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Schuldig woke. Schuldig put a scarf on. Schuldig went to work. Schuldig smiled and nodded and handled money and pretended nothing had happened, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing whatsoever…

The day drew to a close and Schuldig stared down at the paper slipping dryly between his chapped fingers. Yohji wasn't here. He hadn't come. The plan was off. Schuldig made excuse after excuse, hanging around the emptying bank long after closing, hoping against hope that Yohji would put in an appearance. Eventually the manager himself chucked him out ('why did I hire him? He's not a leggy blonde girl') and Schuldig slumped through the streets, trying to lose himself in the crush of bodies.

He was worried. No, worse than that, he was scared. He was scared for Yohji. And, well, cared for him, too. It came as a nasty shock, in some ways. On the other hand, it wasn't too bad, almost pleasant. Because, as a telepath, he knew Yohji more than returned the sentiment. No wonder he'd gotten so worked up over almost throttling Schuldig and run off…

Schuldig strode into the clearing in the park as light began to fade from the sky, and was rewarded by a distinct lack of Yohji. He stared around the clearing and called Yohji's name a handful of times, despite knowing perfectly well the other man wasn't there. It became a little hard to breath and his chest hurt and stomach tightened. Schuldig sat down sharply. He'd been so certain…

Yohji stared at the shop. Empty. Closed. The grate was down. Everyone else had moved away and moved on and here he was, staring at a flower shop hours after closing time, clutching an old photo like it was his last life line.

In one of those rooms, up there, he had lived. In one of them Aya-chan now lived. When he had lived there she was barely more than a name, a lifeless rag doll to be kidnapped and re-kidnapped by the enemies of Weiss. Now she sold their flowers. It was all too much to grasp.

Yohji wandered around the side. There was the garage. Omi's scooter was still there, plastered with the shop logo, but his motorbike, Ken's motorbike, Aya's car, Yohji's car… all gone. Things had changed.

Yohji kicked a stone violently and it skipped across the pavement to bounce off the grating in front of the shop. He flinched as the metal rattled and crashed, thankful he hadn't broken the glass window. A handful of petals lay on the pavement, remnants of the day's sales. Yohji picked one up and rubbed it between his fingers, enjoying it's silky smoothness.

He'd been running away from it all day, but his head throbbed with unconsidered thoughts. Every time his mind wandered back to the previous night he would forcefully send it down another track, refusing to dwell on almost kil-

There he went again, dreaming of undoing what cold not be undone. Yohji sighed. He couldn't keep this up. At some point he was going to have to deal with what he had done.

"I strangled Schuldig," he said aloud, voice husky with emotion and anguish. He took a deep breath, then said again, "I almost killed Schuldig."

"Ouch," said an increasingly familiar voice. He turned to see Aya-chan, take away bag in hand. "You know, you talk to yourself way too much," she commented.

Yohji shrugged. "I have problems," he said with an ironic grin.

"I'll say. So, Schuldig's the guy you've fallen for, right? Come to terms with that yet, or is throttling him some kind of repression technique?" She offered him a barbeque rib and watched him closely as he toyed with it.

"Oh, I've dealt with my feelings for him. And I haven't 'fallen for' him, I just lust after his hot body." Yohji grimaced. "Okay, I could have put that more eloquently."

Aya-chan chuckled. "Yes, your instant denial was very convincing. So, what's this about trying to kill him?" she made it sound nonchalant and casual, but Yohji's head spun with the weight of the guilt he was carrying.

"I… have this problem. I strangle people during sex." Aya-chan snorted and immediately looked apologetic enough for Yohji to consider continuing. "I spent some time in an asylum, not a fun place, and I'm supposed to be all better. But Schuldig and I… we… he… um, how old are you?"

Aya-chan was caught off-guard by this and frowned at him. "Ask a tricky question. Do you want my date of birth or the number of years I've 'lived'?" Pain laced her usually cheerful tone. Yohji winced.

"Sorry, it's just I think you need to be eighteen to hear the rest of this story," he smirked at his own words. "There's nothing you can do to help anyway."

Aya-chan looked disappointed but didn't disagree. "You carry a lot of guilt," she pointed out.

"Yeah, I do," Yohji said, his tone begging Aya-chan to challenge that.

"Talking through it might help," Aya-chan added, but Yohji shook his head. "Well, you can't avoid him forever, so you're going to have to talk about it," she said crossly.

"See, my idea was to get very drunk and hook up with some lady of legal age and never go back there again. I like my idea. All I need is… the money to… finance it… which you're not going to give because you think it's a bad idea," Yohji finished upon seeing Aya-chan's look.

"A terrible idea," she said heavily.

They stood there in silence for a moment. Yohji tossed the bone from the barbeque rib away and gave her a brief wave. He had started to walk away when Aya-chan called after him, "if you need a place to stay your room is still free." Yohji faltered in his long stride, but didn't look back, didn't say anything. Aya-chan sighed and shook her head at his retreating back and turned to go inside. Wedged in the crack between door and wall was a piece of paper.

She put down the take away to pull it out. It was the photograph she had left Yohji. He'd written something on the back.

'Last known phone number' was scrawled in characteristic loops, followed by the number of a nearby district. Aya-chan's heart skipped a beat when she realised exactly whose number it was.

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