Dyed Crimson
The Weaver Atropos
Dyed Crimson, Copper IV

Hearing a gaudy bell jingle, Ken was startled out of his internal musings—more like damnings—and cast a guarded look at the redhead. "You were talking a long time."

"I was."

"About?"

"The contacts."

Exasperated, the youth threw his hands in the air, causing passerby to look oddly at him, "There was no need to, I hope you know. Manx said she'd get them for us, remember."

"And Manx also forgot to give us the mission-parameters that last time."

"Aya…That was…it wasn't on purpose."

"How would you know? You were knocked out for the greater part of a month."

Ken fell quiet, fingering the 2nd button of his jean jacket uncomfortably. "I just…I don't want to think that they did that on purpose."

"And if they did?"

The young man looked away, feeling sick to his stomach and wishing he hadn't agreed to going out that night after all. "They wouldn't! That's the whole point, they would never do that!"

"Why not?"

"Because they're Kritiker!"

"Go back to the shop."

"What! You don't tell me what to do, Aya!" the brunette was outraged by then, having reached the exit of the alleyway, and feeling all the more safer to yell his heart out if he so willed it.

"Go back and tell Youji to meet me back here, and to bring me my katana."

"What? Why?"

Impatient and irritated, Aya pushed past Ken, intent on getting his sword himself if he wasn't in the mood to relay his message, and was a good three or four feet away from Ken, when the boy launched himself towards him, mass of coiled muscle colliding with him fiercely.

"What the hell is yourproblem!" Aya threw the young man off him roughly, rising up and ready to launch an attack on the brunette, when he caught him—quite unawares—and punched him square in the jaw. He felt himself stagger back quite a bit.

Having never really been in a physical fight with Ken, he hadn't known the young man to be so strong.

"I don't have a problem, you bastard! You're the one who's going around to freakin' sex stores asking for contact lenses."

Aya reached out towards Ken, ready to smack some sense into his overheated brain, when the brunette ducked and pulled on his arm, so that the two rolled to the floor, fighting for dominance. Ken ended up on top, hands gripping roughly at Aya's wrists, fingertips digging into the pale, ivory flesh, no doubt bruising it. "I know you're moves, you damned bastard."

The redhead growled from beneath Ken, somewhat stifled between the man's weight, and bucked his hips upwards, trying to get Ken off him. He succeeded partially, being stronger than Ken in his upper body, and was able to grip at the assassin's own wrists, bending them so that the bone was near popping.

Ken winced, falling backwards despite himself, pressed into a position similar to the one he'd managed to overpower Aya into a few minutes ago. "I'm me, Ken. No one knows me better than me. Don't assume things."

"I'm not! You just don't tell me things I'm supposed to know! Don't you trust me? Whenever you say something, and I ask, you always say it's nothing. It has to be something if you mentioned it!"

The redhead considered the man's words, remembering how many times that night he had dismissed Ken's questions, recalling all the times prior that he had ignored the brunette.

The young man, even angrier at Aya's silence—which he perceived as arrogant tacitness—writhed under his captor, blood boiling in more ways than one, when a soft whisper escaped Aya's lips. "Sex."

"WHAT!" Ken kicked at the redhead then, startled and constricted by the man's body, remembering the utensils the man at the store had described. "What are you—"

"It means passionate sex. Ravaging."

I don't mean to dismiss you.

Ken's eyes moved hesitantly upwards, so that he was staring tentatively at Aya. After a few seconds, his struggling ceased. He was looking at him like that again. "You're going back to the store?"

"Maybe."

"But…"

The redhead shrugged, rolling off the young man and rising to his feet in two quick movements.

"But—I mean."

"Don't worry about it. I can take care of myself."

"Do you know him?"

"Know him?" Aya's nose wrinkled in disgust. "No. But I know plenty like him."

Ken, standing on his own once he realized Aya had no intentions of extending a hand, trailed after the redhead absently, "How come?"

"You don't need to know."

"What if they ask me about it?"

"They won't."

"They might."

"They won't."

"How do you know?"

"Because no one knows about it but me. Period."

"Is he going to make them? The contacts?"

A nod.

"So…your katana, then?"

Another nod.

"I can't come along?"

"Keep an eye on Omi. Help him with the plans for the mission."

Ken nodded once, shoving his hands in his pocket and casting Aya a calculated look. "All right."

( - - - )

Youji studied Ken skeptically. "I'm serious."

"I bet you are."

"Youji!"

"I'm serious."

The blonde hesitated, taking in the anxious look on the brunette's face, and sighed. "All right, all right, where is he?"

"He's at a store near where the carnival is."

( - - - )

Ken shivered. It had been two hours. Ken bit his lip anxiously and cast Omi a worried look. Youji had left a good hour and a half ago, wire in hand, wavering smile on his lips. He was troubled—concerned over Youji…and concerned about Aya…

The brunette rubbed as his eyes, suddenly cursing that they weren't innately violet, and pondered over what Aya had said. "…but I know plenty like him."

Like him. Why?

Why would he know anyone like the shop's owner?

A bit of a shudder ran through him at the memory, and Ken wondered if it had been a good idea to let the blonde go alone. For all he knew—

"Youji-kun!"

Ken turned at the name, shakingly searching out his partner, looking for that blood-red hair, and sighed when he laid eyes on it. He was all right. There was a bruise forming along the lower contour of his right eye, and blood was seeping slowly through a cut in his lip…but he was fine.

It seemed as though suddenly the entire world had disappeared.

And it was only the two of them, standing there, in the middle of a messy, comfortable room.

He hiccupped, feeling his breath leave him, and brought an unsteady hand to his mouth. And his shoulders were shaking, and he didn't know why.

Aya approached him with those strides of his—with those light-footed steps, and regarded him strangely.

His eyes were awfully purple.

( - - - )

He was staring at his door. Waiting.

He'd been shaking since their redheaded leader had returned, and the slightest movement he made resulted in his world turning in every-which way. A dull thud had started somewhere in the back of his mind, and he was feeling as though he'd walked into the twilight zone.

( - - - )

"I'm worried about Ken."

The words were soft, just barely whispered. Two pairs of eyes—one jade, the other blue—regarded him curiously. "Worried?" A deeper tenor.

Red locks fell forward at the nod. "He's…been acting strangely."

"He's been acting like you."

"No," Aya shook his head, "not that…there's something about the look in his eyes."

Youji was about to fire an amused retort—some innuendo about what type of look that was—when Omi's fingertips quieted him. "I noticed it, too, Aya-kun."

( - - - )

"Ken?"

Brown eyes blinked upwards and Ken shifted a little at the edge of his bed. His eyes were red-rimmed, and it hurt to focus. "Yeah?"

There was hesitance on Aya's part, an almost childish reluctance. "Let's go back up to the roof."

Ken stood, wobbling a little on his feet, his movements mechanical, gaze focused entirely on his. His movements were jerky, almost as though he'd forgotten how to walk, but he somehow managed to climb the staircase to the attic. As before, Aya helped him through, pale smooth arms wrapping about his waist and pulling him upwards.

The wind whipped at his hair, and he could feel the cold bleeding into him.

"Do you know how to put them on?"

"Hmm?" Ken shoved his hands into his pockets, "Put what on?"

"The contacts."

"Oh…no."

The redhead paused, mouth open as though to say something, and sighed instead. He made his way towards the roof's edge, peering over the three-foot rail, and turned to lean against it.

And, as abruptly as the world had lost its focus to him before, so did its lucidity return.

He moved leisurely towards Aya, feeling the man's eyes on his form, and dropped boyishly beside him. He shivered once more, though not particularly because of the night air. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Is that what you needed Youji for?"

Amethyst eyes clouded. "What does it matter?"

Pale, cool fingertips tangled in mossy waves of chocolate. The brunette shrugged, not adverse to the touch, and closed his eyes. "It matters."

"Why?"

He shrugged once more, the action more lethargic, and leaned into the probing fingertips. "Because…"

The air whistled, and at his tremble, those same cold hands brought him close, until his cheek was pressed against a flat chest. He could hear the steady, rhythmic, almost calming beat of the redhead's heart, and bundled his fists about the smooth cloth of his black sleeveless. Aya shifted, but said nothing.

"I was thinking about this mission."

"What about it?" Ken pondered at the quality of his voice. About how hoarse it was. As though he had struggled to say what he had. Aya fell silent despite the prompt, and for a moment, all he heard were their joint—though not simultaneous—intakes of breaths.

"Maybe we shouldn't go through with it."

"They'll make us," Ken felt his leader stiffen beside him, "they'll make us do it."

"It doesn't mean we will."

Damn Aya and his persistence.

"It does. You know it as well as I do."

"But—"

"You know what I realized today?" Ken pulled away and locked eyes with Aya, "I'm not afraid of dying. I want to die."

His assertion was received by an impassive, thought slightly incriminating, expression. "You should be."

( - - - )

"That's a little scary."

Youji looked at the tall redhead, then at the fully-dressed-still-chocolate-haired-pseudo-violet-eyed youth. "I never would have pegged you two as looking alike…but—"

Omi gave an ebullient nod, standing on tiptoe and looking over the blonde's shoulder. "Kenken! You look so…enigmatic like that—"

"So…when do I have the honors of dying your hair?"

Ken shrugged, shoulders rising and falling gracefully. He cast an inexpressive glance around the room, and sighed a little at the effort. His face broke out into an uncertain grin. "Now's a good a time as ever, I guess."

"I'd be afraid to die."

"Why?"

"Because of Aya-chan."

A sad smile graced the brunette's cheeks. "Well then…maybe that's exactly why I'm not. I don't have anyone to live for."

"All right! Kenken…or, should I say…Kenaya?"

Rolling his eyes, Ken sank into the offered chair and pulled a spare towel over his shoulders. There went the last step.

( - - - )

Ken fingered his bangs absently, a bit disgusted at the shade of red his hair had gleaned. It seemed almost orangey. Schu-esque. He frowned. It was nothing like Aya's hair. His was deep…a bloody color—one that was almost grotesquely appealing because of its similarity to the elixir of life.

He supposed it'd have to do. No one would see it at night, anyway. He wouldn't be seeing the light of day anytime soon. Not until their final mission. And it wasn't even a definite as to whether he was even going to live that long. He fiddled a bit more with the fringes of hair that fell into his eyes, regarding his expression dispassionately, comparing his tan, bronze skin with Aya's milky, pale one.

He wondered how soft his skin might be.

He'd touched the redhead's body before, granted, but he'd never reached for it with that intent in mind. He wished Aya would show more of his skin. He had an impeccable body—one more sinewy and tapered than muscled. He could still remember how entranced he'd been those first few days of practice…when all his eyes could follow was the thin bead of sweat that traveled down the redhead's nape, and ended at the curvature of his lower back.

When he turned into a voyeur, he couldn't rightly know. But…quite suddenly, all he wanted to do was touch him. Touch the tall, unattainable redhead. He looked at his reflection, fingertips just barely grazing the surface, when he wondered whether a sort of liaison with his leader would in a way be self-gratification.

He was Aya as far as the world was concerned, after all.

And…with that same concept in mind…shouldn't—wouldn't it make sense if…

His fingertips twitched as his mind wandered toward more dangerous extremes, and he was vaguely aware of his tightened jeans.

There was a knock at his door.

( - - - )

He was shorter. And tanner. Those were nature's things which mere aesthetics couldn't rightly change. Aya paused on his way toward his room, aware that the brunette was being awfully quiet for having only just had his hair died, and raised his hand. He hesitated. What was he planning on saying anyway?

He'd wager to say he'd garnered the brunette's impulsiveness and passed on his more patient attributes to him. Or maybe he'd never been patient.

And it was odd, because it was almost like looking into a mirror and forgetting that dopplegangers weren't real.

Chapped lips widened into a weary smile that soon turned teasing, and violet eyes crinkled at the edges. "I look like Mastermind."

The tips of his lips drew upwards at the comment as he inspected Youji's dye-job—which was all right; it was more the coloring itself that was off-base. "You look like me."

"No I don't."

"You do."

"No…you're…prettier…"

Aya didn't know whether to be offended or flattered at the comment. Granted, he'd received his share of 'WAI!' and 'KAKKOI!'s growing up…but he couldn't ever remember having been called pretty. He shifted. "…and paler."

"Pale."

Ken nodded to himself at the observation, his eyes taking on a different gleam. "Very pale."

Aya quirked a brow at the brunette's tone, not as idealistic as to miss the intended message, and crossed his arms about his chest. He dismissed the comment regardless. "There's something missing."

"Missing?" Ken cocked his head adoringly toward the right, and sidestepped slightly to peer into his mirror. "Platform shoes?"

The redhead scoffed, "And here I thought it was obvious."

Ken shrugged and tugged at the man's sleeve, pulling the two side by side before the mirror. "I'm not bleaching my skin for the sake of looking like you, Aya."

There went that little smile again. He missed this Ken. The sarcastic one with caustic humor, who would grin and laugh and throw caution to the wind. He hated to think the mission was changing him permanently. "Think a little."

"Hmm…" the young man tapped his foot idly, right hand coming to pull a little at his ear lobe. He did that a lot, Aya had noticed. Whenever he was thinking, or considering something, he'd take to playing with his ear.

"Exactly."

"Hmm? What!"

Aya bent slightly and tugged at the brunette's ear. "My ears are pierced."

The redhead studied him steadily, amethyst eyes looking earnestly at his face. Ken felt himself fidget—as he often did when he was being shamelessly watched, and fingered his ear lobe once more. There be another habit he'd have to get rid of.

"We're gonna have to pierce your ear, too."

The look on Ken's face was near priceless. He looked as though he were torn between arguing and resigning himself to his fate. He blinked chocolate eyes up at the redhead. "There's something about driving a cold, steel, pointed, bacteria-ridden, infected needle through my insides that I find just the slightest bit repulsing."

A fine brow rose in amusement. "Your insides?"

Ken waved the man away, "My ear—cartilage, intestines—what's the difference?"

Aya crossed his arms over his chest once more, "I guarantee you, it's not going to fall off."

"The earring or my ear?"

"Ken—"

The young man heaved a big sigh, leaning forwards and supporting himself on his palms so that he could look more closely into the mirror. "I can't say I see the point of it."

"I bet Omi and Youji would."

It was Ken's turn to raise an eyebrow. He hadn't and had never been particular to the idea of a piercing. Even Kase had failed to convince him, and the man had held a ridiculous amount of influence over him. It was something that had never quite…sat well with him. "I don't see why…"

"Ken. They'll know you're not me if you're ear is perfectly sealed."

"Is it my fault you walk around as though you were an Egyptian geisha with that stick of an earring? That's an identifying trait if I've ever seen one. Nevermind the hair and the skin tone. You're an awful person to have on a secret team, I hope you know."

If there were one merit to Aya, it was his ability to keep quiet…and it was that same tendency that drove Ken to extremes. He rightly well couldn't understand how someone could remain so entirely…deaf…to what was going on around him.

Ken figured his ear once more and frowned. It had to hurt. Cartilage or not…it was just…sadistic.

Suddenly, he brightened. "We can't."

"We can't what?"

"Pierce it!" the young man paused and smiled at his reflection, "It's like the dye…mission confidentiality—no one can no I got it done; at least not with this hair," he pointed at his mop of slightly curling orangey hair.

"I don't see the problem."

Ken rolled his eyes. "They can't see me. I can't leave the house. No one can know I've pierced my ears." There was a smugness about his persona, "So I can't pierce them."

Aya remained as unfazed as he'd ever been. "I can pierce them for you."

He'd be damned if the redhead didn't sound amused.

Ken glared. "What?"

Aya shrugged, "I pierced my own…though, not by means I think you'd appreciate."

"What'd you do?"

"I drove a blunt earring through my ear."

Ken frowned. Well, no. He wasn't exactly fond of the idea of Aya smashing an earring straight through his ear. "But I can do it with a needle, just as well."

Again, the brunette hesitated.

"It's either me and a needle, or the shop down the block and that gun."

"And I can't just resort to a clip on?"

Amusement shone in amethyst eyes before being replaced by sympathy. "It doesn't hurt."

"Because you're a sadistic bastard, is why."

( - - - )

Eh, a bit anti-climactic, but I've got my reasons. I'm sorry for the ridiculously long delay--but, I hope this snippet gave you some type of satisfaction. The plot thickens, my dear friends, and it thickens nicely. Don't worry, I understand myself. Hopefully, the symbolism and hints are there. Squint really hard. You just might catch it.