Author's note: I hope you like this so far! I found my plot again, so I'll be updating more. Finals are coming up soon, but don't worry. ^-^ Enjoy, and please review nicely! Flames are fed to evil Takatoris.

Disclaimer: I own not of Weiss. ^-^ Koy-chan does.

Dedication: Yet again, to my lovely. Akiko Yuy. Go read her heartbreaking RanKen fic. ^-^


Tightness welling inside my chest when I awaken. I don't want to get up. Why face the world when I have nothing to face? A moan emitting from my lips, I hear a voice outside my room. It's the high pitched voice of our youngest member, Bombay. He's mumbling something about Balinese not coming home the night before, and being worried about our teammate. Aah... poor, foolish little Bombay. He's so clueless. So naive. So young. I bet he's never had a man shove into him and screw him. I bet he's never done that to a woman either. How envious of him I must seem. I wonder if he has someone that loves him. I bet it's that other member of Schwarz. I've heard him mumbling on the phone late at night, and I found a picture of the boy when I was cleaning his room looking for my soccer socks.
Maybe he has had a man shove into him. Or would it be the other way around? I don't know. Not quite sure if I care. I sigh and rub my face into my pillow. It smells like roses. My fists clench and I throw the fluffy thing across my room, knocking over my picture of the four of us in the flower shop, the glass shattering on the floor. Moments later I hear a knock at my door. Bombay's voice is low and worried, asking me if I was alright, and questioning as to what happened. I yell at him I'm fine and to go away. I hear him squeak, and the slight patter of his feet dwindles away. I gasp for air as my lungs restrict slightly, yawning for more breath. I roll over and look at the clock, where it blinks at me numbers that can't register in my head. Blinking sleepily, I sit at the edge of my bed and look up, toward my ceiling, and stand. Sighing heavily once more, I walk toward the door and lay my palm on the cold brass door handle. I felt it turn under my fingers and squeaked slightly, jumping back.
The door opens slightly and I see a redheaded, Amythest-eyed man look into my room, straight at me. My breath quickens slightly and my throat constricts at the sight of the man I had shared a bed with not only a night before. I attempt to choke out words. Anything, anything to say to you and I'd be happy. However, your sharp voice interrupts me, telling me to come down to breakfast. You say we need to talk, all of us. My face grows numb, and I nod solemnly, my hair falling in front of my half-closed eyes in clumps. I see his eyes narrow and glance at my hair. I can almost see something flash in his eyes, but I push it aside. He wouldn't want me anymore, would he? He couldn't want me anymore. He shouldn't.
He tells me to hurry up, then shuts the door tightly and swift. I stare at the wood in confused confinement. Turning to my dresser, I pick out jeans and my soccer jersey. Quickly I strip of my pajamas and dress. I open the door and step slowly down the narrow stairs, the padded carpet soft upon my feet. I hear Bombay and Abyssinian talking; small talk. Bombay then mentions Balinese, and I tense. He replies quietly enough to be out of my range. I step into the kitchen with the sight of Bombay serving him hot tea and miso soup. I smile as he picks up a silver spoon and dips it into his soup, lifting it to his lip sand blowing on it. My feet take me to a chair across from him, and I slide into it, my fingers grasping the wood of my seat in between my legs as I lean forward. My eyes are bent to the floor, but I glance up and see Bombay staring at me, his eyes twisted in concern. Lowering his small frame into the chair to my left, the three of us sat in silence until it was broken by Abyssinian's voice.
Persia contacted me this morning. There has been an unusual calm in the crime rate recently, so all of us have been given time off temporarily until he contacts us again. Is this clear? Both Bombay and I nod. Standing, he grabs his apron and walks toward the flower shop, looking back over his shoulder at Bombay.
Bombay and I have the first shift of the day, while Siberian and Balinese have second. If Balinese refrains from returning, Bombay and Siberian will share second shift. He closed the door behind him and I looked at Bombay, my eyes pleading. His eyebrow listed slightly, and asked me what was up with Abyssinian, and why he scheduled the shifts differently this time. I turned my head down, and shrugged my shoulders helplessly. Why did he change it? Is he sick of my face? Of my voice? What's wrong with me? Tears are forcing their way around my eyes, and I shut them tightly. Standing swiftly, I stalk to my room again and close the door tightly. My hands yank open the top drawer of my dresser harshly, and my fingers plunge into the mass of underclothes and soccer uniforms. At the bottom there is a picture. Lifting it like a child, I flop on my bed and gaze at the ink on the paper. I'm in my apron in the flower shop, holding a pot of Roses. Next to me he stands with a bouquet of Gentians, and I'm smiling. His arm is around my shoulder, and he's glaring at the camera slightly, but a small smile is cocked upon his lips. I remember Sakura taking the picture, and I had to have a copy of it. I loved it. But now, my fingers twitch idly, and I rip the top slightly, starting a tear in between him and I.
Blinking heavily, I stop and my fingers fall away, the picture dropping to the floor. I can't take it anymore. Why is he avoiding me? Why? It's only been two days since he and I were on the verge of something great. Something wonderful. Why did he have to go and blow it? Anger wells in my chest, reminding me of last night. Grabbing my soccer shorts, I change quickly and head down the stairs. On my way out I grab my soccer ball and cleats, jamming them on my feet at the door. Without a word to anyone else, I run as fast as I can toward the park. Once my feet reach the soft, green grass, I drop the ball and start kicking it toward the field. I'm mostly alone, save for two guys kicking a soccer ball around on the other side of the field. Bouncing the ball on my head, I grin wildly and let it fall to my knee, where I bounce it high, then kick it hard into the goal. My heart pumps while sweat rolls down my back as I run up and down the the paint-free field. My heart soars and I smile. Genuinely smile.
I've always loved soccer. It's my favorite past-time. I love the feel of it when the heavy ball connects with my foot, and the cool fresh air against my hot skin. Before I know it, someone is next to me, trying to steal the ball away. I grin and steal it back. Soon, a game is started up and I'm appointed main forward. Hours pass, and my team cheers as the final goal is swooshed into a white net by my foot. My lips slide into a smile as my makeshift teammates slap me on the back and shake my hand, telling me to come back soon and they can play another game. They leave one by one, and at this point I finally realize how late it is. I curse to myself and find my soccer ball, scooping it in my arms and jogging away from the net. Around me, the sun sets and birds stop chirping. Passing a bench, my eyes turn swiftly to the left and I gasp, my feet slowing their pace while my arm grows weak and the ball drops from my fingertips. He's sitting there on a bench, his long white coat spread next to him. Sunglasses are shading his bright amethyst eyes as he stared forward. I can sense his gaze turn toward me, and my body tenses. Words attempt to escape, but I am left hovering without a sound.
Bombay was nice enough to take over your shift today, Siberian. Balinese came back and helped. You owe the small one a favor. His voice is still icy and cold, like the weather was beginning to become. He tells me he's come to get me, and that I should come back home. I can feel my throat constricting as my jaw begins to clench, tears brimming in my eyes. I break and shout at him. I tell him how dare he come here like my baby-sitter, and how dare he tell me to come home when Balinese stays out however late he wants, fucking who knows what. His body rises slowly, and he turns toward me, his long fingers taking his sunglasses off so that his eyes are shining at me, boring into my soul.
The tears come in floods now, and I can't help but keep yelling. I yell at him because of his coldness towards me. I ask him why he's been so mean, and how come he changed the schedule, and why the hell he's remained to far from me. Without realizing my actions, my legs are running toward him and my arms wrap around his torso, my tears soaking his coat. Why?! I yell. I yell and yell and yell. I scream at him. Why is he doing this to me? Why, why, why? I hug him close to my body and tell him I don't want to be like Sakura. I tell him I don't want to be like everyone else he's left behind. I tell him he's pushing everyone away again, and that I won't and can't take it. I feel his large hands upon my shoulder, pushing me away from his body. My tear streaked cheeks burn with the uprising wind, and my vision is blurred. I don't know what's wrong with me. I haven't cried this much in so little time since... Since I don't remember. How can he make me feel like this, and make so many tears be shed? I don't like this. I don't like it at all. I tell him so. I tell him that I love him and that I hate him at the same time for making me feel like such a shit. Like I'm not wanting. I'm never wanted. I tell him that Balinese wants me, but that doesn't count.
I can't go back to Balinese. I want him. Him, and only him. My fists beat on his chest lightly and I cry at him to let me near. His hands squeeze my shoulder, and then fall to his side. His shoulder begin to turn away from me, but I grab his hand. I won't let him leave. I can't let him leave me. I pull his body into mine, and, on my toes, I push my lips forcefully on his. Taking a step back, I can see that his eyes are wide. He's staring into space over my shoulder. Blinking hard, he looks into my eyes, and his lips part in confusion.
I can't. I'm sorry Ken, but... I can't. I lower my head and scream. I scream as his hand falls from mine, and he walks away. I scream at myself, at him, at everything. I scream at the world, and Balinese, and anything and everything that will listen. I scream until my throat is hoarse and my tongue is numb. I can't take this anymore. I scream as the night falls, drapping me in darkness.