Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss, I just like to play with them once in a while. My work is always pro bono.

Author's Note: Some spoilers regarding Aya and his history and I assume that the reader has some general knowledge about the series (but it's stuff I think most of you would know already). This story weaves in and out of past so flashbacks are in italics. Also, I just think it's fitting that Aya would like Russian authors.

Ran

This scar is a fleck on my porcelain skin
Tried to reach deep but you couldn't get in
Now you're outside me
You see all the beauty
Repent all your sin

There's one thing I want to say, so I'll be brave
You were what I wanted
I gave what I gave
I'm not sorry I met you

The Stars, "Your Ex-Lover is Dead"

He pulls his collar up around him as a biting wind slices through strands of crimson hair. The long overcoat is black and typically his style but it's a mixture of wool and cashmere, rather than worn leather. His pants are no longer a heavy canvas but a tightly spun mixture of polyester and rayon. Instead of black, they are a light, businessman grey. Underneath his coat, he wears a black knit sweater and a matching grey scarf.

It's a stark contrast from the orange eyesore he sported most days in the Koneko.

He sprints down concrete steps, taking them two at a time. His leather shoes are grinding softly against the moist dirt littering the train platform. As he makes his way further underground, a warm, musky breeze kisses his cheeks. The odour of urine and fast food permeates the stale air but there is a familiarity to it that is somehow comforting. He once made this commute daily. He used to sit in the stiff plastic chairs often reading Dostoevsky or Nabokov, sometimes absentmindedly sipping a lukewarm tea in a styrofoam cup.

With a roar, the hot air stirs around him. His coat, now unbuttoned, rustles in the stifling wind. Random wisps of glossy hair tickle his ears and obscure his vision. Melding with the heaving mass of strangers, he languidly slips into the car. Taking hold of a warm, fingerprinted bar above his head, he allows the other passengers to take a seat. The train abruptly lurches forward but he doesn't stumble. A few others, left standing in the fray, bump into him but rather than contort his elegant features into a scowl, his expression remains impassive. With an easing lethargy, they speed into the black tunnel.

He can vividly remember his last trip on this route.

It was the dead of summer, body odour and perspiration hung thickly around him. The seat he took was already warm and if he hadn't been wearing pants, his legs would have stuck to the vinyl. Even he, usually so composed, incessantly ruffled his sticky bangs to keep them off his forehead.

His mouth was dry. Memories tangled in and out of his consciousness, interspersed with fear and anxiety. Would she smile? Would she recognize him? Would she wind her arms around his waist and allow him the release he was aching for? These were the thoughts imprinted on his mind that day. They were so strong that even now, years later, as he stares out the window at the indiscriminate flashes of fluorescent light, he can feel them twisting in his stomach.

He was twenty-one that day. It was the day after his birthday and his final days with what was once his haphazard family. If any moment in his life would remain distinct amidst the throng of disturbing memories cast away to be forgotten, it would be his twenty-first birthday. He was certain, as the stoic and reclusive leader, that his presence in Weiss had been solely professional. To his utter shock, he was demonstrated otherwise that July.

The cake was decorated in highly artificial, pre-packaged icing and was designed in a gaudy rose motif. It had been up to Youji to get that. Pharmacy candles, ten to be exact, bled edible wax into a cherry flavoured "Happy Birthday". Omi went through the trouble to purchase an obscene amount of sushi and it was laid out onto their kitchen table in a delectable buffet. Ken, shy and blushing told him to wait because he had a present to give him later.

Inebriated from too much alcohol, again Youji's doing, they laughed. The sound was foreign to him, as he couldn't remember the last time he'd done so. And they couldn't stop. Raucous giggles, teasing banter and more toxins were imbibed in painfully short periods of time. What astounded him the most was that all of this was orchestrated to celebrate him. He didn't think they'd even remember the date. Yet there was Ken, after everyone else had gone to bed, blushing and shuffling clumsily, trying to control his limbs through his sake-fogged mind. A small gift, wrapped hastily, toyed between his calloused fingers.

His reverie is interrupted as a cold, monotone voice reminds him he is at his stop. The train jerks forward as the brakes are hit and again the horde of passengers sway helplessly in unison. He briefly shuts his eyes to mentally drown out the chaos and forces his way into the crisp, fall afternoon. The air seems colder now, since he was used to the overwhelming heat of the underground, but it's refreshing and it awakens him from his hazy contemplation.

The sun is setting earlier now. He casually glances at his watch. Luminescent numerals indicate that it's 6:12 p.m. He takes his time while walking the once well-known streets. They now seem alien. His expression never shows it, but he is inwardly alarmed at the changes on his usual downtown strip. Can so much change in the span of two years? He wonders, feeling a growing sense of loss.

He pauses for a moment when he reaches his destination, his breath catching in his throat. Warm light floods out familiar windows, casting a pallid glow on the concrete sidewalk. Innumerable rows of flowers are set in a chaotically beautiful display, their silken petals a mix of vivid colours and overwhelming perfume. The same worn out bell still announces the entrance of a customer and the same faded "Closed" sign indicates store hours. His lips curve in the faintest of smiles, a softness to his composure he has only recently acquired.

"Ran!" A lazy drawl, instantly recognizable, calls him from behind. He doesn't turn around immediately. It takes him a moment to compose himself.

"Youji," despite his best efforts, the smile remains.

The older man takes one last haul on his Gauloise, the brand he's always smoked, and crushes the butt underneath his recently shined shoe. He is eager; the intake of breath, sharp and excited. His hair, still tousled and shoulder length, is drawn back into a haphazard ponytail that probably took a few hours to perfect. Instead of dangerously low leather hip huggers and a crop top, he's looking far more refined in a navy suit. The fabric, when caught in the light, shines ever so slightly. Kudou Youji, although a little older, is still chic as always. Underneath he wears a darker navy dress shirt and a white tie. There is something different about him but Ran can't quite pinpoint it. It's more than the lack of sunglasses.

He sighs, green eyes bright with amusement, "You look fucking great!"

And before he can respond, he is encased in a tight hug. Rather than stiffen, arms frozen at his side in awkward protest, he reaches over and returns the warm pat on the back. He can feel the cold November air begin to melt away as his nostrils are assailed with Youji's cologne – Obsession, as always. Some things never change and Ran decides there is something overwhelmingly comforting about that.

There is an awkward pause but it fades quickly, "You look good, as well."

He grins and makes an expansive gesture, basking in his typical mock-arrogance, "Thanks." He sighs as he eyes his former team mate once again, "God you seem different Fujimiya."

He chuckles quietly under his breath, "I suppose I am."

"Let's go inside, ok? You're a bit later than expected and Ken and Omi really wanna see you. I was just taking a cigarette break. They still won't let me smoke in there," He opens the door, ushering him inside. As an afterthought he adds, "The bastards."

The night he left Weiss, days after his twenty-first birthday, their departure was somewhat less amicable than their recent reunion

His bag was unnaturally small. It was only when he packed up the few personal effects he had, that he realized how un-lived in his cramped apartment actually was. It saddened him briefly but in his arrogant and brash youth, he failed to see the significance of that realization.

He stood there for a while, staring blankly at the closed flower shop. Uncertainty weighed heavily over him. He didn't know what to expect when he arrived at the Magic Bus Hospital. Two years of constant routine suddenly ripped into uncertain disarray. For someone so fastidiously organized, he could barely cope with the realization that everything was going to be different. So he simply stood there. It had to have been at least an hour.

The humid air began to get through to him and he shifted uncomfortably in his light blue shirt. It may have been thin cotton but any garment felt oppressive in the thick wave of heat. Slender fingers fluttered up to his left ear. He slowly closed his eyes and with a quick intake of breath, unhooked the golden earring he once so proudly wore. He had its owner to return it to.

"Hey." Youji exhaled a cloud of smoke. He emerged from the back of the store dressed only in a pair of worn, torn up jeans with the tears in all the right places.

His eyes opened and he glanced at the lanky figure. His reply was a noncommittal, "Hey."

"So that's it, huh?" He raked his hand through curling brown hair, the moist weather making it wilder than usual.

He carefully placed the earring in his breast pocket. He could feel his heart thudding against the sharp metal. His response was only a sigh.

Youji continued, "…You're just gonna pick up and leave, like you don't give a shit. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised." He took a long drag and gazed absently at the one or two dim stars still visible above Tokyo's garish lights. He leaned back on the small ledge jutting out from the shop window.

He made a soft, affirmative grunt, picking up his bag slinging it over a slender shoulder.

"Fuck you." Youji spat and took a sharp haul on his cigarette, the inhalation a strain on his tar-coated lungs.

He turned his back on him then, him and the shop. When he heard the harsh expletive, he stopped momentarily before he made his way toward the bullet train. Without facing him, he retorted, "Fuck you, too."

"What about Ken? Huh? I mean, I knew you were an asshole but…"

"And that's all I am." There was a finality to his tone that, for once, left Youji silent.

He is amazed at how romanticized memories become, even over short periods of time. And looking back now to his rosy, disjointed past, that small argument with Youji suddenly lacks its apocalyptic weight. Especially now, seeing that crooked smile on his face while he eagerly sends him inside.

The older man bows ever so slightly and mutters a teasing, "Après vous."

He swallows thickly. Seeing Youji briefly sated his jarred nerves, but the prospect of seeing Omi and especially Ken rekindles his anxiety full force. Everything still looks the same and he inwardly sighs in relief that Momoe-san kept the place up. Somehow the thought of the Koneko No Sumu Ie closing strikes him as a rather heartbreaking one and an irrational idea suddenly hits him to buy it.

"Ran-kun! Hi!" Omi greets him from the living room.

The shock of seeing Omi, two years older, distracts him for a moment before can remember himself and say, "Hi" in return. The bubbly young man didn't get much taller. In fact, his features still hold their boyish charm as if he is the epitome of everlasting youth. His hair is a bit longer and parted to the side, rather than the middle. His rosy cheeks lost some of their flush, which is replaced with a healthy tan, and they lack their childlike baby fat. Yet the real change isn't in his features, but his entire demeanor. Instead of shorts and a baseball cap, he is in slim black dress pants, an immaculate pleat running along the middle. Over a form-fitting beige t-shirt, he wears a matching black blazer. He looks somehow casual and sophisticated all at the same time. Even his voice sounds a little deeper, or is it simply more commanding in its tone?

He is embraced again with a light squeeze and the lingering scent of vanilla. "You're late!" He admonishes with a playful grin.

He nods silently and takes the moment to glance around the living room, "Not much has changed, has it?"

"No one else has lived here since the rest of us moved out," Omi replies as he looks around as well.

For a while no one says anything as they slowly take everything in. Youji finally breaks the silence asking the question that weighs increasingly more on Ran's mind, "Where'd Ken run off to?" With these words he sits down casually on the worn out sofa, his expensive attire a stark contrast to the old furniture. "He better get back soon 'cause I'm fucking starved."

Omi takes a seat on the chair adjacent to him, pulling up his pants ever so slightly so they won't wrinkle, "He said he had to put more money in the meter."

"I thought they stopped after 5:00."

"Not on Thursdays."

"Ah."

As the conversation plays out, Ran opts to sit next to Youji, leaving a comfortable cushion space between them. The others have always remained close and he feels regretful of not being a part of that, as if he missed out on something important. He can see the ease between Omi and Youji and memories of envy at their closeness flood back. He hadn't wanted to be so withdrawn. It was just the way things were back then.

"Ran-kun, do you want me to take your coat?" There is laughter in his voice, teasing him about his unnecessary politeness.

He is startled to realize he didn't take it off yet. With an embarrassed flush, he makes his way to the coat rack by the door. Slipping out of it, he delicately hangs it up so that it won't fall down or wrinkle. Before he can make his way back to the sofa, however, the front suddenly bursts open with a gust of frigid air. Ken, being his absentminded, clumsy self, didn't consider the prospect of someone else being in the way and barges in breathlessly. Before Ran can step aside, he walks right into him. His clothes feel cool and fresh and his hair smells like a mixture of shampoo and the fall night air. He knocks Ran back, ever so slightly, and to his horror their noses are barely touching.

It had been two years, yet it felt much longer.

When he rode the subway that humid summer night, thoughts of Youji's words lingered in his mind, "What about Ken?" He was jostled back and forth as the train sped forwards. A trembling hand reflexively fluttered up to his left ear to finger his trademark earring. The habit started off as a reminder that someone was still waiting for him, despite how hopeless things were. Then, over the years, it evolved into a nervous tick, something he did when deep in thought or upset about something. Only by then his fingers met something that felt entirely different. It wasn't as long as the gold earring and it was silver this time. Yet its beauty was unmistakable. It hung about half the length as Aya-chan's and was of a very similar design. The only difference was the stud at the top was of a silver rose with a small diamond wedged in the middle of its metallic petals.

He had so many fears that night. Would she smile? Would she recognize him? Would she wind her arms around his waist and allow him the release he was aching for?

"E-Excuse me!" Ken gasps anxiously.

Their physical contact is only brief. Both of them stiffly pull away from one another and set to straightening themselves. A heated flush rises up Ken's cheeks as he makes his sheepish apologies. Ran nods politely and mutters a hesitant, "It's all right." But he can't say much more. He needs a moment to ground himself back to reality.

He was expecting a change. Before coming, he told his sister repeatedly that what he would face during this evening would not matter, that change is a good thing, that he was prepared. It was during his time as assassin when he learned to lie so well, especially when it comes to himself. Yet his barriers are now failing him and leaving him with a shocked vulnerability as he gazes at the man he once knew. It's not even that he looks all that different. Shaggy bangs still stubbornly fall into innocent eyes and he didn't gain or lose any weight. In fact his clothes are still a little rumpled in typical Ken fashion. It's obvious that he's only dressed up for this evening, as he's in a pair of dark and slightly loose jeans along with an un-tucked black dress shirt. No tie. No blazer. No nicely polished shoes. It's just Ken in his worn out Adidas and a disarming smile.

So what is so staggeringly different about him?

He sits in the restaurant, about an hour later, wondering the same thing. He studies Ken silently under a veil of crimson bangs through furtive glances. He sighs while he absentmindedly toys with the remnants of his penne Romanoff. As the rosé sauce cools, it's beginning to congeal and cling to the porcelain dish. Since his appetite appears to be elsewhere, he decides to occupy himself with a sip of wine instead.

"It's like these past few years never happened," Ken smiles as he glances around the table. He's slightly slumped in the leather booth. His eyes are faintly glazed over and a light pinkish hue tickles his cheeks.

Youji leans back and stretches his lengthy legs out the side of the table. He casually sips his martini before replying, a wistful air to his voice, "I know…"

"It's not like we don't see each other," Omi points out as he takes his final bite of veal Parmesan. His blazer is off now and his cheeks are flushed as well. Youji's suit jacket is hanging beside him and his tie is loosened considerably. Ran seems indifferent to the heat, although his sleeves are pulled up to his elbows.

There is a constant white noise increasing in volume around them. Although no one else seems bothered by it, Ran shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He hates loud restaurants. Instead of fighting the din to include himself in their laughter, he opts to gaze out the window instead. He can barely see through his reflection because of the darkness outside. A few random lights are made visible as cars speed by in the dampened streets but that's about all he can make out. He smiles inwardly when he notices this is the perfect way to discreetly look at Ken.

He's fairly shadowed because of the angle but there is a random flash of white with each giggle. He still nervously rakes fingers through his shaggy hair. Yet there is a nonchalance to him that he didn't have before. It's as if a weight was taken off his shoulders and the true Hidaka Ken is shining through – one whose smile is all the more natural and contagious. In the folds of his shirt, the top button undone, he can see a glint of silver against tanned skin. He gazes more intently, trying to make out what the necklace looks like but Youji interrupts his thoughts.

"So, Ran, what have you been up to for the past two years, huh? You haven't said much this evening…"

He slowly turns his gaze toward everyone. He brings his wine glass once again to his lips and takes another gulp of the bittersweet alcohol. He has already had enough but he wants to find some way to procrastinate the inevitable.

"Well, I spent about a year and a half at Oxford studying a double major in Literature and Philosophy. I wanted to get away from Japan and give Aya-chan some time to recuperate…" He pauses at the expectant looks on their faces, "I don't know what else to tell you… We recently moved back to Tokyo. It's about time Aya-chan goes back to school and I'm going to continue my studies at Waseda."

"We already know that Ran-kun!" Omi chides. He glances up, slightly startled at the bus boy who is briskly taking away their dishes. As an afterthought, he hastily throws his dirty napkin into the pile.

"Isn't it strange calling you Ran?" Ken pipes up.

He blinks, taken aback by the bluntness in his old team mate's tone, "What do you mean?"

"Well," He straightens himself, suddenly looking a bit more sober, "I mean, I was introduced to you as Aya and you left before I could really get used to the change. Something just doesn't feel right about it. You know?"

Youji leans in closer to the table to get in on the conversation, "Yeah, it's true. You're our Aya." He smiles warmly.

Annoyed at finding himself the center of attention, he tugs at his earring. The ridges of the rose dig into his fingers and with his other hand he takes another sip of alcohol, this time hoping it will settle his nerves. For a brief second Ken notices his ear. His eyes widen ever so slightly but he says nothing. Ran's voice comes out gentler than he wants it to, "It's no longer appropriate."

Omi chuckles affably, "We know that, Ran-kun, but it's different, I guess. It just shows how much has changed."

"Yeah, just need to get used to it, I guess." Ken says with a slight smile on his lips. There is something to his tone, a vague longing or thoughtfulness to it that probably wouldn't be there if it weren't for the alcohol.

Ran is compelled to apologize but bites his tongue, knowing that it's not something he should say he was sorry for. It's just inevitable, along with all the other changes in his life he has no control over. The conversation picks up again, this time about a piercing in Youji's tongue web and he's relieved that the focus is no longer on him.

"Did it hurt?" Omi leans over the table to peer at the flash of metal between the older man's teeth. He wrinkles his nose at the sight of it and then sits himself back down, "It looks like it did."

He grins wickedly, "No, not at all. I originally wanted to just pierce my tongue but I thought this would be more subtle."

Ken grins back, "It's kind of sexy."

"Everything I do is sexy, Ken, darling." He pats him on the head condescendingly and chuckles throatily at the dark glare that's sent his way.

"Oh Youji-kun…" Omi rolls his eyes.

Ran takes a glance at Ken's ears to see if one of them is pierced as well. He didn't think of it until now. He fingers his earring again, as he notices Ken's soft lobes are still bare and wonders where the matching one might be. He remembers the bewildered look on the boy's face when he mentioned it, two years ago.

Ken was standing next to him while he sat down at the kitchen table. Omi and Youji were already in their respective beds at that point and there was a calm, stillness to the apartment.

Ken nervously placed the small, hastily wrapped gift in front of him, shuffling from one foot to the other eagerly. He simply sat there, stunned and unmoving. It was only at Ken's anxious insistence that he reached out to finger the small item. It couldn't have been more than two inches wide and two inches deep. The wrapping was bright silver and looked suspiciously like aluminum foil. After careful inspection, he realized that it wasn't since it was a little smoother and harder to peel apart. Underneath was a small, navy blue velvet box. He swallowed thickly as he instantly realized it was likely expensive jewellery.

He hesitated before opening it. The hinges were hard to move or perhaps he was too drunk and nervous to gauge the right amount of force to see what was inside. He knew he was shaking and was too frightened to look up at Ken, whom he could feel was staring intently at him. He steadied his hands and outwardly appeared completely calm. Still, he couldn't completely suppress the breathless gasp of surprise when he saw the pair of silver earrings.

"Since you have to give your sister's back, I thought you'd might like a replacement. Happy Birthday, Aya."

He actually hadn't realized that he probably wouldn't be wearing his gold trademark anymore and was dazed at Ken's forethought. He gently ran his fingers over the pair of them, amazed at their intricacy in design. Roses. His flower. Ken's thoughtfulness was beginning to get painful, as he never took such care when it came to the others. Nor did he think they cared for him. But Ken knew. He knew it all.

"Ken…"

The boy knelt down, so that they were at eye level. His focus still didn't waver from the heart-wrenching gift yet Ken's eyes took in everything. It was a rare moment to see Ran, then Aya, expose himself and he wanted to be sure he remembered every last detail. He noted how Aya fidgeted, and although his face never betrayed its stoic mask, his eyes were surprisingly expressive. In this case they first widened and then softened. It was usually only brief but this time it remained. His lips twitched as well, but it wasn't a smile or a frown. It was a rare and beautiful sight, the subtlety in his movements speaking volumes.

"Ken?"

"Yeah?" He smiled then. Not his usual crooked grin but a sad smile, perhaps one of regret.

"Would you like the second one?" He still hadn't looked up. His voice was startlingly different. Ken hadn't thought of how it might change if the reticence ever left its tones but he decided that he liked it, that he enjoyed the way his name sounded when spoken of that way.

His voice was hoarse as he replied, beginning to realize the meaning of his words, "Ok…" After an awkward silence he added, "I always wanted to get my ear pierced."