want, bitch. 'Mr Kudoh' had temporary shut off his brain and would act on instinct alone until he was certain the damned redhead in the stuffed bed would pull through. Ken an Omi still peered inside as they were almost led away by one of the doctors, Omi's gaze a mix of anxiety and relief and gratitude.
"Very well." The last doctor sighed, rolling his eyes. "Then, I assume you will watch for the patient through the night." He made it sound like 'You better, or else.'
"In case of an emergency, call this number immediately… "
Yohji snatched the small card from the doctor's hand and nodded. Get out, just get out. He didn't need him in here more than he needed a deadly disease, wishing he would leave and go accompany someone with higher tolerance for annoyances. Omi could probably make them supper, he needed to feed the nurse anyway.
After several moments with more instructions, the doctor said his farewells and walked outside, gently closing the door in the process. Yohji occupied himself with staring at it for a while. It was brown, wooden, simple…
He blinked. This time, he got away cheaply. Manx had perhaps done her job well enough, but it wasn't like the doctors cared for Aya's survival for real. It was just as good, at least he wouldn't have to endure them as much as he would have if they had gotten their will.
Yohji sighed softly, slowly walking over to the nearest wall to lean on it. His hair was still damp, wetting the back of his shirt because the towel had slid of his shoulders at some point. It was barely noticeable, he didn't want to bother with changing it.
Aya was lying quietly, not making the smallest movement, eyes closed and wearing the most peaceful expression Yohji had ever seen on him. And he didn't like it. Aya, quiet, calm, oblivious were things Aya never was.
Aya was always ready to shove the katana down someone's throat. The goddamn katana which Kritiker's team had been able to retrieve afterwards and thus eliminate all traces of them, which was probably the only reason to why Manx agreed to his terms. Once hurt, Aya would always scrunch up and hiss and say things that made Yohji want to slit his throat, he would shrug them all off and pretend he was fine even if he could barely stand on his feet. But now, he could go and slap Aya across the face and get no reaction at all.
Yohji smiled weakly, fighting the growing weariness he felt. Karma… goddamned karma. Just when he had been able to take a firm decision, life would make up some shit and force him to reconsider. In the case with Aya, he'd been given more than enough agonizing days with uncertainty to make up a new opinion on everything. On his surrogate family, action heroes, and most of all on the irritating redhead in front of him.
---
"Ugh…"
Sunlight. Bright, blinding sunlight shone through the window, not hindered by the thin curtains that hung on each side. Yohji lifted his head slowly, very slowly, eyes involuntarily narrowing. A piece of white cloth tickled his nose, forcing him to grimace.
White… white was not the color of his own bed sheets. His eyelashes fluttered as he moved a hand experimentally, realizing the upper half of his body was resting on a bed. The other part, however, was on the cold, hard floor.
How come?
He tried to stretch his legs as well, which was only possible with a great deal of pain. But that wasn't all; his neck and shoulder muscles felt like someone had injected a paralyzing poison into them. Yohji let out a mumbling curse, turning his head to one side. The sun didn't plan on leaving him in peace, shining as if there was no tomorrow. He dug his fingers into the soft mattress, pushing his body up. With a little effort and support from the bed, he was able to stand up and take a look around.
He'd fallen asleep sitting beside Aya's bed.
Yohji raised an eyebrow despite himself. He'd heard of people who fell asleep in chairs watching unconscious patients, but this was just ridiculous. That, and his back wouldn't let him forget it anytime soon. His gaze wandered across the room, starting on the sleeping Aya and ending on the door behind him, which was still closed.
If this was how he had been planning to watch over Aya, he'd done a damn poor job. In fact, he hadn't even been able to get himself a comfortable chair as he originally planned, before passing out sometime during the evening. The thought gave him an unpleasant feeling in his gut, and he made his way over to Aya's bed again, reaching for his hand on impulse. That's where he stopped, pulling back, satisfying himself with just watching Aya's chest rise and fall.
Aya was still alive and asleep, in the same position as he had been the previous night. The nurse wouldn't have any reason to give him a reprimand, even though he deserved it. In the brightly lit room, Yohji could finally get a good look at him, and he didn't like what he saw.
It was nearly impossible to distinguish Aya's skin from the white bed sheets. Damn, the man had always been weirdly pale, but now he could have been made out of snow for real. His red hair was a sharp contrast to his surroundings, spilled all over the pillow. The left hand was bandaged thoroughly, his long fingers barely visible, but there were small adhesive bandages on his face as well. Yohji hoped the cuts and burn marks wouldn't scar, because he could simply not imagine Aya with any.
He kept staring at Aya for a while longer, then straightened up and stretched. Again, he found himself in Aya's room, which was about his least favorite place in the whole house. It looked a bit like those offices in the apartment advertisements. Yohji went to Aya's writing desk, noticing that his drawers were locked as always. Yes, he'd been trying to open them before, though never going as far as trying to pick the locks. Whatever Aya stored there was probably not interesting anyway; he honestly doubted he would stumble over the secrets of Aya's sex life or his diary by digging in his drawers. Aya was a little too paranoid to store anything like that in a drawer with a simple lock, probably too paranoid to even store it in a goddamned safe. Besides, Aya didn't have a life, and sex was out of the question.
His desk was clean, a black penholder standing in a corner, beside small calendar. His glasses also lay there, reflecting the light from the window. The doctors had absently placed a set of band-aids in the middle, and there were dried stains of some medical liquid on it as well. Yohji took it away, rubbing his palm over the stains until they were gone.
Losing interest in Aya's writing desk, he headed for Aya's closet, carefully prying the sliding doors open and peeking inside. Nothing surprising there either – a whole collection of plain or downright hideous clothes in the most eye-damaging colors one could find. He knew Aya's wardrobe just as well as he knew Omi and Ken's, and not only because he'd been forced to do the laundry one time too many. Aya seemed to have a thing for covering himself up, often wearing long sleeved shirts or sweaters with turtlenecks.
Yohji didn't dig further in Aya's perfectly sorted and neatly folded sets of clothes, letting the doors close and getting to Aya's bookshelves. That was something he'd rather not look at, feeling his head throb at the very sight of the covers. They were also organized in some sort of order, for all he knew, and he was probably doing Aya a favor by not touching them. On the other hand, since he had plans of staying in the room most of the day, it sounded like an idea to pick at least one of them.
Yohji took a few steps while he read the titles on each cover. History, philosophy, and a heap of weird, poetic names that told him nothing. He settled for a small, brown one and pulled it out, simply because it looked thin. Whatever it was about, he would read it after breakfast.
A small rustle of blankets, barely audible, made Yohji almost drop the book, looking like a criminal caught in action. He whirled around, stopping midways to look at the occupant of the bed. Black lashes fluttered soundlessly, eyelids slowly opening to reveal a pair of dark, azure eyes. Disoriented eyes, that just seemed to stare the ceiling for an indefinite period of time before they shifted to study the room. They narrowed, Aya slowly lifting his arm to cover them from the sunlight and failing. Yohji wasn't even aware of that his mouth was hanging partly open.
Eventually, Aya's gaze settled on him, and they were staring at each other. As much as Aya could stare anyway, he didn't seem to be completely aware of his surroundings. He noticed a stranger in his room and tensed, his otherwise emotionless face contorting in pain.
Yohji's hand was already resting on the doorknob. This was kind of uncalled for; he didn't expect Aya to wake up right now. Was too unprepared to deal with it, not even knowing what he should say. But if he ran away now, he'd be damned. He knew that as well.
"You're awake." He simply went for, loving the meaningless phrase. Stating the obvious was always a solution when a man can't say anything better for his bare life. The words were gently spoken, careful to not startle Aya further. They didn't award him with any reaction or reply either.
"Yohji here, man. Easy." He took a few steps forward and Aya relaxed, letting his head fall back on the pillow. Recognition at last, then.
He didn't know if it was a good thing, suspecting that Aya would tell him to get the hell out if he only had been able to. He cast a glance at the door, then turned. Still Aya didn't make a sound, leaving them in serene silence. One that couldn't last forever. Yohji walked over and reached for the glass of water at the nightstand, bringing it close to his mouth. Aya's eyes looked at the glass with longing, but he barely bothered to part his lips even when Yohji tipped the glass a little. He took one small sip, like a stray cat that has been without human contact for too long and didn't trust being fed. Then he turned his head, closing his eyes. Yohji took the glass away.
He put it down and went back to the discarded book lying horizontally on top of the other books, letting his fingers flip through the pages with superficial interest. Yohji carried it over to the glass doors, staring out at the balcony bathed in light. Leaves had gathered there in small piles, and no one had been there to brush them off. He pulled one of the curtains a little to the side, enough to spare Aya the discomfort of being blinded.
"You came back for me…"
A soft admission, a statement on the verge of a question. The voice was hoarse, thin. There was hidden emotion in it, something Yohji couldn't put his finger on.
"Damn right I did." He grinned weakly to his transparent reflection, pressing his fingers against the glass. It had to be cold outside now, and yet the sun shone in all its false glory. Aya said nothing more, though the question was there. He had far too much pride to ask, staring right in front of himself and seemingly ignoring Yohji. The question settled heavily between them, unvoiced and still so loud.
Why?
He exhaled, partly sighing. Why… interesting topic indeed. Why not? Yohji asked himself. Was it really so wrong to care after all? Even though they were assassins and murderers and goddamned assholes that would shatter everything their hands touched and the whole tragic serenade – was it wrong? Omi had done it all the time. Omi was silly, young and not completely corrupted yet, and Yohji had found it cute, playing along with his games. But now, he wasn't so sure. What had the kid seen that Yohji's consciousness hadn't been willing to acknowledge? Something that had been there all the time, and that Aya seemed to dread. But it was.
He turned, Aya lifting his head to look at him. Yohji felt something inside of him clench. There was fear in that seemingly impassive face. Not the paralyzing kind, but a deep, hurting fear that bordered to sorrow.
The corners of his mouth drew up in a wry, gentle half-smile.
"Why." He said finally, playing with the corners of Aya's book, letting his nails scrape the edges. "For the same reason as you went back for Omi, I guess. What do you say… Abyssian?"
The smile didn't leave his lips, Yohji fixing his eyes on the beige wall above the bed. Aya's eyes regained some of their piercing glare ability, the supernatural emotion vanishing.
"I did it out of duty. My mission… completed. Omi had … the samples…"
The effort of the long sentences made Aya break out in a coughing fit, bringing his good hand to his mouth for cover. He shut his eyes, gasping a little, and then coughing again. Yohji put one hand on his hip, just watching Aya quietly. Taking in everything about him. The untidy hair and the stray bangs, the sickly pale, annoying face, the shaking shoulders.
"Right. I forgot… the great Fujimiya – never – feels anything."
He crossed the room and closed his eyes, door shutting gently behind him.
---