Dyed Crimson
The Weaver Atropos
Dyed Crimson, Blood VI

It was their second night together.

Ken burrowed further under Aya's pristine white comforter, taking in the scent of spicy lavender and turning on his side, surprised at finding the redhead's face a breadth away, eyes closed and puffy lips slightly open as he drew in air. Ken found his eyes riveted on the sight, tongue darting out and licking at his own lips as he spied Aya's. And he couldn't help himself really. Aya's lips were so full…and he looked so approachable then—so soft, as though he'd break. And he found himself pressing his lips against Aya's own, relishing the feel of them—of their silkiness—and he was mildly aware that the redhead was kissing him back, mouth open—not tense, but relaxed, as though the action were one he were used to.

He sighed a little against the redhead's mouth, grateful the redhead was sleeping and hoping he'd have no clue of what had transpired, and blinked his closed eyes open to find an amethyst pair staring steadily back at him.

Aya was breathing softly, his eyes clouded by sleep—pink lips were puffy from the effort. His gaze wasn't incriminating—not accusing—it was simply curious, and perhaps the slightest bit uncertain. "Ken…?"

And pale milky fingertips reached out in time with the query, shakingly settling at his cheek, the moonlight bathing them a translucent white. And he was touching him so gently—so gingerly…as though he feared the brunette would vanish at any given moment. "It's okay, Aya—I'm okay—" he flashed the redhead a tender, almost melancholic smile, "I'm right here."

"I'll be near Wallow's Cave if anything goes wrong. That's nearly 2.8 miles from the drop off point, and 5 miles from the checkpoint. A good 10 minute jog should get you there from the warehouse."

Aya paused and regarded the redhead opposite him with an odd mixture of emotion. "It's the closest I can get in case anything goes wrong without compromising the mission."

Youji gave a stark nod, "So then, Ken's in all on his own? The chibi and I are on standby near the entrance? Isn't that dangerous? Delivering the decoy straight to the wolves?"

The smaller of the two blondes shifted uneasily and nodded in agreement. "I don't like it. I don't care what Manx said. It's too risky."

"We can always abort." That was Youji.

But they knew it wasn't an option. Not really. And besides, the redhead cast Ken another absent glance, he wouldn't agree to it.

"Can Youji-kun and I at least tag Ken-kun?"

Aya seemed to consider the possibility. "If we're not following Kritiker's exact orders, I don't see why we can't all just go in as a group."

"You mean abort the decoy mission and go in as ourselves?" Youji paused, glancing at Ken for input before turning back to his leader, "Wouldn't that be counterproductive at this rate?"

"It is." Ken. Finally. "It makes no sense. They want Aya—for whatever reason that might be. Giving into any instinct in fear of what might happen to me defeats the purpose of the mission entirely."

"But what if it's not about Aya-kun? What if it's about you…what if they want you?"

"Then they'll follow us no matter what we do."

Ken regarded the redhead quietly from where he sat sprawled at the floor, his back resting against the bed's box and mattress. "Are you really that worried?"

"I'd feel a whole lot better if I were somehow involved in the mission."

Ken nodded, frowning a little and dropping his gaze. "I keep having this bad feeling in the pit of my stomach," he looked up, rubbing a little at his right eye where his contact was beginning to bother him, "and I keep seeing all these things in my dreams."

Aya paused in his thinking and turned toward the man, "You what?"

"I can't sleep," Ken took in a deep breath, scratching nervously at the side of his neck, "I haven't been able to sleep for the longest time, but now…now I really can't sleep. Not even a minute's worth. I don't think I even drift off. I stay awake all this time."

And Aya knew that it was true. He could see the dim outline of gray against the boy's lower lids. His skin had gotten awfully pale with the passing days, too. "And whenever I do sleep, I have these dreams that I can never remember, and all I know is that when I wake up, I'm scared of something that I can't remember…and all I know is that I'm scared."

"Ken?"

"And I know what's gonna happen…and I feel like I know what happens in my dreams, but I can never quite seem to remember enough of the sentiment to realize what's going on…but I can feel it—in my stomach—this premonition."

Aya stood from the chair he'd been sitting on and dropped himself directly before the brunette, searching out his eyes, but the young man was in another world, his eyes glazed, looking someplace to the right with a fear and melancholy that was disheartening. "And all I ever see is red. Red everywhere. Just like your hair. In pools around my feet—on the walls…and on me. And that's all I can ever remember," he looked up at him, expression broken, "…that's all I ever remember."

The redhead sighed. "It'll be okay, Ken. It'll be okay."

He offered him a wavering smile. "See you at the cave, ne?"

Aya nodded, holding the door open for his comrades as they went off. He had another day before driving off to the cave. And that meant twenty four hours between then, and the mission. He was still annoyed at the last minute change in plans that swapped his position for Youji's. He'd be left to monitoring instead. Irritated, he turned back toward the house and looked about him.

He couldn't help the shiver that overcame him.

Five hours. Aya adjusted his headset, typing some commands into his laptop until he was able to get a clearer connection. The less static, the better. " Bombay?"

A few cackling sounds later, and the communicator vibrated with his teammate's voice. "Abyssinian. Good to hear from you." He sounded anxious—wired, but grateful all the same.

"How are the final preparations?"

"Perfect. Siberian's reviewing positions with Balinese as we speak."

Aya nodded to himself. All right. The mission was in order thus far. "And how are you, Aya-kun?"

The redhead felt himself breathe a soft, shaky sigh. So much for protocol. "I'm okay. You?"

"Could be better."

"Aya?"

"The lines aren't secure."

There was a pause. "I can't sleep."

"Close your eyes. You'll find that it works."

There was something about the pause that followed that made Aya wish he'd said something else.

The communicator clicked dead.

"Abyssinian is moving toward the second floor. Target confirmed at room 500 east wing, southern entrance."

Aya drew up the information Omi had provided on his lap top and traced his comrades' paths through the warehouse. Escape routes were plotted throughout, but he had to keep a steady eye on them to make sure they were following the correct entry plans.

"Abyssinian…off course—hey! Hey!" Youji's voice rose as he sought to get someone's attention, "Off course and off target. Retreating toward opposite end of the east wing corridor."

Aya switched through the channels in his headset until he got to Ken's, "Abyssinian—you're on the wrong entryway of the wing—return to east 500."

"Aya…?"

"Abyssinian—I repeat, you're on the wrong entryway, return to east 500, Balinese and Bombay are there to assist you in any—"

"Aya…I don't…I don't—feel…"

Aya's eyes took in the digital tracking blueprints before him, able to make out the blinking blue light that had stopped at the juncture of the east and south corridors. From the north, a blinking yellow dot was approaching in the form of Balinese, and a red one from the west signaled Bombay's approach.

"Abyssinian!" it was Omi's voice. "Abyssinian!"

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized the youth was calling for him and not for Ken. " Bombay?"

"Abort mission. Abort mission. Target escaped—Siberian…is on a rampage."

"What?"

"He's—"

There was a pause and for a minute all he heard was static, "He's ranting on about red. Red everywhere? Balinese has got him cornered but—"

" Bombay?"

"Aya-kun…hurry up, ne?"

Aya didn't think he'd ever ran ten miles any faster. By the time he arrived—panting and slick with sweat—it was to find a myriad of bodies at his feet, all bearing the tell tale slash of the katana. A few feet to his right he could make out a trail of blood—similar to one made by a body that has been dragged—leading to the eastern corridor. He felt his stomach tighten.

He followed the trail despite his better judgment—knowing through the last digital readout he had seen where it would lead him. And, inevitably, it did. There, slumped against the south/east juncture was Ken, looking for all the world like a confused child. Omi was to his right, patting him gently on the shoulder, his eyes bewildered. Youji was a little bit farther off, nursing a slicing cut at his chest.

He felt he should say something, but didn't exactly know how to begin.

"Aya…?" Ken drew up violet eyes and looked at him in fear, as though he were a ghost of sorts, "…Is it really you?"

"Yeah," he dropped to his knee, examining the blood splattered across Ken's cheeks, and frowned. "You okay?"

The boy smiled slightly, "I'm okay. I'm…fine."

He nodded and pulled Ken's body to his. He locked eyes with Omi over the boy's shoulder and could detect the blonde's uneasiness. Youji still hadn't approached.

"How'd you get the cut?" Aya to Youji.

The older of the two blondes almost didn't seem willing to answer. Then, finally, "…I think Abyssinian got the targets confused," he winced and pressed Omi's discarded sweatshirt to his wound, "he came at me a bit…hard."

"Do you think I'm crazy?"

The voice was soft, almost melancholic. "I think I'm crazy."

"You're not. I don't think you are."

"But what if I am?"

"Why'd you attack Youji?"

"I…I didn't—"

Aya stared intently at his companion. It'd been three days of silence since the botched mission. Ken had slept the entire time without waking. Youji's wound was healing, thankfully, though the blonde was still a little gruff towards Ken.

"I didn't know it was Youji."

"He called out to you."

"Everyone called out to me. A million voices," for a minute, he paused, "I thought Mastermind was around at first—that's usually what it feels like when I hear it."

"Hear what?"

The sitting redhead waved his hand around, "The voices calling. That's why I thought it wasn't Youji."

"What about Omi?"

Ken squinted. "What?"

"You didn't attack Omi."

"He was…small."

"Small?" Somehow, Aya didn't think the smallest Weiss would cling to the comment as much of a compliment.

Ken nodded, "He was too small. I…knew it was him."

"And me?"

Chocolate eyes brought themselves upwards hesitantly, "You weren't there."

"You were calm when I arrived."

"Omi said you were on your way."

"Is that why you stopped?"

Ken shrugged. "I don't really…remember." The young man rubbed at his head. "I kind of blacked out, if you want to put it that way. Just saw red everywhere."

"And all I ever see is red. Red everywhere. Just like your hair. In pools around my feet—on the walls…and on me. And that's all I can ever remember…"

"Do you think it was Mastermind?"

"What?" Ken looked startled.

"Do you think Mastermind gave you those dreams?"

The tanned man licked his lips and sighed, "Sad to say…but I think I'm insane all on my own," he pulled a tight smile, "What a great accomplishment."

Aya frowned. He was about to speak when a knock came to the door. Omi peaked his head through hesitantly a few moments later. He beamed at Ken once he saw he was out of bed and entered the room fully. "Dinner's ready."

"We'll be down in a bit."

Omi nodded, "Glad to see you're better, Ken-kun."

He was having a little bit of trouble focusing. His vision blurred a little whenever he caught sight of that damned bloody mop of Aya's hair, or when a few wisps of his own orangey mane came into view.

"And to celebrate!" Omi uncorked a bottle of wine, "Here's to the end of a mission!"

Youji clapped and cheered and Ken managed a weary grin. Aya stood, heading towards the cabinet, and pulled out four wine glasses. He placed one before each of them before sitting down again.

Omi poured each glass slowly, careful not to let any stray droplets fall elsewhere, and glared a bit when Youji downed his in a gulp. "Youji-kun!"

"Here's to…" the blonde raised his cup but was at a loss, "help me out, Youji—you're the wasteful drinker, not me."

"I'll take that as a compliment. Let's see…Here's to—being safe again. Together. Without trying to slice off your teammate's arm. Or shoulder. Or just flat out take out his heart and eat it."

That last bit was aimed at Ken and he knew it. Exhaling a pent up breath he nodded and went to raise his cup. A knock on the door distracted him for the second time that day and his glass—and its contents—skittered across the table, drenching him and the pristine white tablecloth in a dark broody red.

He stood and blinked hastily, eager to get the image of the marred tablecloth out of his mind. In his eyes, the seeping liquid reminded him too much of drying, congealed blood. It was of a similar color—deep, dark…almost life giving.

Aya watched with a sick sort of rapture as Ken's eyes lost their focus. They glazed slightly and he teetered on his feet just the slightest bit.

"Look who's here!" Omi smiled, "Sakura-chan thought she'd drop by."

Youji nodded his greeting, but Aya kept his eyes fixed on Ken. The brunette took in a deep breath and closed his eyes, bracing himself on the table as his world spun.

"Ken-kun!" Sakura squealed, apparently missing the pained look on the man's face, "You're drenched! And your hair! You dyed it!"

Pale pink lips drew apart and for a moment, Aya wondered if Ken was going to say something. Instead, he breathed in rather shakily and opened his eyes. "Sakura-chan," the smile he offered her was far from his usual, "It's…good…good to see you."

He looked about the table once more, gaze oddly fixated on the dark red of the spilled wine, and shook his head a little. "I have to go."

"Ken-kun?" That was Omi.

"We'll be back in a little bit." With that, Aya reached for the other's arm, in time to feel the man sag a bit against him, and made for the stairs.

"What do you feel when it happens?"

Ken wrung his hands. They were up at the roof. The brunette was sprawled against the roof siding, back against the cool plaster and Aya was a few feet away, sitting on the grail that covered the chimney when it wasn't in use. "Like I fainted, or something."

"So you're not conscious."

"No…it's not like that. Have you ever fainted? It's hard to describe to someone, I suppose. It happened tons of time to me—soccer players pass out on a regular basis," he chuckled, "It's kinda funny, actually."

"So what happens, then?"

"Well…one time I passed out on the soccer pitch. We had been running laps 'cause some ass decided to get on the coach's nerves, and we were on the 10th mile, when I got this sort of whoozy feeling. I kept on running, but my vision would blacken and I'd see these sort of spots and then my vision would blur just before coming back. But it's that sort of instinct—when you're running, you just keep on running…it's momentum, inertia, whatever that thing was called. So, it went on like that for a bit until the whole thing just blacked and I couldn't see anything, and couldn't hear anything so I was unconscious…but I still had this sort of vague feeling of what was going on. I knew that I had fainted—or something of the sort, and I could hear voices calling out, I just didn't know what they were saying. Everything was blurred. That's kinda how it feels whenever…I see red like that."

"But it never happened before?"

"The fainting on the field? Tons of times."

"No, I mean, the redness triggering it."

"No. I don't think it's the redness of something exactly," he quirked his brow, "else I'd go into a fit whenever I looked at you."

"Are you going to dye your hair again?"

"I thought I'd let it grow out. Make it a little bit longer, maybe."

"And your ear?"

Ken smiled, "Am I allowed to keep the earring?"

"You okay Ken-kun?"

"Yeah…my head aches a little. I'm fine."

Omi continued sweeping up around the shop, humming a little to himself. "Ne, Ken-kun?"

"Yeah?"

"You should really do something about your hair. It's getting…multi-colored."

The man chuckled and scratched at his head. His dark brown roots had begun coming through, so that the unnatural redness of his dyed hair contrasted with his natural hair color. "I'm waiting for it to grow out. I don't want to dye it brown just for the sake of color."

"It's getting pretty long, too."

"Yeah," Ken ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it a bit, "I didn't think I'd like it longer, but…it's a surprisingly comfortable thing."

Omi grinned, "How long you growing it? Long as Youji's?"

"A little less."

"And the earring?"

"Keeping it."

"I knew you'd keep it, even after all that whining."

"Well…it hurt enough to make me keep it as token of that damned night."

The blonde's smile wavered slightly, but he recovered soon enough, "You know. There's something different about you, Ken-kun. You're kinda the same, but not."

"Different good, or different bad?"

"Good. Different good."

"What's all this talk about difference?" Youji sauntered in, stretching indolently and letting his already short-cropped shirt rise even higher.

"Ken-kun. Doesn't he look different?"

Youji turned towards him, leaning until they were almost nose to nose and scrutinizing him curiously. "Tell me, Omi. Was your first indication—the red hair, the earring, or the amethyst eyes?"

"They're brown, Youji."

"Oh?"

The blonde turned back towards him. His forehead wrinkled and he shrugged absently, "I coulda sworn you had your contacts on."

They all looked up as the door to the Koneko jingled. They welcomed the girls with pleasant 'good-mornings' and were halfway through an order when one of them pointed at Ken and squealed happily. "He's got an earring!" They gushed on that fact for a bit before moving on, "And he's dyed his hair!"

Ken pulled at his ear with a nervous smile, tugging on the convenient earring there before busying himself with something else.

"No way! Is he…is he wearing Aya-kun's earring! Does this mean?"

The soccer player turned around uncertainly, not sure he wanted to hear the rest of that sentence, when his leader appeared at the door, red hair immaculately in place, earring hung from its usual spot. The girls seemed confused.

"Ne, Omi-kun," Mai-chan tugged at the boy's sleeve, "Why does Ken-kun have an earring on that's the same as Aya-kun's?"

The blonde smiled anxiously, "Ken-kun wanted to pierce his ear, but didn't have an earring…so Aya-kun did it for him and let him have the other earring he had."

"No way! Aya-kun knows how to pierce ears!"

"He did his own, actually."

"Really?"

Omi smiled.

"And why'd Ken dye his hair red?"

"Uh…"

"Was he trying to imitate Aya-kun?"

"Well…what it was…"

Youji threw his arm around Omi's shoulder and grinned, "Ken wanted to go all out. New dye-job, earrings, the whole she-bang. So he asked if we would help. Luckily, Aya had some dye left over from when he retouched his hair last week, so he let Ken have the rest of it."

"Aya-kun's hair is dyed?" the girls were quiet, almost…in disbelief.

Youji nodded, "Looks real, doesn't it?"

From where he was, Aya debated throttling Youji's neck. Nevertheless, there wasn't much point in getting flustered about it; he wasn't particular about what those girls thought about him anyway.

"I never knew you were so vain, Aya. Dyeing your hair to maintain this façade of an unattainable natural red hair color."

Aya bopped the tanner man standing beside him on the head. "At least I don't look like Mastermind with my attempts."

"Oh, touché, touché."

"So you're feeling better?" He regarded the shorter man with interest, making out with a subconscious sort of smile the brown roots that peeked out beneath the crimson of his dyed hair.

"I've got a bit of a headache, but I'm okay."

"So…it's your target, Aya-kun."

The redhead nodded. It had been a good two weeks since the mission at the Cave and they were finally hitting Yamoi, and, though they were all still a bit queasy about the whole thing, they had decided to continue on with their lower-key jobs until something bigger came around. They hadn't bothered telling Manx about Ken's outburst. They figured she and Persia would have found out themselves after they visited the crime scene. They were the head of the police force, anyway. They would've been called to the most extreme and gruesome of cases.

She hadn't questioned them about it when she came with their latest mission assignment anyway.

Ken was going, much to Aya's dismay. The two were, however, paired, so that eased the churning in his stomach the slightest. Still, it felt odd. The decoy mission might have been over, but Ken still had remnants of him floating about. It was visible in the way he sat, spoke…observed the places around him. Some of the girls at the Koneko had already mistaken him for Aya a few times.

"All right, Siberian, you cover Abyssinian on the right—Balinese and I will be by the east gate. It should be a quick in and out…if there's any trouble, just call out, we'll be there in about two or three minutes, determining who we may find on the way. The target has maybe ten bodyguards, the majority of which are in civilian garb, so be on guard for that."

Nodding, they entered the place. Omi's wiring was quick, and within minutes, they were bathed in a permeating, abundant darkness. "Abyssinian?" the voice was anxious—agitated.

"Here."

He felt the heat of the body that pressed close to him from behind, eager not to be separated in the blinding darkness. A few seconds later, the red emergency lights flicked on and the place was bathed in crimson. Turning, he could see Ken wince a bit. "He should have left the lights off. We're easier to spot like this."

There were other reasons, but at the moment, neither was willing to accept the possible detriment as existing.

Aya escalated the stairs to the main office easily, his footfalls near soundless as he quickly made his way upwards. Ken followed directly behind, shielding his eyes a little from the light by staring into the black of Aya's trench. It felt odd now, to move around in his jeans and sneakers and leather jacket. After having been trained in Aya's clothes—in the heavy coat with a myriad of what he thought were unnecessary buckles—it felt odd to be in his lightweight clothing. He missed the weight of the katana in his hand, much more of the reassuring presence of its sheath at his waist. Even now, as he flexed his hand open and closed, sheathing and unsheathing his bugnuks, the movement felt unnatural and forced.

Aya paused abruptly before him. Ken bumped into him, his nose and forehead meeting between the juncture of the man's shoulder blades. It was hard muscle and it hurt. Ken brought up his left hand and rubbed at his nose. "You're distracting me."

"What?"

"Stop with the noise."

The noise? He flexed his hand and relaxed a little, only to be met with Aya's glare. "That's what I mean." His eyes were staring incriminatingly at the bugnuks. Oh.

"Sorry."

Well, it wasn't his fault, really. He just wasn't used to them quite as much as he once was. He repeated the action in his left hand, comforting himself in the habit, and moved forward when Aya said nothing. Their communicators cackled to life. "Abyssinian, to the left of you there should be an alternate stairwell. It's one of the major escape routes and leads directly to the main offices. It's used by the chiefs when there's an invasion, attack, or something of the like. A quick exit for our target. Try to block it. If they catch wind of us before we can dispose of the target, then at least we can meet him halfway there."

"Roger." Aya's voice was a soft whisper.

Aya made a sharp left and continued walking, his footsteps near silent. They were so silent, in fact, that Ken had a hard time deciphering when he was walking from when he had stopped. So much so that, in the next second, he'd crashed into Aya's back. Again. "Sorry…Can't see."

He was aware that the redhead stiffened, but Aya said nothing in response.

"This must be it." Aya ran his hands across the expanse of steel that felt somehow different from the rest of the metallic wall grating. "Do we break it?"

Ken shrugged. He leaned against it experimentally, half expecting nothing to happen, and blinked a little in surprise when the wall gave way. "Creepy. It opens like in those movies where they guy who pushes it disappears to the other side."

He led the way this time around, thankful that the emergency lighting in that area was—for one reason or another—a bright metallic blue, and ascended the stairs a bit more quickly. Aya followed behind, studying his partner with a sort of detached interest, watching the way Ken would pause when he thought he'd heard a noise, only to spring up again the next moment.

Ken was like that. Persia had told him at one point that there were two types of murderers. The first, he'd said, were reckless and impulsive and tried to get to the kill quickly. In their haste, they often made mistakes and overlooked certain things. These were liable to face death since they were so risky. The second, he'd said, were the stealthy, calculating killers. These plotted and planned and made sure everything was at its optimum before attempting an assault. They were patient, knew when to retreat, and took in every minute detail. He'd asked him which one he was. At the time, he'd been sure of his answer.

Persia had proceeded to pull out a chart—or, dossier, really—each bearing a photograph of his future teammates and gone through them one by one. "Tsukiyono Omi. Type two. Kudou Youji, Type two. Fujimiya Aya—you said, Type two. Hidaka Ken, Type one." He'd looked at him then, "You look a little surprised."

He had continued regardless, "Every team needs a type one. They're the ones that drive the others. They're the impulse, the mania—the recklessness that leads to success. You weren't wrong in ascertaining that Type two was, for the most part, the most desirable type. Do you know how these guys had their types determined?"

He'd shaken his head no.

"I asked and they answered. Hidaka's got a fiery disposition. He had no qualms about his way of going about things. And I tell you this: Type ones are dangerous. They're reckless, they're impulsive, they don't think much. But they fight passionately. They disregard the circumstances at times, throw away logic, and fight for the sheer instinct of it. Type one is the teammate who stubbornly ignores rules and goes back to rescue his teammates because he knows that's what should be done. They make mistakes, sure, and sometimes they end up in masochistic situations because of it…but think about it. The type twos…they're the real murderers, I think. They plot. They plan. They analyze ways to bring about death. Type ones go with instinct—there's no remorse because they haven't planned much of anything. Everything and anything they do is determined by the moment. Type twos…they frighten me. Everything's forsaken to them. They're the real psychopaths."

"You hear that?"

The brunette's voice was soft, raspy—"Sounds like singing." His face pulled into a bit of a smile, "The damn bastard's singing."

"We must be close, then," Aya nudged at the small of Ken's back, urging him on. Omi was going to turn the emergency lights off completely in a few minutes.

They continued up the staircase, Ken springing up them a bit too noisily for his liking, but keeping for the most part quiet. They soon reached the end.

Ken's breathing was ragged. He wiped at his lips and frowned. "You think it opens the same way?"

The words fell somewhere on his neck, and Aya turned to the smaller man out of realization of the fact. His gaze was distant, not quite there and Ken studied him curiously because of it. "Where does this open to?"

Aya brought a finger to his lips and tapped at his communicator, " Bombay. The entry door leads where?"

"The target's office. Do you want us to send him down the escape route?"

"Negative," Ken shook his head at Aya's look, "the lane is too narrow. Abyssinian and I will end up falling down it if we're attacked."

Omi frowned, "The best I can do is cut the lights and have you head in at that moment. You'll be in the dark for the kill, though."

"Are there windows?"

"Negative."

"What about the emergency lights?"

"We can keep them on—your entry will be a surprise regardless; nevertheless, I don't like the idea."

"And Balinese?"

"Abyssinian?"

"Can he make a direct entry through the main door? It'll give us enough time to catch sight of the target. The emergency lights can flick off then. Balinese can either exit or join in."

"Roger that, Balinese, are you aware of the change in the mission plan?"

"Roger."

Omi nodded, "All right. Give me an approximation, Balinese. How far are you from the target?"

"I'm standing three feet to your right, you idiot."

"Fifteen minutes, then, given the need for silence."

If it hadn't been dark, Youji would have seen the look he sent him.

"Fifteen minutes, then." Ken relaxed a little against the metal siding of the escape route. Aya nodded and sat on the uppermost step trying to figure out his strategy for the break in.

"Why only one, then?"

"One?"

"Why only type one? Why not more?"

"One is enough. Type ones are…propense to certain characteristics. Certain outcomes. Given our field of work, we find that one Type one is…variable enough for the entire team."

"Propensity. Propensity to what?"

Persia had raised his brow, as if surprised by his lack of foresight, "Propensity to irrationality, propensity for ill-success, propensity for self-blame, propensity for—a myriad of things, actually. Type ones are vibrantly sensitive individuals."

"There's something else."

"Propensity to insanity, perhaps. We've been running these groups tests for a long while now. Type ones…tend to be more propense to crumble under the pressures of this type of lifestyle."

"So this guy's going to go crazy?"

Persia frowned, "I didn't say that he was. Propensity doesn't equal certainty Mr. Fujimiya. He's just as likely to survive as all the other of you are. Anyone on this team has some measure…of insanity to them already, wouldn't you say?"

He paused before continuing, a strange expression on his face. "Besides…anyone can go insane, given the right trigger, don't you think? The right motivation can do it all."

"Abyssinian, Siberian, thirty seconds."

They both stood, their breaths held with equal anticipation. "Go."

At Omi's indication, they both burst through the door. They had all but three seconds before the red lighting flickered off and all was bathed in darkness once more. They had both caught sight of Youji, standing at the entrance, wire skillfully drawn, but while Aya had been almost distracted by his presence, Ken had lunged forward, drawing his bugnuks and pushing them inwards into the warm, yielding mass of a body before him.

He heard a gurgle and felt the hot, sticky substance that slid through his fingers, mingling with his skin, working its way past his digits all the way towards his elbow, where the liquid began to cool and drip off the joint periodically. He frowned when he caught sight of the red liquid pooling at his feet, the emergency lights back on.

He turned around quickly, scanning his surroundings to find Youji entangled with a victim of his own and Aya trying to bypass a stab. He could make out, amongst his blurry vision, the shape of another man, inching towards the exit route, gun drawn and aimed at Aya. He approached stealthily, bugnuks clenched tight, and let out a growl that was so unlike his usual tone of voice, that it surprised even him as he tackled the man to the floor, gauging at his throat instead of at his gut. The blood boiled and bubbled freely, gushing from the jugular and spurting wildly everywhere. The man's head had been almost severed, the kill being one that would have been trademark of Aya's katana had it not been for the messy cut. Even then, glossy eyes focused on Ken, their expression one of absolute horror.

He looked into those eyes, almost in rapture, taking in the glaze, and the expression, and the hatred that lay there despite the fear, and couldn't help leaning forward for a better look. Had that been what Mastermind had meant when he had said that people's minds tasted like honey? Somehow, however wild the analogy and connection be, Ken had a feeling he understood what the redhead had been implying when he'd said what he had.

The world spun around him, bright and colorful, and ruby and copper-colored and flowing and tangy. He leaned forward even more, almost breathing in the metallic of the man's blood. He licked at his lips, lost in the red that reigned all around, and felt the laughter bubbling at his throat. The redness of his hair, falling in wisps about his face, seemed a perfect ending to the entire scenario.

And then far away, like a beacon, he heard it. Calling him. Out to him. He blinked a few times and his vision blackened, but the voice was persistent. He shook his head, pushing himself off the body and landed on his rear. Arms came about him, a pair at each of his shoulders, and he was picked up. He looked about himself, eyes sliding in and out of focus, before fixing his gaze on a pale, milky face, bathed in crimson, framed by an even brighter hued hair. Amethyst eyes bore into him, seeking him out—calling to him at the same time. And he lost himself in that look, smiling until he could see again.

"It was weird…a little scary." Youji turned to Omi and frowned, "He went completely insane. There's not real other way of saying it. He slashed the guy's throat—when has he ever done that? He usually goes for the chest, the heart, a quick death, or something a little less gory, bloody. This one was at the throat, to the jugular. The guy died of suffocation, and even then, it wasn't quick. And there he was, sitting on his chest, looking as though it were the most beautiful thing in the world. It wasn't…Ken."

"It was Siberian."

"No. It wasn't Siberian—it wasn't Abyssinian, it wasn't anyone."

Ken stirred in bed, feeling the softness of a coverlet that he knew wasn't his. The scent on the fabric was softer than his own, manly and spicy with an essence he had grown familiar with. "Aya."

The redhead turned towards the man in bed, leaning towards a lamp to flick on the light. "How are you feeling?"

"Great!" Ken kicked off the blankets and stretched, "Never better. I feel…energized," he turned and smiled, his eyes vibrant and energetic.

There was something wrong with that vibrancy—something wrong with that carefree attitude that so belied what had happened only hours ago. Ken hated the aftermath of the missions, the heavy and brooding afterglow. He would sulk in his room, sleeping, or would shower with a quiet frown on his face. He was never refreshed—certainly not excited—after offing a target.

"You're looking at me like that again."

"Like what again?"

"Like you were looking at me that time, on the roof."

Aya could feel the slightest bits of a burn around his ears. "I wasn't looking at you in any particular way."

"You were," there was a confident nod, "you were almost sad…as though…as though you felt sorry for me."

Ken straightened from his position and turned on his side, his hand coming to Aya's right knee. "You don't feel sorry for me, do you?" His tone was uncertain, his expression anxious.

Aya shook his head. He reached out tentatively, hesitating minutely before ruffling at the young man's tussled locks. "I'm not."

The hand at his knee tightened. "I think…Youji's afraid of me." I saw the way he looked at me.

"He isn't. He wouldn't be."

"Ne, Aya—what type are you?"

"Type?"

"You know…one or two?"

"Two."

"Oh," Ken looked away, "…I'm the only one it seems? It's kinda lonely."

"I think…that we all have both types within us—one just struggles harder, reaches deeper."

"Tell you a secret?"

"What?" Aya seemed confused

Ken smiled a little and rubbed at his ear, "Wanna know a secret?"

Aya said nothing, staring at the smooth, impeccable tan face before him. The brunette took it as a sign to continue. "When I was little…I always—kinda knew that I was crazy."

"What was that?"

"I always kinda knew—I would always look at things differently."

When Aya said nothing, simply continued looking at him with those soft, sad eyes of his, Ken sighed. "To me, death—injury. It was always inconsequential. Always there, never minded. Natural."

"That's not an odd sort of sentiment."

"…You'd say the same of torture and murder?"

"You sympathize with murder?"

The brunette shrugged. "Not that I sympathize exactly," he shifted his position and sat Indian style, "More like…I can understand the murderer. Why he'd want to do what he does."

"Is this always?"

"Always?"

"You never mentioned it before; nor did you express the sentiment."

"It's a latent thing. Maybe Omi remembers it. He's the only one who was around when I started Weiss."

"I know it sounds odd," Omi fidgeted, "but Ken…he was a bit reckless like that when he first joined. I guess it was because there were only two of us, and because we were both so young—but…it seemed he always went overboard—there was always some extreme. It was as though…he were trying to take out his revenge on some convenient scapegoat."

Youji regarded the smaller blonde, unconvinced. "I can't really fathom that; Ken's cheerful, bright—natural."

"I was under the impression that we were speaking of Siberian. Although…if we're on the topic of Ken…he was different, too. He was sulky, broody—always quiet. He was…tortured. Tortured in every which way."

"You remember it?"

Ken shrugged, "It's not a matter of remembering. It's always been there."

"It doesn't scare you?"

"Why should it? It's just as much a facet of my life as other things are. It's something I can suppress given the right motivation—the right time, the right place."

"You can suppress it?"

"I try. It's like…a habit that you try to get rid off. It works for a bit, then it comes back."

"But you know its there."

"Acceptance is the first step, isn't it? I know I'm crazy—or I know I'd be perceived as crazy by other people, rather."

"So—"

"So I hold it in. Let it fester and rot. Only sometimes it refuses to be kept in."

"And what brings it on?"

Ken shrugged and shifted toward the edge of the bed, his legs almost twined with Aya's, "…Lately? It's been the red." He paused and leaned forward, nudging his nose against the bright crimson of Aya's hair. His eyes fell closed as he breathed in the man's unique scent, his hand coming upwards to tug on his eartails. He smiled a bit, his cheek rubbing against that of the other man, "The red that's everywhere."

Aya blinked to himself uncertainly, not sure where exactly the younger man was going with his confession, and tried to relax against Ken. He could feel lips at the very juncture of his neck and jaw—soft and teasing and so unlike what he'd thought it would be like. The kisses were like butterflies, fluttering briefly against his skin, just barely there.

He tried to stifle the odd notion that he was kissing himself, finding it entirely difficult when all that was in his range of vision was crimson red and a twinkling earring that was so like his own and something he so associated with his person that it was difficult to think anything else. "Ken," he nudged a little with his palm, wanting to look into those chocolate eyes—wanting to see the difference between him and the man, the softness and tenderness that those eyes conveyed.

The boy moved away, gaze curious if a bit deterred, and ran his eyes over his face, lingering on an amethyst pair. Aya focused on them—on the commonness of their color that he so loved; it might've been trite, the notion that chocolate was ordinary…all the much more because Ken's eyes—however common they might be in the world—were filled with a vibrancy and color that were unique only to him.

The brunette opened his mouth, about to say something, when a loud knock broke through the silence of the room. It was Youji. "Omi and I are going out for a bit. We'll be back with takeout. Lo Mein or fried rice?"

"Lo Mein." Ken's voice was surprisingly steady.

"All right, we'll be back in a bit."

And then, without another word, he was gone.

Ken smiled a little and sat back. "Sounds good. Do you want to go out for a walk?"

The two walked amiably along, shoulders occasionally bumping, each in his own mind. Ken smiled a bit as he took sight of the ice cream vendor the two had bumped into a few days ago. "Want some ice cream?"

"Won't that spoil dinner?"

Ken shrugged a little, "Would you mind that much?"

"Two ice creams, please. Strawberry and chocolate."

Aya regarded the man walking beside him amusedly, "At least your eating habits have improved somewhat."

"Shut up." But the tone was good natured and he was smiling.

"Popcorn?" Youji grinned teasingly at the youth who, since the popcorn incident a few days back, had been avoiding the food and all things which reminded him of it. Including what Youji had said—about having seen him at that club.

He'd been surprised at the time, bright blue eyes widening, when he'd realized what it was that Youji had been implying and—in essence—confessing.

"What?"

"I saw you at the club, that day," Youji ran his free hand through his hair, naked torso reflecting the moody light from the tv set, "and I know you saw me."

Omi looked away. Yeah, he had seen. He'd seen Youji wrapped around another man as though there'd be no tomorrow. It hadn't bothered him that much. Heaven knew Youji had the right to like and go after whomever he liked. What—had—annoyed him had been his inability to figure it out sooner. It wasn't as though Youji had been deliberately trying to hide it. All those surreptitious touches at the Koneko, in the kitchen—they had all the more meaning now.

"Omi…I don't want you to think—"

"I don't really care, Youji. It's your decision."

He smiled to prove his point. "Who was that guy, anyway? He had you totally…in his hands."

Youji blushed a little. That man had been a little too much. After he'd caught sight of the Chibi and his friend his feelings had gotten a quick cooldown. As enticing as the tall raven-haired man had been, Youji had been too concerned over Omi's reaction to keep on. "Just someone I met."

"Do you like him?"

What kind of question was that?

"He's all right. Interesting enough."

"But you were going to sleep with him, weren't you? Regardless of whether he was 'interesting enough' or not?"

Youji frowned a little. It's wasn't as if what the Chibi was saying wasn't true. In fact, it was quite right—which was why he was so hesitant in replying. "It's okay, Youji-kun. I'm not that young."

"I don't know if we would've ended up sleeping together."

Not after you showed up, anyway.

"Why is that?"

…Although, I can't rightly tell you why.

The blonde shrugged, "A lot of things can happen. But…what were you doing there?"

The club wasn't an exclusively gay one, but it was one predominantly aimed at that kind of clientele. He wasn't sure why Omi would have been at that bar out of all the ones that were around, much more since it had an age-over requirement, and Omi was a minor for a few more years. "Who was your friend?"

"Motoki-kun. We have most of the same classes together."

"Why were you there?"

Omi seemed amused by the interrogation, "Probably for the same reason you were. Have a few drinks, have some fun, get laid. All or any of the above."

Youji found he couldn't quite reply to that.

"All this with Motoki, or with the guy as a bud?"

"If that's indirectly asking something that should better be asked directly, then I'm not replying."

Youji didn't know how to answer to that either

Omi smiled vaguely and took a swig from his pepsi cola. "I'm gay." Plain and simple. "I thought you would have figured it out by now. Or at least noticed."

"You…you can't be gay!"

Had that been a statement of denial or one of surprise?

Omi raised a fine brow, "Does that imply that I am physically incapable of being gay, or that there is an inability on your part to believe what I've said?"

"You can't."

Although…why couldn't he?

"I wouldn't lie about, Youji-kun."

"Are you sure?"

"Are you?"

All right. Fine. "Okay. So you're gay. How long?"

"How long what?"

"How long have you been frolicking around in that club?"

Omi shrugged a little. "It's not loose you know. I'm not you. I certainly don't sleep with every being who crosses my path. I haven't slept with anyone, actually. I…" the blonde looked away, blushing a little at the ears, "I've been wanting to wait for…something."

"Something? Don't you mean someone?"

He shrugged again, "Maybe." Bright blue eyes hesitantly blinked up at jade. "I really did think you had figured it out."

"It's hard to think of you as being anything but Omi."

The boy's lips fell into a bit of a tightened line. "Yeah. I've noticed that, too."

...it's been a long time since the last update...hope you enjoyed--now review!