Author's notes

Warning - Kenken OOCness! And long a/n. Please take time to read it though. Thanks.

I am sorry for taking so long to post this. The usual shit in life. And the fact that I've had trouble figuring out where to go from the last chapter. For those of you who read Marty's a/n in the Sweet Hell We Shared, I'm somewhat having the same problems. I can only hope that this chap of White will turn out half as good as her latest chap. Gomen na Marty! Piggy-backed on your a/n. Hehe. *finds a corner to hide* For those of you who dunno what I'm talking about, go read the a/n in Sweet Hell, and read the fic!! It's good!!!

For those of you who are interested, I have decided to make White the official title for my fic. Some of you have told me to keep it, and I think it fits the best so far as I couldn't come up with anything more suitable. In case you're wondering, no, it does not simply mean Weiss. The prologue would give an idea of what the title refers to. And hopefully, so would this chapter. I'm still open to suggestions and comments, so mail me if you wana ok?

This chapter is dedicated to Lola-chan. You have helped me out greatly with your inputs and your insightful comments. Thank you so much! *glomps* I'm still swooning over your latest chap of Red & White by the way. ^-^

And to my lovely reviewers, thank you! You guys are so great!

Keeshe (Griffin-sama in my review! Wai!!), Jin, Ku-chan, Rika-chan, Marty, Ash, sara-chan, Cece, Sardius, siberian, lorien, Susan, LittleIsa, Lola-chan, Deathangelgw, Teteiyus, chibi koneko, Midori, Moonraven, Whisper-chan, Tanja and Shavica.

Also huggles to the reviewers of No Goodbyes, my collaboration with the wonderful Jin: marsupial, Moonraven, Teteiyus, sara-chan, Cece, kamibukurosama, lola-chan, Midori, Rika-chan, lorien, Ash, LittleIsa, Triste, siberian, and one more reader who did not leave a name.

Lastly. I don't own Weiss. I need not slog over this story if I did. They would be writing it themselves.

Without further ado - enjoy! (I hope)

White

Chapter Eight - Cracks in My Soul

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'blah blah' = thoughts

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White.

Pure, blank white.

Except for the numerous cracks, nothing else marred the blankness.

Funny though, how those little squiggly lines, looking so minute and harmless, could ruin the plain perfection.

Funny, how those cracks seemed to mirror the gaping ones in his soul.

He'd noticed the cracks after an eternity of staring up at the white expanse of his ceiling, lying on the bed motionless, unmoving. It seemed the only action he was capable of now, other than the robotic movements of carrying out his duties in the shop, in missions.

Did you know that that pure colour could alternately draw you in and push you away? He knew. One minute that blank surface seemed to loom in your vision, as if it came so much closer. But the next second, just as you thought that you could reach out and touch it without any trouble, it suddenly moved way out of your reach.

Just like your hopes and dreams.

Maybe he was masochistic, but it mesmerised him. Of course, it helped that the blandness blanked his mind as well. Emptied him of his thoughts. They were too noisy. Just like his teammates were minutes ago. Or was it hours?

He didn't know. He had lost track of time.

He was glad for the silence. He was tired. For the past few days, it had been so damned draining coming up with excuses to assure Omi that he was fine and would much rather prefer his own solitude than joining them for breakfast, lunch, dinner, TV….

He knew Omi didn't buy it. So why had he bothered? Maybe because he needed to pretend that by doing so, he could shield the boy from the reality that he was falling apart, a fact he knew all too well. But he couldn't do anything about it. Did not have enough energy to do anything about it. All he knew was that he would not be able to deal with Omi and his eyes.

The little genki blonde had been at his door again earlier. He would have to get up to bring in the tray of food if only to empty it in the trash later. It was part of the façade.

Brown eyes continued to gaze listlessly at white. The soft ticking of his bedside clock beating a lulling rhythm to his now slowly meandering thoughts, in time with his shallow breathing.

Yohji would likely not be checking on him again tonight.

Did he regret physically throwing the blonde out of his room earlier? A little. After all, Yohji was just trying to be there for him.

'I'll be here Ken. I'll always be here.'

The blonde had made good on his promise. But just as he had thought on the night that Yohji had uttered the words, it had not been enough. When the blonde had pulled him into his arms earlier, he had felt smothered, trapped. He had wanted to scream. He didn't know why. All he knew was that he needed Yohji to let go, that he needed to get back to his solitude, needed to be left alone.

Yohji's arms, no matter how tight they were wound around him, could not hold his soul together. And he didn't want to be reminded of that. Didn't want to be reminded of the pieces he was leaving behind everyday.

Could anyone stop him from disintegrating? Anyone?

Guilt had crept up on him when he saw Yohji's expression after he had told him in no uncertain terms to leave him alone. The playboy had not retaliated when he pushed him out the door and shut it not too lightly in his face. It had been easy to will the guilt away though. The feeling had surrendered almost without a fight, fatigue once more claiming victory.

There had been silence for a long while after he got back to his prone position on the bed. Then it had gotten noisy. So noisy.

He hadn't needed to hear what was said to know that Yohji had once again picked a fight with his other teammate. It had been going on intermittently for days now. Yohji's shouting, sounds of scuffling, Omi's panicked pleading. Bruises on faces in the shop further attested to the goings-on.

Why must Yohji do that? What good would come out of it? It did not make him feel any better. If anything, the pressure made him feel even more hollow inside.

It was all falling apart. Just like him. Just because of him.

Why couldn't everything just go away? Why must Yohji and Omi keep giving him those caring, understanding looks? What did they understand?

And why must his other teammate keep giving him glances? Why must he look at him? Why must he be around his other teammate? His other teammate…

A heavy, aching feeling settled on his chest. Dull brown eyes still stared listlessly at the ceiling as the brunette tried to control his breathing. Breathing that had turned laborious.

The white ceiling was not enough. He needed something more to help him stop thinking, to help him forget.

Movements slow and clumsy, the brunette dragged himself from the bed. A glance at the clock showed that it was 2am in the morning. Everyone was likely sleeping. Though silence had been his haven, it was too quiet now. Too quiet.

He was glad he had not changed out of his jeans and T-shirt. He did not have the extra energy to dress himself. Moving mechanically towards the door, he opened it silently before sliding the tray in, then slipping out and shutting it just as quietly.

A stop to gather his leather jacket. It was snowing after all. There was no problem letting himself out of the shop. Shivering in his attire, too thin still to keep out the cold, he turned tired eyes to survey his surroundings, unsure of where to go.

Moments later, his feet started shuffling in the direction that he knew would bring him to the noisiest part of Tokyo. He would be there soon enough.

And then he would be able to forget.

*****

The music was pounding into his head. It hurt. Each beat was stabbing into his temples, sending a sharp pain through his skull. But he welcomed it. The pain stopped him from thinking. It drove the desolation away.

How many drinks had he consumed? He had lost count. Five, ten or more? It didn't matter. He needed more.

A less than graceful signaling to the bartender and his drink soon materialised before him. Hand shaking, he grasped at it like some lifeline before lifting his heavy head from the counter and downing the foul-tasting liquid in one swig. It burnt a line down his throat and sent a wetness to his eyes, a wetness that felt foreign. He blinked, a little surprised. He thought he had used up all his tears.

His ears were buzzing now, his vision blurry. Holding his head in his hands, he rested his elbows on the counter, trying to ease his breathing. His chest felt constricted. A different kind of weight this time, one he could better deal with. Everything seemed to be slowing down, everything, except the rapid beating of his heart. He closed his eyes, trying to get used to this unfamiliar sensation. He didn't mind it that much. It distracted him.

He must have slipped into a daze for a while. The next thing he felt was a breathy whisper against his ear.

"Hello there." Not another one. How many must he send away?

A hand slipping onto his thigh, stroking. Another around his waist. Hot breath coming closer.

"You all alone pretty boy? How sad. Let me buy you a drink?"

Tired chocolate eyes opened seconds later to find yet another glass of pretty liquid in front of him. It had the hues of fire, yellow at the bottom graduating into red at the top.

The brunette reached for it with two shaking hands, once more grasping it and gulping it down his throat. It burned a fiery line all the way down to his stomach this time, making him gasp for air.

He felt his head being turned, and blearily, he looked into amused blue eyes. The man was talking to him, but he couldn't make out a single word.

Then suddenly, lips were on his. His body tensed as a tongue pushed its way into his mouth and hands roamed under his shirt, hauling him closer to a hard body. He struggled, but he was too weak. His hands barely had strength to lift themselves up, let alone push away the insistent body.

He felt his hair being pulled hard and his head tilted back, giving the man deeper access to his mouth. He felt like gagging and choking. Pushing more insistently against the hard chest, he moaned a protest and tried to shut his mouth, only to jump in shock as teeth bit down on his bottom lip, hard.

A hand was groping dangerously near his groin now, and he felt bitterness and anger rising in him. Freeing a hand from its clench on the man's shirt, he delivered an awkward punch to the man's jaw. It was a weak hit, but it served its purpose as the man's mouth left his. The man's hold did not loosen however, only tightened as he growled and pinned the brunette in place with lust-filled and angry eyes, before his face again loomed too close for comfort.

Then suddenly, the man was yanked from him, disorienting him so much that he fell off his chair onto the floor. Looking up dazedly, he could only make out a form with its back facing him, holding his assailant by his collar and speaking heatedly to him. He watched in detached amusement as the man tried a swing for the figure only to have a full-out punch delivered to his face. Yes. That was how a punch should be delivered.

The man wasn't going anywhere however, even with a bloodied nose, since the figure did not relinquish his hold on the collar. Another heated exchange of words. The brunette could only make out "Do not touch him", "He's mine" before another punch was delivered to the man's face, sending him reeling back into the crowd.

There was a group of people staring at them, but he couldn't care less. Dropping his head, the brunette tried to clear the ringing in his head, and to calm the frantic beating of his heart. This was not what he counted on. He only wanted to be alone. Only wanted the noise and the drinks to chase his thoughts away.

A voice. Calling his name?

Shaking his head, he was immediately rewarded with a piercing pain through his skull. It took a moment for the pain to go away. But at least he could hear more clearly now. He dimly registered the figure crouching before him. And then he heard it again.

"Ken."

A deep, calm voice. One he was so familiar with. But it couldn't be, could it?

His heart that was slowing down sped up again, as he lifted his head, chocolate gaze coming to rest on the man before him. Coming to rest on a pale face, amethyst eyes, and brilliant red hair.

Unlike the alcohol he consumed, it took him a long moment to drink in the sight. But it couldn't be. It couldn't.

His other teammate was before him.

'Aya.'

He could not move. He could only watch as the redhead lifted a hand and gently rubbed his finger over his bottom lip. The pale finger came away with blood.

He still could not move as Aya gathered him in his arms and slowly stood, a hand pushing his head gently down to rest against a shoulder.

Then suddenly, frantic energy surged into him and he recoiled, pushing hard, so hard he was sent stumbling back and crashing into a chair before falling into it. Gasping, he looked up at the redhead who had barely moved an inch, chocolate eyes confused and tormented.

The redhead only looked calmly back at him.

Ken studied the man before him. What was he doing here? To torment him some more? Didn't he do enough already? They had not spoken after that cruel revelation in the back room of the shop. So why was he here now?

Closing his eyes and turning away, Ken could only summon up a raspy croak.

"Go away."

"No." A firm answer.

Snapping his eyes open, Ken ignored the numbing pain in his head and whirled around to face the redhead again, voice anguished.

"What do you want from me Aya? You want to toy with me again? Is that it?"

"No." A gentler tone this time. The redhead stepped closer. "No."

And then...

"I'm sorry Ken."

Brown eyes could only gaze in shock and incomprehension at the redhead. What did Aya say? He heard it wrong didn't he?

A hand came up to caress his cheek. "I'm sorry."

He felt a bitter laugh bubbling up in his chest and with difficulty, he slapped the hand away. Sarcasm tinged his words. "Sorry for what Aya? Sorry for throwing a good fuck away?"

Silence ensued. But the man didn't move away.

He was tired. He had enough. What did Aya want now? Another night of sex? Is that it? Is that all Ken is to him? A whore?

Slumping his aching head onto his arms on the counter, Ken fought a losing battle against the pain in his heart. He felt his insides tearing up. The next words came out in a choked whisper.

"Please go away Aya. I don't need your pity. You said it never meant anything. So just go."

A gentle touch on his head. Fingers threading softly through his sweat-drenched and tangled locks. Ken felt his heart rise up into his throat. What was Aya doing? He had never done something so caring before. What the hell was going on?

"I'm sorry Ken. I was wrong."

His breath hitched. He could not think straight. The pounding in his head excruciating, heightened by the words he had just heard. Aya had said…Aya said… No. he shouldn't hope, should he?

But just like how he had grasped those drinks like his lifeline, his muddled mind and his tortured heart could not relinquish their hold on those words. He struggled to keep his gaze focused as he hesitatingly looked up at the man again. "What?" A whisper. A soft sound containing so much emotions behind it.

He was mesmerised by those eerily shining violet gems as they came closer. He felt like screaming as he heard those words again.

"I was wrong. It meant something. I…you meant something…to me."

He had to make sure the person in front of him was not an apparition. A trembling hand reached out to touch the pale cheek so close to him. It felt soft, warm. Real.

"I don't understand." A whispered plea.

"I lied Ken. I…feel something for you. I want you back."

This wasn't happening was it? He was drunk. He was hallucinating. But the skin felt warm underneath his fingertips. The eyes he was looking into so alive. The voice so soft, so sincere. Could he dare believe this? Could he dare hope again? There was a nagging feeling. There was uneasiness. There was fear. But what was he afraid of?

He couldn't sieve through his thoughts. It was as if they were weighed down and being dragged through mud. All he could register was the feel of Aya's hand caressing his cheek, Aya's eyes looking at him, Aya's warmth close to him. Aya…

He couldn't bring himself to hate him although he had hurt him so much. Why?

All resistance melted away and his brain shut down as he was pulled into the redhead's arms once again, feeling them wind possessively around his trembling frame, pulling him so tightly against the toned body.

"Please Ken. Give me another chance."

He should say no. He should. But he couldn't respond, too caught up and confused by the emotions flooding his entire being. He could only lie helplessly in the embrace, dazed eyes staring at nothing. He could only feel the gentle stroking of his back. He could only give into the sensations, and his hope, foolish though it may seem even to his inebriated brain.

Warm lips pressed themselves once to his neck before a soothing voice whispered again in his ear. "I'm sorry for hurting you Ken. Please…come with me."

He felt himself being pulled off the chair onto his feet. Swaying, he could only lean his weight on the body offered to him. He didn't know what to think anymore. Didn't want to analyse anymore. Burying his face into the warm skin of the redhead's neck, he let out a shuddering breath. "Aya…". Once more, he was proven wrong as he felt a wetness stinging his eyes. He hadn't used up his tears after all.

"Shhh….I'm here Ken. I'll take care of you."

He felt himself being led out of the bar, the redhead never letting go of his intimate embrace other than he few minutes he took to wrap Ken's jacket securely around his shoulders. They stepped out into the cold night, and he felt himself pulled closer against the warm body as he shivered in the chilling air.

He dimly registered them stopping next to a kerb and the redhead's murmuring that he was hailing a cab as he didn't drive.

Then, he felt himself nestled comfortably against a chest as instructions were given to the driver, instructions his tired mind didn't register.

As his mind drifted off into unconsciousness, he only felt the gentle stroking of his hair once more, only heard the soothing murmuring in his ear.

Only one thought echoed in his mind.

'Aya…would you give me back my soul?'

Slipping into blissful unawareness in the darkness of their ride, he did not see the redhead smile.

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to be continued

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For those of you who are wondering, this story is still headed towards the situation painted in the prologue. I hope I have not been too confusing. The only hint I can give you is that things may not be what they seem to be.

This story is getting so much tougher to write. So please review if you're still interested. It's the only thing that keeps me going.

Sankyuu na. Hontou ni.