Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Weiss Kreuz in any way.
Part: 2 of 2
Archiving: Please ask.
Once, along the way
by fiery frost
They tell me he's awake now. I feign a hangover, and they leave me alone. Somehow, somewhen, an Aya was created in my mind, one who smiled at me once in a long long time. That Aya smiles at me, even.
I miss him, miss dreaming of him waking and looking up at me with unshuttered eyes.
And the reality is so much worse. All the little things, like the precise angle he cocks his head, the way a little crease mars his forehead as he reads the morning paper – they all make me think of what I cannot have.
They all make me oh-so-aware of the solid-thereness of the real Aya, his presence a warm – distant – presence near me in the shop.
- - -
"Do you hate me?" A hurt Aya asked from behind Abyssinian's eyes when he had been awake three days and seen not hair nor hide of Balinese. His eyes were split and Yohji thought he was falling into twin violets – cold and hurt and -
He turned away, unable to answer in any way Aya would understand. The redheaded assassin said emotionlessly, "I'll partner with Ken, then."
He choked, too lost in a haze of emotion-confusion to refuse, and secretly glad that the sight of Aya descending from the manic thrill of battle would no longer haunt his dreams.
- - -
I dreamt of him that night, no longer the doll of death nor the creature of fantasy he used to be. He was a simple man, human even; strange coloring in a mosaic of people, of faces and the words 'Do you love me?' on his lips.
- - -
Strobe lights – flash of blue, read and green – and the glitter of outfits sequinned, besparkled and barely there. Smoke, and the smell of hard liquor that tries – and fails – to cover up the faint odor of sour vomit and stale urine in the back toilets. Yohji was at home here, slipping amongst the dancers with ease to claim a spot on the floor for himself. Then he started to dance. It started simply, a gradual loosening of his body as he relaxed into the music, absorbed its beat. Soon he had cleared an admiring circle around himself as he danced with his imaginary Aya.
And it was then, relaxed and at home in the anonymity of that club, that Yohji finally admitted it to himself.
He'd fallen in love with a comatose Aya over the past three days.
- - -
Later, when the night had begun to lighten into the first pale shades of gray, he stood at Aya's door and stared at the pattern tangled hair made on his face. The slackness of his face and the relaxed posture of his body looked just as they had in the hospital, the resemblance clutching his heart in mute hands of terror.
Then Aya sighs, and turns over, murmuring something incomprehensible under his breath, and Yohji breathes again.
- - -
He lost something, years ago. Misplaced it, forgotten what it is or where it used to be. Can't even remember what – only that he wanted it so badly.
He caught a glimpse of it in Asuka's face. Only she's gone now, and never coming back. And in his face too, it appears, that mysterious thing, like flashes of quicksilver and moonglow.
He will not lose his chance again.
A/N: This was something created over days, with each snippet encapsulating a different mindset of mine.
I'm deliberately leaving it open-ended. Yohji may, or may not end up with Aya. He doesn't know if it's love, or not, only that he wants it. It's not just lust, and that's what makes it difficult, I think.
I'd love to know what you thought of it.