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

Ken

I watched you suffer a dull aching pain
Now you decided to show me the same
No sweeping exits or offstage lines
Could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind

Mazzy Star (Rolling Stones cover), "Wild Horses"

His hands tremble as they fish through pockets to find the right amount of change. Curses are muttered quietly under his breath, which is made visible from the cool night air. A few coins are slipped in the parking meter and with a loud click it's set for another two hours. Despite the frigid temperatures, however, he can't bring himself to go back just yet. He shudders into his flimsy dress shirt. He'd left his coat inside thinking he would only be out for a minute. He awkwardly smoothes his rumpled jeans. The nervous film of sweat that just recently made the indoors unbearably hot, make the outdoors even colder. It's only dinner, he silently reminds himself.

The Koneko is only a block away but he takes his time in getting there. The streetlamps dimly illuminate the dark street. He shoves his hands between his armpits to spare them from the stinging wind and bends his head forward, leaning into it. He glances across the street to see if any cars are coming and rushes across before another comes. The last time he saw Weiss' self-proclaimed leader flashes before his eyes, unbidden. The image of Aya lying unconscious in a tangle of limbs, bed sheets and sweat, will forever be embedded in Ken's memory.

His face was unusually peaceful in slumber, swollen lips slightly parted, thin red brows relaxed from their perpetual frown, arms tightly wound around his waist. The scent of flowers clung to his skin, mingling with his shampoo and something faintly musky that was beyond description. It was intoxicating. Addictive. Arousing. Ken gently kissed him underneath his ear lobe, a light shudder coursing through him at the realization that he, Hidaka Ken, was allowed this secret privilege. To know the small scars and curves of the most complicated and reclusive man he'd ever known. To taste the salt and toothpaste on his lips, to smell the fabric softener in his sheets. To even see the inside of his room. His kissed him again to see if it was real and they made love for the second time that night.

He'd thought about it often, but his dreams never compared to the real thing. Aya was silent as always, only allowing the faintest of moans to escape his lips. He was graceful and meticulous, like in everything he did. His lips, his tongue, his body had an ease to it a virgin could never claim. Ken was worried he was loud and clumsy, never certain if he was boyishly charming, or painfully inexperienced.

Yet as painfully lucid as they are, these images are tainted with the blank expression on Aya's face as he announced that his sister was awake and that he would be leaving Weiss. They never said any personal goodbyes.

When he reaches the old apartment, he rushes inside, too lost in his thoughts to consider the prospect that someone might be in the way. Before he can stop himself he runs straight into Ran.

"G-gomen nasai!" He gasps anxiously.

He can feel the taller man's warm breath, moist on his cheeks. His eyes widen. Pained with embarrassment, he quickly pulls away rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"It's all right." The reply is smooth and expressionless as always. Ken hasn't forgotten the aloof tones of that baritone voice, yet each syllable felt like a slap in the face. Perhaps it's the subtle hint of warmth behind that faint smile. Living with his sister had an effect on him. Ken expected as much. Although he refused to admit it to himself, he was jealous.

He ached to be the one to break through the carefully constructed brick wall known as Abyssinian. He spent years tactfully fighting his way through that blockade and readily accepted the abuse that ensued in the process. Their friendship hadn't begun ideally. Blows both verbal and physical were dealt out with unrestrained aggression. Yet there was a familiarity between them that seems to have always existed. Ken knew about his sister, what his name signified. They would talk quietly at length about the most inane occurrences at the Koneko, to their most carefully guarded secrets. He began to slowly discern the subtle language of Aya's facial expressions and grew to learn how to respond accordingly.

And on the rarest of occasions, he even got him to smile.

"Damn it, Aya, I'm not that late!" Youji sighed exasperatedly.

Behind a curtain of red roses, an arrangement he was in the process of meticulously creating, Aya scowled, "Your lifestyle is your prerogative. Just don't let it interfere with your responsibilities."

Rather than respond, Youji loudly groaned and hastily threw his apron on. Ken was feeling a mixture of relief and anxiety. Relief because the wrath of Abyssinian wasn't directed at him and anxiety because Aya's moods had a dreadful contagiousness to them.

"Well I'm late because of you." The words themselves weren't that harsh, but again, the katana-wielding assassin had a way of speaking that gave them a level of gravity no one else could. Each syllable was leaden with frost, pronounced slowly and deliberately for greater effect. His entire body language, in its perfectly restrained minimalism, just added to the overall severity to his voice.

And with the taunting jingle of the door chime, he briskly made his way out.

Feeling particularly bold that day, Ken dashed out after him. It wasn't just Youji's tardiness that was bothering him. Ken had been with him all morning, secretively (or so he hoped) watching him. His instincts were screaming that something far more insidious was at play. Aya wasn't a clumsy man. Even while battered and bloodied after a brutal mission, he would walk steadily to his car and drive home obstinately. Unless he was completely unconscious, which only happened on a few rare and especially dire occasions, he would staunchly exhibit an aura of cocksure self-control.

Yet today, not only did he spill over an enormous pot of flowers, soil everywhere with a few select curses, but he mixed up two orders. This may have been typical Ken behaviour, but it was shockingly unlike Aya.

"Wait!"

By the time he caught up with him, he was out of breath. For some reason walking to Aya meant jogging for Ken. Only when he stopped, did he realize how cold it was outside. The sidewalk was covered in a thin sheet of powdery snow that slowly began to seep into his mud-stained running shoes. He was dressed only in a sweater and jeans, the clashing green apron, barely enough protection against the December wind. Small white flakes stuck to his dark hair, slowly melting on contact.

Aya stopped but didn't turn around.

Panting slightly Ken continued, "Uh… you ok?"

Thin shoulders slumped slightly as a vague response.

He walked around him so that they were face to face. Holding himself and beginning to shiver, he stamped some of the slush off his shoes. "I know something's wrong…" his voice trailed off. He was suddenly feeling uncertain at the blank expression sent his way.

"It's none of your concern." Aya brushed past him and continued walking at his ridiculously fast pace.

The warmth of the shop was calling him at the other end of the block but Ken, feeling just as stubborn, followed him anyway, "It is when the team is at stake!" Suddenly marveling at his ingenuity Ken awaited a response. He knew Aya wouldn't just talk about personal matters for no reason at all, but when it came to Weiss or Kritiker, he would do just about anything in the name of practicality.

He stopped again, only this time whirled around to face the younger boy. His brows furrowed into a deep frown and his eyes flared with anger, "And here I thought you were worried about me because you care." Violet eyes narrowed. He turned on his heel and continued walking even faster, but somehow never losing his steady rhythm, "Go back to the shop. Youji can't manage on his own."

His face fell, but for only a moment. "No!" He sighed and continued after him, "I didn't mean it that way!" But as he rushed forward to catch up to him once again, he slipped on a sheet of ice and fell forward taking Aya down with him. There was enough snow to cushion their fall but it quickly left them soaking wet. As elegantly he could, Aya stood up and dusted himself off.

"Damn it Ken!" Aya shouted. It was rare that his voice rose but he was feeling especially exasperated. Nevertheless, the forlorn look on the boy's face, as he sat helpless in the dirt and slush, was suddenly comical to him. Before he could stop himself he cracked a smile, which subsequently became a faint chuckle and then before he knew it, Ken was joining in.

Falling was worth it.

He knows he's had too much. He knew that hours ago but it doesn't stop him from ordering more sake. He doesn't really like the taste of it but he knows Ran and Youji do, so to appease them and to keep Ran drinking, he acquiesces to the gym-sock flavour of the hot liquid. Besides, after a few glasses and the wine from dinner, it goes down like water. Warm, soothing water, he muses foggily.

They are probably the last ones in the restaurant, much to the dismay of the closing staff. They are also quite noisy, especially he and Youji. Omi is nearly passed out while Ran opts to simply stare out the window distantly. The plates have already been cleared, all that's left behind are a few spills, a few crumbs and their crumpled napkins. The centrepiece's candle is drowning in a pool of melted wax and one of the waitresses gives them a subtle hint by placing their bill on the table with a smile.

"I'll take care of it." Youji nods firmly as he reaches for the small black tray. Four red and white mints hold the piece of paper in place.

"No, no, no!" Ken sways in his seat and reaches forward as well, "Let me!"

Omi blinks and shakes his head, trying to piece the situation together in his inebriated mind. Ran glances at the two of them and casually tosses his credit card into the tray. Before anyone can argue, the eager waitress briskly takes it away.

Ran gives their fallen faces a half-smile, "You can take care of it next time."

He's met with a series of half-hearted protests and promises that they will take him out to repay his generosity. Ken begins to feel stifled and hot and after all that drinking, desperately needs to go to the bathroom. With a polite and slightly uncontrolled nod, he shakily stands up and makes his way towards the back.

It's only now, when he is finally alone, that he can let some of his façade slip. He splashes cold water on his face to try and sober himself up a bit, suddenly feeling embarrassed at how loose he's been most of the night. Isn't it strange calling you Ran? His words echo repeatedly in his mind, sounding increasingly stupid each time he hears them.

He glares at his reflection, at his bloodshot eyes and wrinkled shirt. "You're a fucking moron, Hidaka!"

"Who are you talking to?" Ran suddenly asks from behind him.

Ken quickly whirls around to face him. He is certain that Ran had more to drink than he did. He's been watching him. He knows. Yet the only proof of this is the very slight flush on his ivory cheeks. Otherwise, his composure, his speech is perfectly controlled, much to Ken's vexation.

"Uh, n-no one…" He stammers as he quickly straightens himself.

"Oh. I thought you said something."

"Nope." He smiles, although it's not very genuine and there is something very conspicuous about the way he is holding himself.

"We're leaving. Do you need a ride?"

He thinks about his car and his current state. He thinks of catching a furtive moment alone with Aya and takes a deep breath as he nods.