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Seven
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The staircase in his parents' house was long. When Ran and Aya had been much younger, they had played on the stairs, running up and down the spiraling length gleefully, full of dragons and princesses and samurai. They both had been heroes, of course. Aya wasn't one to sit idly by, much to their mother's dismay. Their parents were very traditional, despite the westernized house they lived in. That was a concession to the progressive management at the bank his father worked for, and it grated on his mother's conservative sensibilities every day. She had wanted Aya to grow up and be a proper Japanese girl.
Now, though, Aya wouldn't grow up at all, he supposed. It had been too long.
He plodded up the stairs, keeping his eyes on his feet. Never mind that these stairs didn't exist any more. The house had practically disintegrated in the explosion and resulting fire. There was another house there now, another happy family, not that he had looked. This was just as real as everything else in his life.
The stairs stretched up endlessly, curving in on themselves, a hushed carpeted monstrosity. He kept going. There might be an end to this, someday. Or maybe not.
The house had always felt too big. Too many rooms, too many windows, doors, chairs, nooks and crannies and places to hide. Too many shadows secretly stalking him. Even as a child, he had felt his small family was out of place in this house.
There was something following him. He knew it was there, even though he couldn't see it. It pried into his mind, sinuous and cold and black, black, black as night, as sin. Empty, devoid of anything save the intent to destroy. It was a mindless killer. It enjoyed the hunt, the chase, the thrill of the catch, the spray of blood on its face.
Moving faster, he tried skipping stairs, taking them by twos and threes, but it was always there, right behind him, panting down his neck and sending its icy tendrils of fear down his spine. If only he could get to the top, get to his room, then it wouldn't be able to follow him. He would be safe.
He stumbled in his haste, catching himself with one hand and almost crawling, taking great sobbing breaths. It told him to stop, and to his dismay, his body responded, turning to face it. And then he realized, it was his own shadow. He would never be rid of it, never be able to run away, for it was a part of him. His shadow reached out a ghostly hand for his face, and he couldn't move, he couldn't breathe, and –
Ran came awake with a gasp, throwing himself into a sitting position and flinging the heavy blankets away.
"Hey, relax. It's jus' me."
Youji's voice floated out through the darkness of Ran's room. The black seemed almost a solid wall. He suddenly remembered he had closed the curtains. Usually there was light from the street. There was a thump and a muffled yelp from the foot of the bed.
"Shit." Youji's voice was closer now. "Well, I found th' bed."
A weight settled on the far end of Ran's bed, bouncing slightly. He pulled his feet away, drawing his knees up and leaning back against the headboard. All this time, and he still couldn't find anything to say.
"Christ, Aya, d'you think it could be any darker 'n here?" The sound of zippers and two heavy clunks was Youji's boots hitting the floor. The lighter slap was his leather jacket following closely behind. Then the man was crawling up the bed toward Ran, smelling more of liquor than usual.
"How much did you drink?" Ran demanded, for once uneasy with the situation. He knew, in his gut, that he had never seen Youji so drunk.
Youji flopped face down next to him, one arm worming over to drape itself across Ran's stomach. His skin was a cold contrast to Ran's, warmed by sleep. "Not 'nough to matter," Youji mumbled into the pillow. "Not enough ta make me forget."
The mission. The mission last night had ... Ran had managed to spare his teammates the worst of it, but they had seen enough. They had all stayed up with Omi writing the report. None of them had wanted to be alone. Subsequently, the shop had been closed, and Youji had gone out earlier than usual, despite Omi's reproachful looks.
"Help me forget, baby," Youji slurred. "You always help me forget."
Ran felt a ball of ice cold dread lodge itself in his stomach. This was too much. He had responsibilities. To his sister, and only his sister. Any responsibility he felt toward Weiss began and ended with missions. He slipped out from underneath Youji's arm to stand at the side of the bed, staring down at the shadowy form of the other man and trying to disguise his inexplicable terror at those words.
"No," he said, "Get out."
"The fuck?" Youji rolled to his side, eyes blinking as he tried to focus on Ran above him. "What the hell did you just say?"
Picking up Youji's boots and jacket, Ran opened his door and tossed them into the hallway. Light spilled over the threshold, tumbling over itself in rushing golden waves. "You rely on me too much," he said coldly. "I won't always be there for you."
Youji's face twisted, and he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "I rely too fucking much on you? You're the one that lets me fuck you, you asshole. What does that say about you?"
Ran felt the anger rise up from that place that seethed just under the surface. It was a constant battle everyday to keep it from boiling over. "A momentary lapse in judgement," he ground out, gripping the doorknob so hard he knew his hand would bruise. "It won't happen again, I assure you."
"You fucking prick," Youji spat. "You let me come in here and fuck you, over and over again, practically begging for it with your eyes and you tell me that I rely on you too much? Screw you, Fujimiya Aya, and the fucking high horse you rode in on. Now I see just how deep that ice runs - must be in your fucking veins." Youji wobbled as he pushed himself up off the bed. "Go to hell," he snarled in Ran's face as he stormed out, the fury behind it lost slightly as he stumbled.
Pressing his lips together in a tight, thin line, Ran clenched his fists, fighting to keep his temper under control. As soon as Youji had passed through the doorway, Ran slammed the door, feeling no satisfaction from the resounding crash. Damn Youji. Damn Youji anyway for seeing too much, for making him feel, for wanting too damn much.
This thing with Youji had been a mistake from the beginning and he had fucking known it, but he was so weak. He had practically leapt into the older man's arms like some addle-brained, weak-willed little twit, with no thought to the consequences; certainly with no thought at all. It had gone against everything he had worked for, everything he had wanted to believe of himself. And Youji had seen through his act without practically any effort at all.
He refused to be an emotional crutch for anyone. He didn't need anyone, and no one needed him, and he liked it that way, god dammit. There was only Aya-chan, and when she woke up she could reclaim her rightful place in the world and he could finally be free. Free of all his responsibilities, his obligations, his ties to this shit hole of a city.
So why did it feel like he had locked the door to this cell himself?
Seven
------
The staircase in his parents' house was long. When Ran and Aya had been much younger, they had played on the stairs, running up and down the spiraling length gleefully, full of dragons and princesses and samurai. They both had been heroes, of course. Aya wasn't one to sit idly by, much to their mother's dismay. Their parents were very traditional, despite the westernized house they lived in. That was a concession to the progressive management at the bank his father worked for, and it grated on his mother's conservative sensibilities every day. She had wanted Aya to grow up and be a proper Japanese girl.
Now, though, Aya wouldn't grow up at all, he supposed. It had been too long.
He plodded up the stairs, keeping his eyes on his feet. Never mind that these stairs didn't exist any more. The house had practically disintegrated in the explosion and resulting fire. There was another house there now, another happy family, not that he had looked. This was just as real as everything else in his life.
The stairs stretched up endlessly, curving in on themselves, a hushed carpeted monstrosity. He kept going. There might be an end to this, someday. Or maybe not.
The house had always felt too big. Too many rooms, too many windows, doors, chairs, nooks and crannies and places to hide. Too many shadows secretly stalking him. Even as a child, he had felt his small family was out of place in this house.
There was something following him. He knew it was there, even though he couldn't see it. It pried into his mind, sinuous and cold and black, black, black as night, as sin. Empty, devoid of anything save the intent to destroy. It was a mindless killer. It enjoyed the hunt, the chase, the thrill of the catch, the spray of blood on its face.
Moving faster, he tried skipping stairs, taking them by twos and threes, but it was always there, right behind him, panting down his neck and sending its icy tendrils of fear down his spine. If only he could get to the top, get to his room, then it wouldn't be able to follow him. He would be safe.
He stumbled in his haste, catching himself with one hand and almost crawling, taking great sobbing breaths. It told him to stop, and to his dismay, his body responded, turning to face it. And then he realized, it was his own shadow. He would never be rid of it, never be able to run away, for it was a part of him. His shadow reached out a ghostly hand for his face, and he couldn't move, he couldn't breathe, and –
Ran came awake with a gasp, throwing himself into a sitting position and flinging the heavy blankets away.
"Hey, relax. It's jus' me."
Youji's voice floated out through the darkness of Ran's room. The black seemed almost a solid wall. He suddenly remembered he had closed the curtains. Usually there was light from the street. There was a thump and a muffled yelp from the foot of the bed.
"Shit." Youji's voice was closer now. "Well, I found th' bed."
A weight settled on the far end of Ran's bed, bouncing slightly. He pulled his feet away, drawing his knees up and leaning back against the headboard. All this time, and he still couldn't find anything to say.
"Christ, Aya, d'you think it could be any darker 'n here?" The sound of zippers and two heavy clunks was Youji's boots hitting the floor. The lighter slap was his leather jacket following closely behind. Then the man was crawling up the bed toward Ran, smelling more of liquor than usual.
"How much did you drink?" Ran demanded, for once uneasy with the situation. He knew, in his gut, that he had never seen Youji so drunk.
Youji flopped face down next to him, one arm worming over to drape itself across Ran's stomach. His skin was a cold contrast to Ran's, warmed by sleep. "Not 'nough to matter," Youji mumbled into the pillow. "Not enough ta make me forget."
The mission. The mission last night had ... Ran had managed to spare his teammates the worst of it, but they had seen enough. They had all stayed up with Omi writing the report. None of them had wanted to be alone. Subsequently, the shop had been closed, and Youji had gone out earlier than usual, despite Omi's reproachful looks.
"Help me forget, baby," Youji slurred. "You always help me forget."
Ran felt a ball of ice cold dread lodge itself in his stomach. This was too much. He had responsibilities. To his sister, and only his sister. Any responsibility he felt toward Weiss began and ended with missions. He slipped out from underneath Youji's arm to stand at the side of the bed, staring down at the shadowy form of the other man and trying to disguise his inexplicable terror at those words.
"No," he said, "Get out."
"The fuck?" Youji rolled to his side, eyes blinking as he tried to focus on Ran above him. "What the hell did you just say?"
Picking up Youji's boots and jacket, Ran opened his door and tossed them into the hallway. Light spilled over the threshold, tumbling over itself in rushing golden waves. "You rely on me too much," he said coldly. "I won't always be there for you."
Youji's face twisted, and he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "I rely too fucking much on you? You're the one that lets me fuck you, you asshole. What does that say about you?"
Ran felt the anger rise up from that place that seethed just under the surface. It was a constant battle everyday to keep it from boiling over. "A momentary lapse in judgement," he ground out, gripping the doorknob so hard he knew his hand would bruise. "It won't happen again, I assure you."
"You fucking prick," Youji spat. "You let me come in here and fuck you, over and over again, practically begging for it with your eyes and you tell me that I rely on you too much? Screw you, Fujimiya Aya, and the fucking high horse you rode in on. Now I see just how deep that ice runs - must be in your fucking veins." Youji wobbled as he pushed himself up off the bed. "Go to hell," he snarled in Ran's face as he stormed out, the fury behind it lost slightly as he stumbled.
Pressing his lips together in a tight, thin line, Ran clenched his fists, fighting to keep his temper under control. As soon as Youji had passed through the doorway, Ran slammed the door, feeling no satisfaction from the resounding crash. Damn Youji. Damn Youji anyway for seeing too much, for making him feel, for wanting too damn much.
This thing with Youji had been a mistake from the beginning and he had fucking known it, but he was so weak. He had practically leapt into the older man's arms like some addle-brained, weak-willed little twit, with no thought to the consequences; certainly with no thought at all. It had gone against everything he had worked for, everything he had wanted to believe of himself. And Youji had seen through his act without practically any effort at all.
He refused to be an emotional crutch for anyone. He didn't need anyone, and no one needed him, and he liked it that way, god dammit. There was only Aya-chan, and when she woke up she could reclaim her rightful place in the world and he could finally be free. Free of all his responsibilities, his obligations, his ties to this shit hole of a city.
So why did it feel like he had locked the door to this cell himself?