*What am I?!*
A shiver of pain and grief went through him, and he bit down on it and held it close to him. It was the last he had of her, the last thing of her that he had to watch slip through his fingers.
*You're a weak and womanly man who doesn't know himself!*
*Stop... Asuka! Stop!*
*What kind of man are you that you killed your own lover? What kind of creature are you now?*
He heard ash from his burning cigarette crumble and fall with a dry puff. He didn't care what it did to his floor. In fact... He wouldn't care much if it lit the whole room on fire.
*What am I?*
*A murderer!*
No. Worse than that. A man who killed the woman he loved more than life, more than anything. A man who didn't know if he'd done it to save his teammates, or because she had continued to insist her love for someone else.
*My beloved Masafumi... Masafumi... I love you*
What had driven him to jerk that wire taut, slicing through the
curved white arch of her throat, strangling her by collapsing and severing
her windpipe? Her body had weighted him like a rock and still all he
could think of was her repeated whisper: "Masafumi... my beloved
Masafumi." Red rage had consumed him; and jealousy, hatred. Womanly
indeed. Was it black jealousy that had allowed him that final, fatal
degree of pressure? After all.. He could have simply rendered her
unconscious to incapacitate her, and it would have given him the same
opportunity to rescue Ken and Omi as killing her had, wouldn't it? But by
killing her he had
eliminated a possible threat to himself and his teammates, a weak point in particular for him.
Had he been another kind of man, he might have killed himself to follow after her. But he didn't think he wanted to see her in whatever afterlife there might be. He was certain she would greet him with Masafumi's name on her lips.
Besides, he was living hell already.
The cigarette he couldn't remember lighting burned itself down to a nub between his fingers. He stared out the wide window and bit back more tears.
*A womanly man. A weak man. Nothing like my beloved Masafumi...*
He had been a dead man walking since her death. He deserved to have it that way.
With a heavy sigh he found himself standing at the window, staring out into the maze of buildings all around. He touched a hand to the frame and pushed the window outward and open, letting the night air sweep in past him. Even it couldn't seem to reach inside and touch his soul, curled within the shell of flesh and blood. He stared outside and whispered her name. "Asuka... Tell me... what am I?"
"Youji! Don't!"
He jumped a little at the voice in his room, then made himself turn slowly. He forced a small curving to the corners of his mouth... a smile... holding his lips but not his eyes.
"Ken." Something that might have been amusement stirred inside him as the young soccer player rushed over and gripped his arm, pulling him away from the windowsill. Luckily the emotion was smothered by the grief rolling inside him. He let Ken sit him down on the bed and then told the other boy emotionlessly, "I wasn't going to do anything stupid."
His eyes wandered past the door of his room, to the tray hurriedly dropped to the floor, orange juice spilled and spreading across it. The way it quickly spread itself over the smooth surface reminded him of the spread of her blood on the concrete floor. He flinched.
Ken managed to look a bit embarassed. "Sorry-- I thought you were going to jump."
"Jump." Youji repeated the word lifelessly. "Why... why.. would I do that? I'm already in hell..." His voice cracked and he blinked back tears; weak, womanly tears. Ken thankfully turned his head, standing up quickly. All of Weiss had been happy to do that for him--to look away when he couldn't hold his pain back any longer. He suspected it had as much to do with their own embarassment as his. He needed to be alone. At least when he was alone he could wrap himself in her memory, in the pain she had inflicted on his body and his mind; bittersweet reminders of the space she had filled in his life. It was easier, he thought, when there was someone else to blame for her death. Now he only had himself, and he felt guilty possessing any piece of her.
He expected to hear the door shut quietly, the dropped tray cleaned up and whatever was salvagable neatly placed just inside the room. Instead, Ken cleared his throat, and there was a dry scuff as he shifted his weight. "You-- Youji... If you need anyone to talk to..."
He shook his head, dropping his chin against his collarbone to hide his face behind long, wavy bangs. "I just want to be alone.."
"I'm so sorry about Asuka. I'm-- I'm sorry I was right... Youji."
He looked up, that smile frozen to his lips, feeling empty and hollow. "Alone, Ken."
The dark head nodded and quietly went to clean up the spilled juice. Youji lit another cigarette and watched it burn itself out, absorbed within himself until Ken made a silent escape.
As the door shut, a soft conversation ensued outside that dragged him from his brooding. Aya's low voice, hard and dispassionate: "Is he done with this yet?" Scorn and impatience colored the sentence, made it almost a demand.
Ken's reply could be made out to be in the negative, but his exact words were lost.
"That's ridiculous. Let me speak to him. His sulking is holding us back from looking for Aya."
Youji heard himself laughing, quietly, bitterly. His presence was holding the one-man force of vengence from looking for his sister? How was that possible? Weiss could function fine without him-- had on many occassions when he had bowed out on the excuse that there weren't enough opportunities for him with women. Better he just stay away, stay with HER, until he could return to the false smiles and mock-life he had cultivated after her first "death."
"AYA! Don't! He just wants to be alone..."
"Schreient has Aya-chan!"
There was the distinct sound of flesh hitting flesh, and a surprised exclaimation from the man who killed in his sister's name. The other man rebuked him harshly. "You don't know what it's like! Sure you lost your sister! But you didn't-- you didn't kill someone you loved with your own hands!"
Ken's typical bluntness served its purpose. The conversation ended and Youji assumed they had moved away. Almost mechanically, as if someone else moved him, he opened the door to stare into the emptying hallway, at Ken and Aya's retreating backs.
"Even you don't know what it's like, Ken-kun," Youji said softly, expecting his words to simply die away in the corridor, like his hopes and dreams had. "You didn't kill the one you loved with your own hands because she betrayed you and all your visions of your love for her..."
Surprisingly, Ken turned and fixed him with a dark eyed gaze, making him step back slightly. "Yes. Yes I did." Without further explaination, he let himself into his own apartment and pulled Aya in with him.
Youji stepped backwards into the embracing dark and shut the door, his chest feeling tight. He stood there staring at the smooth, painted metal surface for a long time, wondering about Ken's statement.
Ken had killed someone he loved? When? And how? And how did the boy keep up such a cheerful front? How could he live with himself after such a thing, when Youji himself couldn't even comprehend it? He couldn't be talking about that motorcycle girl... what was her name? She was alive, as far as Youji knew, gone to Australia. They had almost lost Ken to following her, but as Youji had predicted, Ken couldn't just pretend he wasn't a murderer, couldn't pretend he hadn't killed his own best friend--
His own best friend? That fellow Kase... was that who Ken was talking about? Well yes, there was love between best friends, Youji had to admit. But nothing like he had for Asuka. Not the gut-wrenching, soul-bonded sort of love that only existed between a man and a wo...
There *were* men and men who had that sort of love, but Ken wasn't... Kase hadn't been... He thought it over again. Ken, bisexual? Well it wasn't a total impossibility-- hadn't Youji given sideways looks to all his teammates at one point or another? None of them really fit into the stereotypical straight-guy mold. Hell, he wouldn't be suprised if they'd questioned *his* sexuality at one point or another-- part of the reason he emphasized his straight-ness so often and vocally. He wasn't quite sure what he'd do if one of them *had* been gay, and hit on him-- he might have even accepted, and he didn't know what good could have come of that.
Well, maybe Ken could understand what it was like then, but still... He'd found someone right away, someone to comfort him, to take away the initial edge of emptiness. Youji had done that in the space of Asuka's first death... let the women flow through his life, in and out, an endless stream of one-night comfort. And then there was the fact that Kase had brought his death on himself-- there was no one to blame but Kase. Neu-- Asuka-- she had been brainwashed. Men, men had caused her death. From Masafumi to... to himself. To Youji. Youji had caused her death and there was no one to blame but Youji.
The knowledge stuck in his throat and drove him to retreat to his bed again, sprawling over it and trying to clear his mind of her; then curling up and hating himself for the tears that rolled down his face when he couldn't forget her.
Asuka...
God, he was lonely. What he wouldn't give for Asuka's smile-- for the brief and happy moments Neu had given him when pretending to remember. It had been like returning to his past, returning to before his life was one ugly mass of sin. Before he was a murderer, before he had taken her beautiful smile from the world, forever. When he was young, and there was hope, and life was an adventure to share.. to share with her....
Silently, staring at an empty chair against the far wall, he wept.
* * *
"Ken, I'm so worried about Youji."
Ken looked up from the soccer magazine he had been staring at for hours without comprehending a word. Truth be told, he was worried too. Ken himself hadn't spoken to anyone about Kase or how that death had hurt him, but still, he had found the presence of people to be more comforting. For him, brooding internally had only made the pain worse. He had to find comfort in the living. It had been harder still to swallow that he had, without blinking, been the one to take Kase's life. That particular wound was still slowly healing, but having Weiss helped. Sometimes he hated Persia so much-- they were young, innocent; the world had given them some cruel turn of fate and Persia had saved them from it only to twist them further into killers. How much better were they than Farfarello, he sometimes thought. Normal lives ended by the cruelty of other human beings, replaced by darker, crueler lives filled with killing. It wasn't the same, he knew, but still... the similarities were disturbing.
He nodded at the yellow-haired boy and folded the magazine, setting it beside him. "He hasn't eaten anything I've brought up in days. How about the trays you brought?" Omi shook his head no. "And Aya is so eaten with attacking Schreient-- if we don't move soon, he'll go in on his own. Not that I blame him."
Wide blue eyes beseeched him to action. "What should we do, Ken?"
Well, no matter what Ken said and did, Youji wasn't going to recover until he wanted to. Still-- sometimes caring had to be forced. Youji had been by himself for days, and he wasn't getting any better. It was past time he realized that there were three (well almost three) other people who cared about him and who didn't want to see him suffering... Even Aya must care, he must! His desire to see Youji back in action had to be more than just a selfish one. After all-- Aya's reaction to pain was to throw himself harder into missions. He probably felt Youji just needed to stop wasting time and do the same thing. At any rate-- hanging about and speculating wasn't getting anything done. Ken stood up suddenly, decision made. "I'm going to go talk to him."
"He isn't gonna listen, I already tried," Omi complained, but by then Ken was already bounding out of the Koneko to Youji's apartment.
* * *
"Youji. Oiii... Yoooouuuji!"
Youji jerked awake, covered in a cold sweat, visions of Asuka's bloody body still in front of him.
A pounding on the door told him quickly what had roused him. "Hey, Youji! It's Ken. If you don't open this door, I'm coming in!"
Let him. Youji rolled over and covered his head with a pillow, trying to lose himself in sleep again. At least when he was asleep, she was as real as he was...
He heard the door burst open and a heavy thud, followed by cursing. Inwardly, he groaned. All he wanted was to be alone. He thought Ken would understand that. What was he going to do, give him some sportsman's rally speech and cheer him up?
The door to his bedroom shut and he heard the dry scrape of a chair dragging to his bedside. There was a relieved exclaimation of breath as the intruder plopped himself down in it. "Now, I'm going to sit here and talk *at* you until you talk to me."
From under the pillow, Youji muttered, "G'way, I just want to be by myself."
"I don't know what you must be feeling." Ken paused, as if waiting for a response of some kind, even if it was just Youji rolling over. When only silence answered him, the boy continued regardless. "I guess you must be blaming yourself for all this, for killing her. You must be asking yourself what kind of a person does that to someone they love. You must be asking yourself what gave you the right to judge that what she was doing was so wrong you were able to take her life. I know I was. Well.. when I... when I ... when I killed Kase."
Youji didn't look at him. He'd been right, in his wild guess. "So it *was* Kase. You were in love with him."
"Yeah." Good old Ken, Youji thought. Always straightforward, never apologetic. If Ken was straightforward and honest and open, then Youji was his foil, never showing his true face, couching his words in honey, always living half a lie. He pulled the pillow tighter over his head. He didn't want to hear any more. So what if Ken's pain was like his own? He had recovered. Youji didn't feel like he could ever recover. And besides. Ken had been in the right to kill that jerk Kase.
"It was really good to have Yuriko there to make me feel less alone, and more human again afterwards, Youji."
"No one will replace Asuka." He said it threateningly, darkly, with half a hope that his firm refusal to feel better would drive Ken away.
The boy shrugged it off, ever determined. "You know, Youji, Yuriko also reminded me of the ugly part of what I'd done. She reminded me that I was a killer, that I couldn't live a normal life. Do you remember what you said to me? 'How many did you kill? How many have you killed so far? Can you hold her with it?'"
Youji swallowed hard. He wished he'd never said those words. It sounded like they still hurt Ken. But really, he should have listened to them himself-- How could a sinner like him ever deserve Asuka? How could he lead her to anywhere but death?
"I used to wish I'd gone with her to Australia." Ken's honest voice sounded wistful.
Youji flinched. He remembered seeing Ken make the kill before the soccer player was supposed to leave with Yuriko; remembered knowing that he wouldn't go. That he was doomed to be Weiss forever. The same as Youji-- condemned to this hell where they brought others death under the cover of righteousness. Bullshit.
Ken took a deep breath, and Youji heard the crack and pop of his joints as he stretched. "Mou. Come on Youji, turn over. I hate talking to the back of your head."
He considered not answering, but finally shot back, "You're not cheering me up. I don't want you to see my miserable face."
"Ehhh. Fine. What I'm saying is, sometimes letting other people in when you're in pain can help you find some peace."
"You don't sound like you found peace."
"I did, though. You were right, Youji. I couldn't leave with her then, or even love her then. I didn't know who or what I was-- how could I love anyone else when I still hated myself for killing Kase?"
Youji pressed his teeth together. Ken didn't have a clue what it felt like-- this dashed hope, your lover dead and then alive and then dead again! He rolled over, suddenly filled with annoyance and anger, and hurled the pillow at Ken. The ex-soccerplayer flung his arms up and deflected the pillow instinctively.
"I don't wanna listen to you anymore. Get out! I just want to be alone!"
Ken crossed his arms and shook his head, his handsome, honest features unrelenting. "I'm not going to let you be alone anymore, Youji. I think you need someone to make you feel human again." He opened his eyes and fixed his dark-eyed gaze on Youji. "You need to let someone in... Stop blaming yourself like I di--"
"Like you did? Stop it Ken, just stop it! Do you know, I don't even know if I killed Asuka for the mission's sake, for your sakes, or for my own hatred and anger when she wouldn't stop saying she loved Masafumi?! Do you know how that is? You don't have a clue, so stop fucking trying to sympathize with me!" Youji felt stupid tears pricking at his eyes again and bit his lip, trying to repress them. He was so sick of crying. He just wanted to be numb, numb enough to walk through life no longer noticing anything but her memory.
Ken was silent for a long time, his sturdy figure still in the darkness. "I know exactly what that's like, Youji."
Youji felt a childish "you do not!" lingering on his lips, but he couldn't say it. He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. It didn't matter if Ken knew what he was feeling. Ken was the type of person who could get past this, who could somehow live with himself. And he...
"What am I?" He barely knew he'd asked the question outloud; barely recognized the grief-tight voice that asked it.
Ken answered in a soft, subdued voice, rising from his chair as he did so. "A man who was in love." Just like Ken had been.
He watched the other man turn and approach the door. It was difficult, but he managed to force out, "Don't go... I can't stand to be alone..."
Ken turned to him, his warm, friendly eyes momentarily surprised, and then a happy expression eased onto his face. He returned to the chair, but Youji found himself reaching out to grab him by the wrist and pull him into a much needed embrace.
God, human contact felt good. How short had it been since he had held Asuka like this-- felt her skin against his own-- oh God... oh God... He felt the wetness on his cheeks, felt his chest hitch, and the dampness of the fabric and Ken's hair against his face. Quickly he pulled away and turned his head away, half-expecting Ken to do the same. "I'm sorry. Not very manly, is it?" He forced a smile across his face and brushed a hand through his hair, feigning normalcy.
Instead of what he expected, Ken reached out and pulled him close again. "Fake smiles don't heal anything, they just hide things." Youji flinched a little, a momentary questioning of Ken's true intent flickering through him. At his tenseness Ken only laughed. "I'm not trying to make a move on you."
Quietly, and only half joking, Youji murmured, "You could be my Yuriko..."
Ken brushed at a lock of the wavy brown hair, pushing it out of Youji's face. "You don't really want that. And besides, I don't want to buy you a plane ticket and then have you never use it!" He smiled encouragingly, his kindly face burning away some of the clinging grief and self-blame. And then hesitantly he added, "Maybe... maybe if you'd still like... later..." His thick fingers followed a tear down the other man's face. They exchanged a silent understanding as their eyes met, and then Youji let his eyes shut, falling back into the comforting hug.
"Thank you."
*ende*