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Come As You Are	By : animegher Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 6971 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Weiß Kreuz, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Disclaimer: All characters belong to Weiss Kruez and Koyasu and some names used belong to others, but we’ll call it a ‘homage’ for legal purposes. That’s right, we all LOVE Digimon.
"Yohji!"

"Asuka!"

He came ripping out a dream, a darkness that he couldn’t remember, but a cold sweat covering his body and his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Yohji felt a hot wetness on his cheeks, and realized he must have been crying. He couldn’t exactly remember which dream it had been this time; whether killing Neu or watching Asuka getting shot down like a dog all over again. It was usually those nightmares that left Yohji shaking on the bed in the aftermath, feeling the hurt all over again like it was the first time. He stared up at Aya who was leaning over him, his long purple hair forming a tunnel to center down to his lover’s face. Aya’s pale, tight-lipped expression was enough to let him know that Yohji had likely been yelling and thrashing around, caught up in his nightmare. He stared up at Aya; too choked up to say anything, too raw from remembering that it was his fault all over again. Even Yohji had his fair share of skeletons; unable to shake the guilt of Asuka’s death; but no one would know just from looking at him. Yohji was an actor down to his core-but Aya was the person he didn’t need to lie to, try to impress, or have to ask to know that the man loved him. Though Yohji ended up doing all three on a regular basis…

He reached up, grabbing the younger man with calloused, rough hands that had no right to touch another person. Yohji didn’t give a fuck to how many people he had killed in cold blood- because he was here right now, alive. Yohji pulled Aya down on top of him, clutching that pale, but warm and alive body tightly; trying to imprint the feeling of Aya’s flesh against his. He clenched his eyes closed, breathing heavily as he tried to calm down, struggled to just let that fucking dream go...and yet, found it impossible. He couldn’t escape from the only woman he had ever loved, but at least he had Aya to grab at like a dying man out at sea.

He had survived through it all.

Hadn’t he?

"It’s okay, you’re fine," Aya’s voice was shaky, but when those words were whispered against his ear in Aya’s familiar low voice, Yohji ended up believing him. It was strange to have Aya being the one to do the comforting this time, but the man was remarkably skilled. He ran hands down Yohji’s back, made shushing noises that didn’t sound as childish as they should be…even though Yohji could feel Aya trembling a bit against him. He hated himself even more for scaring Aya, felt his lover struggling to keep his breathing deep and even against him. That was enough to bring Yohji back to his senses; finally able to sit up a bit and return the embrace. He just couldn’t freak out on Aya, who depended on him to provide a little bit of stability in his life. He had to do better than this.

"I’m okay now," Yohji rasped out in a voice rough from sleep and too many cigarettes- hopefully not from screaming out in his nightmare. Aya’s face only hardened, clear doubt written across his face. It was hard to fool the redhead, who seemed to have an uncanny sixth sense for lies. Two muscular arms wrapped around him and held onto Yohji just as tightly, not with that usual desperate strength Aya got from his panic attacks, but a warm and safe. Aya could be surprisingly sensitive and compassionate at times, a heart just as lovely to match his face if you ever lucky enough to be allowed in. Yohji peeked over Aya’s shoulder to check the clock on the bedside table blinking back a red 3:15 in the darkness. Nice time to have a nightmare, with Aya now on a school schedule. Yohji would have slapped himself, if he weren’t already holding onto to Aya with a death grip.

Why did Aya even chose to stay with an idiot like himself? Yohji knew that Aya got jealous at times, angry and bitter that Yohji’s nightmares affected him so badly- that he cried out a dead woman’s name. Yohji hated it just as much, wishing that his subconscious would finally let these horrible fucking memories go, just like he had accepted in the waking life. When he was awake, Yohji was with Aya, and that was where he wanted to be. Dreams were just a disturbing land to roam around in for ex-assassins like them. Yohji couldn’t help whose name he screamed out; not that that he didn’t have nightmares of Aya being dragged off, kidnapped and lost forever in this huge city as well. There were a whole lot of bad guys out there, and Yohji had even more to worry about now with Aya going to college. Yohji couldn’t watch him, couldn’t protect him- even though Aya insisted and proved that he could handle himself fine every day. So many damn things to be worried about but if Yohji let them actually get to him along with the nightmares, he might as well lie down and die. It would be just about the same thing. They finally had a normal life, and not even the past was going to ruin it. Yohji was goddamn determined to see to that.

Still, it was hard to believe what a turnaround their lives had become. Yohji had never once guessed that Aya might have had the desire and actual means to attend college, but here they were. Normal, everyday life. Yohji didn’t want to give this up, didn’t want to go back to anything that would give him more nightmares. More goddamn skeletons in a closet that was already too fucking full from earlier things in his life, all that bad shit that had happened before he’d met Aya. Yohji would have preferred to forget all that shit instead of being haunted by it and just move on; as much as he was sure Aya would love to too. But, it was nights like this that kept on reminding them both of just what they had done and been through during their lives. Yohji couldn’t imagine that hell could be any worse than the suffering of simply being alive at times. His tattoo was an echo of that sentiment, a mark to carry weight of everything he had done.

"You’re lying," Aya finally breathed out in a shuddering gasp as he relaxed, obviously disturbed by Yohji’s nightmare. Aya didn’t even ask what it had been about; he likely already knew from what Yohji had been yelling out. He hated himself for it, not meaning to make Aya jealous; and yet at the same time Yohji smiled and warmed up on the inside with the confirmation that Aya cared that much. Oh, the purple-haired, cold-hearted bastard wouldn’t admit it, but Yohji knew the man wouldn’t be so pissed if he had been screaming out Aya’s name in his sleep. Aya wasn’t the type to let his own emotions get the best of him, that fucking irritating self-sacrificing martyr part of his personality never waning in the slightest. Aya still seemed worried over Yohji though, waiting for an explanation.

"It was just a dream. I already forgot it," Yohji went for the truth- whatever nightmare it had been was long gone from his mind. So was the thought of sleep as well, unfortunately. Yohji dreaded closing his eyes after whatever it had been crept up on him, even to so much as blink, but he wasn’t about to say that much. Aya’s expression didn’t change one bit, shaking his head in disbelief that Yohji was still trying to play things off. It was just his nature, grinning up at the man who only frowned and let his head rest back down on Yohji’s chest. Aya clearly saw the futility of trying to get Yohji to talk about his dream, both of them alike in that aspect. Aya knew very well that Yohji would suffer from insomnia at times, but he was usually asleep during the worst of it. The purple-haired man didn’t know just how bad it was, nor what Yohji would do between the dark hours of night and the final break of dawn. They loved each other, but some things just weren’t meant to be shared with any other person. Yohji didn’t want to add anything to what Aya already worried about. He should just go to school right now, do something that finally would make him happy. He shouldn’t have to deal with mistakes Yohji had made when he was younger.

"Are you going to be able to sleep?" Aya asked softly, concern in that deep voice that he didn’t show for anyone else but Yohji. Even Aya, their resident ice-cold bastard, could tell when someone needed a bit of human comfort. Aya had been through much of the same; understanding that all Yohji needed right now was for Aya to stay exactly where he was. He ran a hand through Aya’s grown-out hair, letting the strands slide between his fingers in his own sort of calming habit. Aya allowed him, not about to push Yohji back like usual after he had such a bad nightmare. Yohji was very particular of his human safety blanket, even if Aya didn’t think of himself as such. Hell, he knew Aya was having a good day when the guy threw around self-depreciating comments, because that was better than what Aya was really thinking on the inside. No matter how much he tried to get to the bottom of things, there was always another layer that he couldn’t reach. Ditto for him. Marriage was going to change this though, finally break down that last wall between them.

"Yeah, don’t worry about me. You have class tomorrow," Yohji returned, trying to sound like he could still joke when his heart really wanted to pound out of his chest. Aya could probably hear it going off like a drum, with his ear against Yohji’s collarbone. There was a heavy sigh that didn’t agree with Yohji’s argument, but nothing further was said as Aya squirmed and readjusted himself in bed, legs tangled between his- then, Aya promptly fell right back asleep against Yohji’s chest. He snorted at that, knowing that the man needed just as much sleep as he did, and was never really one to be interrupted in the middle of something. Even so, Aya was a warm, comfortable weight on top of him that wasn’t quite making it hard to breathe yet. It just felt like home.

"I love you," Yohji whispered to the senseless form lying on top of it, needing to say the words more for himself than Aya’s benefit. Asuka was dead, long gone, and Yohji would be damned if he let her memory rule the rest of his life. He was going to be making new ones with Aya, better times that didn’t involved blood and lying and drugs just to get through the day. Yohji didn’t want to wake up screaming every night…though he didn’t do it nearly so much as Aya tended to. His life was practically a cakewalk compared to Aya’s, despite it all- but once again, that was the past. Yohji’s personal opinion was to put a fucking lid on the past and put the box on the shelf. Why the hell did he have to think about some dead woman, even if she had been his first real love? Aya was alive right now, and needed Yohji a lot more than Asuka ever did. Every time he thought he had really forgotten it, memories came back to bite him in the ass.

Well, that was going to change along with a few other things, once he and Aya got married. Yohji was thinking they should try to move out of the apartment, not exactly to get away from Omi and Ken; but to finally be alone together, live together, be closer. Yohji still had enough sense in his love stricken state to laugh at himself. Just what would Nagisa think if she could see him now? Yohji had once had sex with her to stay in a clean apartment, and when it had finally gotten old…he’d walked. Gone was that fickle nature for romantic partners, never once had he considered settling down as a viable option for his sort of lifestyle. Trying to figure out how he could propose to Aya in the perfect fucking way why he was sweating bullets right now.

Anything less was entirely unacceptable.

And now he had dinner reservations for next Friday and was working on a classic quartet, as cheesy as it was. Still, he figured that it just might work on Aya, who was a complete sucker for Schubert and Mozart. Yohji hadn’t even known who they were before he’d met Aya. Life was so bizarre, with him a relative expert on the differences between classical composers just because he’d lived with Aya for so long. Of course, the purple-haired man had been introduced to hard rock in turn, though that didn’t go over as well. They were a big mess of contradictions, but Yohji wouldn’t have it any other way.

So, with that, he settled back down on the mattress and prepared himself for another long night of staring up at the ceiling. He wasn’t in the mood to draw or try smoking and drinking himself back into bed, just wanted to stay here and enjoy Aya for as long as he could.

* * *
"Ken-kun," Omi’s voice was the first thing he heard, and it reminded him of a bird chirping in the morning. He reached around with a fumbling hand to grab the pillow underneath his head and swing it around lamely to hit at the source. Ken missed; in fact, he didn’t even manage to complete the throw before he was slumped down sideways across the bed, his body demanding to rest a while longer. He just wasn’t ready to wake up right now, dead, bone-tired despite having done nothing extraordinary yesterday. Omi poked him in the side, forcing a large burp out that had obviously been waiting all night. There was a disgusted sigh from Omi, and then for one blessed moment, absolutely nothing. Ken moaned in contentment, burying his face deeper into the pillows-

Before an Omi-sized weight slammed down across his stomach, shoving out all his air AND forcing him completely awake. Ken coughed weakly and glared up at Omi as the brat smiled, sprawled over him in an graceless tangle of limbs and bed sheets. Ken grunted loudly and shoved, managing to get Omi off of him and sit up straight in bed. He scratched at his head, trying to gather enough of bearings to actually get pissed off. It was hard when his vision was blurry and his head felt heaver than the rest of his body.

"WHAT? I don’t have to work today," Ken grumbled, running a hand through hair that was tangled from sleep, digging sand our from his eyes. Omi stood up beside him, obviously pleased with his handiwork. He could have killed the little squirt, if he already dressed in khaki shorts and white tank top, ready for school no matter how casual he looked right now. Omi always managed to pull it off, even down to the oversized socks. Why did Omi have to end up dressing too cute to get angry with? This was definitely an unfair advantage! Ken, of course, was still in his pajamas- which was the same as his birthday suit, coincidentally.

"I’ll make breakfast," Omi offered, smiling warmly.

"Breakfast?" That had him up and into a pair of boxers faster than anything, already struggling into a pair of jeans from yesterday before he started to catch on to all that it implied. Ken came to realize that the room was still pretty dark and the house suspiciously quiet. It didn’t even sound like the city had woken up yet; the usual distant hum of engines that had long since become familiar absent. He didn’t even hear Aya and Yohji bickering. Ken froze with one leg in the pants, twisting his neck around to glare at Omi suspiciously.

"What time is it?" Ken finally asked, a little wary of the answer as he faced Omi- who was standing there with the biggest smile on his face; practically glowing from the fluorescent light above their heads. Just how early had Omi woken up in order to get all ready for school and torture Ken? The kid had probably already done his homework, went out for a run, and came back in time to get cleaned up and interrupt Ken in the middle of a very deep sleep. Sometimes he couldn’t understand where the energy came from. The little shit just couldn’t to go to class on his own some days, not that Ken appreciated a chance to see Omi in the morning before he left for the rest of the day.

"Six a.m.," Omi laughed before Ken moaned and tried not to sink to his knees in disappointment. Just what the hell was another human being doing awake at this time? Horrible, awful. Ken projected hateful thoughts at Omi for waking him up so early…which he took back the next instance, almost feeling bad for thinking about the younger man so. He just wished that the little snot didn’t see fit to rise before the sun. That wasn’t the way man was meant to conduct himself. Ken completely agreed with Yohji when the man said that one needed at least twelve hours of sleep to function properly. He was already feeling himself starting to shut down again; eyes starting to droop closed even while he was standing.

Omi smiled gently and got a small arm around Ken’s side and a shirt in his hands before Ken could start to fall to the floor like he wanted to. He didn’t even need the bed at this point, just wanted to go horizontal as soon as possible. Ken got a light hug for encouragement as Ken pulled a shirt on with a little bit of grumbling…or a whole lot of bitching; it just depended on how one looked at it. Omi waited for him to do be done smoothing out his shirt before putting and end to Ken’s complaining with a well-aimed kiss. Ken supposed that it was enough to forgive everything, forgetting just why he was mad as Omi grinned up at him at the end of it.

"Do you want an omelet?" Omi asked, his breath a light flutter on Ken’s cheek. He wouldn’t even have been able to resist if he tried. Omi was just irresistible, maybe a little bit older and taller-but still not even up to Ken’s nose- cuter than any girl could ever dream of. Hell, the one time they had gone undercover and Omi had ended up with a stewardess’ uniform, it had ended up looking too good. Omi’s face and too-nice attitude forgave a lot of the things the kid did. Like wake other people up. Had it been anyone else, Ken would have told them to fuck off and gone back to sleep, but how could he do that to Omi…especially after being offered cooking? No fucking way was he turning that down!

"I knew there was a reason why I loved you," Ken returned smartly, ignoring the swat to the back of his head that followed. All he had to do was move his hand down and squeeze one firm butt cheek to have Omi yelp and jump forward. From there, it was the usual morning chase as Omi set off for the kitchen with Ken not far behind. They must have woken Yohji up, because he was sure he heard the blonde cursing them as he ran past the blonde’s bedroom. Poor bastard was probably up this early because of his own college student, but Aya wasn’t nearly as likely to cook in the morning as Omi was.

* * *
Aya packed up his things slowly, underlining one last note that he thought would need particular attention later before finally folding his binder close. The rest of the class had already begun zipping up their backpacks and a few had even headed right out the door before the professor had even finished, only able to stay for the barest minimum required for the class. Aya just couldn’t understand his peers, not that he bothered speaking with them. He enjoyed the lecture, loved to listen to the conversations and debates that had been- though he didn’t dare participate. That would call unnecessary attention to himself; just when he was starting to get the hang of sitting there quietly in class. He hadn’t had another incident like his first day all week long…as long as Aya walked slowly and was careful in the hallways. It made him grit his teeth to have to wait in the doorways or halls while some impatient fuckers rushed around like accidents waiting to happen, but Aya preferred that to falling into hysterics in public. It was worth it to take his time and allow the rest of the students to clear out before finishing closing up his own bag and getting out of his seat.

He had discovered that keeping his gaze downward help to shield off a lot of some unwanted attention. Aya didn’t have to deal with any other people staring him up and down, or even worse: trying to talk to him. He had already fought off someone asking for his phone number with a glare alone, but he didn’t know how much longer that would last. He wasn’t blind to a few of the appreciative glances that were sent his way, but it had been so long since he actually felt complimented by it. Now, they were like open treats that caused a cold hardening usually starting in his stomach. His nerves weren’t what they used to be, but a few days of going to classes already seemed even easier to manage. Maybe if he stuck with this, Aya could really become independent again and let Yohji depend on him for once. Aya was so sick of Yohji always being the strong one, of the older man always acting so tough when he woke up screaming for Asuka. Yohji had his own nightmares, some worse than Aya’s, and he just wanted to be able to protect Yohji from them- without shaking and wanting to cry at the sight of his lover being upset. Aya sighed heavily, thinking ill will toward a dead woman in Yohji’s memory, and slowly stood up out of his seat.

Aya left through the backdoor of the classroom, pausing as he checked the traffic in hallway and found it to be reasonable. There was a clear space to walk along side the lockers and numbered doors, his shoes clicking loudly on the tiled floor in comparison to the mumbled conversations going on between other people. Aya shrugged off his sudden discomfort- and that odd sixth sense that was telling him he was being watched. He scratched it up to his own paranoia and managed to walk out of the building calmly despite every instinct telling him to start running.

It was still immensely relieving to get out in the sun and open air, sure that nothing bad could happen him when he could see the clouds passing above overhead between the top of skyscrapers surrounding the campus. It was broad fucking daylight! For once, the public around him was a reassurance that nothing bad would happen. There were just too many witnesses right now. Regardless of if they were all on cell phones or enjoy cigarettes outside the building, Aya let himself relax inside a crowd for once.

"Aya-kuuun," sang out a loud, happy voice. Aya stopped in his tracks, searching for whomever had yelled his name between with the other students milling around him. He caught Omi, somewhat jogging and dodging at the same time through the other students, doing a fair imitation of Ken playing soccer. Aya couldn’t miss that big smile even from a mile away. The boy caught up to his side, holding a plastic soda bottle and looking a little out of breath, but satisfied at catching Aya.

"Don’t you have class?" Aya asked curiously, slightly amused by the thought of the boy trying to cut. Omi was the picture of innocence- imagine the look on the teacher’s face if he ever found out his student had killed people before, mass murdered, in fact. Most people assumed that the kid was a girl from a distance; a pain that Aya shared with Omi. They didn’t have the face to go along with their profession, but those days were long over. Aya didn’t have to worry about keeping

"Not yet. I went to get lunch first," Omi told Aya delightedly, holding up the bottle of Pepsi in explanation. Aya shrugged, turning back in the direction he had been walking before while Omi followed along side. The boy hummed as they passed through the doors to the building Aya had his next class in. The boy barely avoided collision with a taller and older student by ducking under the man’s arm, a sudden burst of agility before he returned to Aya’s side sipping on the soda happily. He raised an eyebrow down at his smaller companion, who seemed to be completely unflustered by the throng of people.

"Didn’t you have breakfast?" Aya questioned as he walked through the hall; pretty sure he had seen the blonde cleaning up the made they had made of the kitchen after breakfast along with Ken this morning. Aya had a hard time understanding that. He stuck to his bowl of cereal and cup of coffee religiously, while Yohji just substituted solid food with a cigarette. Both he and Yohji couldn’t really stomach anything heavy in the morning, except when Yohji had a hangover. Even then, it would still be strange for the older blonde to be out of bed and awake

"Not all of us live of a mix of coffee and tea, Aya-kun! I’m a growing young man," Omi snapped back snottily, no longer a minor by a few months. That didn’t help Omi from looking a day over sixteen. His baby face and childish attitude only made matters worse. If it had been from anyone else, Aya probably would have slapped them into next week for taking that sort of tone with him. Yohji had a few scars from saying the wrong thing- repeatedly, in the older man’s case. But, Omi was clearly making it a joke with that sly glint in his eyes.

"Growing? Really? You?" Aya asked, peering over Omi’s much shorter head significantly. Yohji really was rubbing off on him, always teasing and sardonic. Though Aya couldn’t play for long before he found himself feeling bad. He knew very well how much words could hurt. He had been called many things, and still couldn’t get any it completely out of his head…Aya felt a strange draining sensation, as if his train of thought was being eagerly eaten up and something going beyond, deeper into his mind.

Aya’s knee buckled, and he would have fallen if not for throwing a hand out instinctively to catch himself on Omi’s shoulder. Omi stopped dead; staring at him like Aya had suddenly grown a second head. It felt like it as his vision blurred and his brain split in two, pain shooting all the way down his spine. He couldn’t move, couldn’t let go of Omi or risk collapsing completely in the middle of hallway; even though he was shuddering at the contact of someone else beyond Yohji. Omi asked him something and it felt like broken glass was being shoved into his ears, Aya’s awareness went blank.

There was no noise.

A plain white existence.

White light, white surrounding with no boundaries, the expanse going on further than just the physical sense.

It was everything, blankness before anything had been created.

There was nothing.

It took a moment, an eternity, to realize that he actually existed, a singular entity in the pale, washed-out vastness.

Who was he?

"Oh, shit, his nose is bleeding. That’s bad, isn’t it?" asked an unfamiliar voice, accented slightly. He couldn’t place it as he struggled to come back to himself, feeling nauseous and disorientated. There was no up or down, just a twisting of his whole equilibrium that refused to stop. Aya’s eyes fluttered open, feeling swollen and raw as the room tilted and kept on going. He moaned, closing them again as his fingers dug into a chair. He realized he must be sitting down, Aya’s limbs turned to jelly, too weak to even support his busted head on its neck. This was worse than any drug he had been forced to take, no euphoria to distract him from the torment of his body. Aya swallowed and found himself gagging on the motions, as sick as any hangover. He managed to stifle a moan by biting his swollen tongue.

"Aya-kun? Can you hear me?" Omi spoke very slowly and softly, his voice coming through a hum of other sounds that Aya couldn’t distinguish. He tried opening his eyes and found the second time to be slightly better than the first. Aya had been thrown into one of the old, threadbare stuffed chairs that were spaced out through one of the student lounges that were to the side of the hallway. Omi was hunched down on his heels in front of Aya, along with that jock from his Classic Literature class. Aya stared at the man, dumbfounded as he felt something drip out from his nose and down his chin. Aya lamely realized that he was the one that had been bleeding. He wasn’t sure what had happened, the sudden magic trick change from one place to the next dizzying.

Omi caught onto Aya’s confusion without needing to ask any questions.

"This is Daisuke-kun," Omi held out a hand to Aya’s classmate before he dug into his bag and fished out several unused napkins, of all things. Aya reached out with a badly shaking hand before he bit his lip and forced a semblance of stillness, taking the napkins and pressing them to his nose. He felt ashamed that Omi had been able to find out this man’s name while he had been unconscious when Aya hadn’t even been able to hold a conversation with his classmate. Aya couldn’t meet their eyes, just dabbed at the bleeding before pulling his hand back to see how bad it was. It was already stained red and Aya shoved it back in place to staunch the flow. He looked up nervously, embarrassed as all hell and still not quite in full control of his capacities.

"You fainted in the hallway," Omi explained the obvious unnecessarily. Aya glared at the information, sick as a dog with a head throbbing like it was trying to burst out from his skull. He hadn’t done this before, hadn’t blacked out and certainly had never gotten nosebleeds for no reason. Aya’s breath caught in his throat as he wondered if this could possibly be some new form of panic attacks. He didn’t want to be victim to this, the shakes already bad enough without complete blackouts. His eyes unfocused, the sheer terror of having yet another weakness to worry about stealing away what little awareness he had of the world.

"I saw you going down and there’s no fucking way in hell Omi would have been able to hold you up," Daisuke’s voice explained hollowly in his ear, missing Aya starting to hyperventilate. He shoved the napkins up even harder into his nose, trying to stop himself from flying apart. Aya didn’t want to faint again, didn’t want to seem any weaker in their eyes; yet found it an agreeable option compared to this living hell. He checked the other students sitting in the lounge, some staring at him and the scene Omi and Daisuke were making instead of reading open textbooks in front of them. Aya started trembling, wishing that he could just melt away into the chair instead of dealing with this.

"No, don’t touch him," Omi’s warning came a bit too late. A hand wrapped around Aya’s upper arm, big enough to crush the bone in the grip. Everyone else immediately faded as Aya reacted instinctively, ripping his arm away violently and pressing himself into the furthest corner of the chair away from the threat. There was the useless sting of tears in his eyes, a burning heat on his face, a panic clawing up his stomach and clamping down on his chest. Aya shuddered, hard, all the way down to his soul. What was happening to him? He hadn’t this much trouble controlling himself since those nights he had once spent giving his body to strangers for money.

"Aya-kun’s… He had-uh, he doesn’t like to be touched," Omi finally explained, his gaze shifting around guiltily as he bent down and picked up the bloody napkins Aya didn’t even know he had dropped. Daisuke was staring at him like Aya was the original sin, horrified with eyes wide at his reaction.

"What happened to you?" the sympathy was too much, that heavy concern making Aya glare at whoever offered it. He wasn’t weak, he wasn’t pitiful, and he was damn sure not going to accept any comfort from a complete stranger. He didn’t know the first thing about Aya’s life, what he had done; the true horror of the world. Aya stared down at his lap, away from them both as the dizziness and nausea fueled his bad temper. He started to snap out something vicious and found his throat dry, forcing Aya to cough before he could try speaking again.

He wished Yohji was here.

"I’m fine. I’m fine, get the hell out of my face," Aya growled out at last, trying to be as threatening as possible with bloody nose. He didn’t know if he sounded convincing to them or not, didn’t care and just glared harder. He would rather be alone to deal with this, glancing around furtively for a place to run to. Aya wished he could escape to the bathroom without becoming like even more of a spectacle. Omi and Daisuke shared a glance with each other, as if they both knew better than to actually listen to him.

"Thank you, Daisuke-kun, but I can take care of Aya-kun from here," Omi said gently, silently hinting that it might be in the other man’s best interests if he was to leave right now. Daisuke just stood up straight, staring down at Aya in pity. It killed him inside; to know that the man was looking down on him. Aya just wished that they would both leave him alone. He wanted to run to the bathroom and try to wash his face off. He certainly didn’t want to be sitting here in front of everyone with his nose bleeding all over the place.

"Are you sure you’re okay?" Daisuke asked again, despite’s Aya’s best attempt to glare pure murder at the man. Omi wasn’t spared either, Aya in no place to be toyed with right now. He hated them both at the moment, for being there to witness this breakdown. Aya had never started bleeding from his nose before. It just felt strange, a fear implanted in him. It felt like he was the prey, and Aya didn’t like that at all. It was everything he could do not to break down into tears right then. Life was a horrible, miserable agony for him.

"He’ll be fine. I’m really sorry about this, Daisuke-kun," Omi apologized politely, covering up for Aya’s wounded silence. He couldn’t even bother with talking to other people right now when he wasn’t even sure what was going on inside his head. It frightened Aya. He didn’t like this confusion, weakness laid out there for anyone to pick on. There hadn’t been anything to set it off. He had been doing fine, hadn’t he?! It had been a good day, and he hadn’t freaked out once since that guy had shoved him in the hall. It was so frustrating to make progress and only have it yanked out from under him.

Daisuke left reluctantly while Aya ripped apart the inside of his brain, trying to pinpoint just what could have started this attack. He shoved the napkin up under his nose harder, hoping that he could hold back any more blood and became an even worse spectacle. Omi sighed heavily like he was the one being put upon right now; wiping at his face before smiling to the slight crowd of onlookers they had gained. Aya wanted to die right then and there on the spot; several dozen pairs of strange eyes digging into him, staring at his collapse into the chair.

"Omi, I want… to go to the bathroom," Aya found it hard to control his voice, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of anger or the distant, biting sting of tears. He used his hand to cover his mouth; the lack of air helping to calm himself, if just for a moment. Aya would be damned if he started crying here, staggering up to stare down at the floor swimming underneath his feet. At least this way, he didn’t have to actually see anyone staring at him. Omi grabbed both their bags and offered an arm that Aya flinched away from. He almost regretted the movement, his balance a precarious thing right now, before he found his feet again.

"Okay, it’s right over here," Omi still managed to sound helpful and not condescending. Aya felt like a child, still messed up on which way was left and right, and could only follow Omi’s sneakers and oversized socks as the boy led the way through the crowd. Amazingly enough they managed to avoid being jostled or parted, but most people seemed to be veering wide around Aya with his bloody face. Omi managed to direct Aya into a small enclave and through a door. There was a counter on one side of the wall, several sinks and soap dispensers breaking the smooth symmetry. Aya glanced at the urinals then to the toilets in separate stalls, and suddenly couldn’t hold it back anymore.

Aya landed on his knees in front of a clean white bowel and promptly found breakfast making a second appearance. Aya was sick as a fucking dog, gagging as vomit stung up his raw and bleeding nostrils. He coughed, thinking the worst might be over; before recalling how those people had been staring at him in the chair, blank eyes observing him with a sick interest… He was so violently ill he couldn’t even sit up from the floor, just trying to work on breathing. By the time Aya was left with nothing but dry heaves and an empty ache in his stomach, Omi had several wet towels ready. Aya accepted them and staggered to the sink as the toilet flushed behind him.

Another student walked in, one not much older as Omi. Aya concentrated on turning on the hot water in the sink, staring down at the stainless steel bowl. Thankfully, the stranger headed into the first stall instead of the one Aya had been sick in. He waited for the boy to close the door before he spat into the sink and grabbed more towels to clean up his face. He truly was a mess now, pale and wide-eyed in the mirror with blood underneath his nose and spittle on his chin. Aya thought he might be sick again, but he didn’t have the strength or the fuel for it.

"Are you okay, Aya-kun?" Omi asked again after Aya had finally cleaned himself up and threw the last rough paper towel into the trash. Omi wouldn’t even want to hear the truth right now. He wasn’t okay, not by a long shot. Just what had happened in a matter of seconds to have him throwing up and getting bloody noses?

"Don’t you have class?" Aya snapped back, sure it sounded harsh but not really able to care right now. He would prefer to be alone for a moment to lick his wounds then deal with Omi’s pity. Those big blue eyes on grated on his nerves, sending Aya right up the wall. He didn’t need sympathy or to be comforted, just wanted to get home to Yohji as fast as possible. At least Omi knew better than to try arguing with him right now; all the members of Weiss having had their heads verbally bitten off by Aya at one point in time. The boy looked irritated, but was managing to keep it all on the inside. Aya actually grateful for it, even if he couldn’t show so now. He felt too much like his back was against a wall to think about anything else.

"That doesn’t really matter right now. Are-you-okay?" Omi spat out the question with a surprising amount of vehemence. Aya nodded just to shut the kid up, not about ready to deal with this. It felt like his chest was going to explode. Omi frowned and pursed his lips; but their argument was halted at that when the student emerged from the bathroom stall and moved forward to wash his hands. He seemed to be going to the sink right next to Aya first, but a glare along with a flash of teeth sent the kid scuttling down to the furthest end.

"Do you want to go home right now, or do you feel like class?" Aya could have strangled the boy for sounding like a concerned mother. He wanted to snarl out that he didn’t need Omi’s help and go running out the door, but that wouldn’t exactly help matters. He was trying to seem stable enough to attend a class, despite how he really felt. That had to be ignored for now, pushed down away where it wouldn’t bother him.

"I’ll meet you at the usual time. Just stop worrying about me," Aya made sure he didn’t sound irritated, though he felt like he was boiling over right now. Omi was one of his only friends, and was just trying to look out for him; no matter how much Aya hated it. Omi tisked and for a moment he looked like he was going to say more, but thankfully seemed to change his mind. He held out Aya’s bag and he took it with surprisingly steady hands.

"All right, I’ll see you after school, then," Omi didn’t sound very happy about it, but he slowly backed away and left the bathroom. Aya stared down at the moisture-spotted basin of the sink, waiting with his arms locked against the counter for the other man to leave as well. Eventually he did, after drying his hands for what seemed an eternity, finally giving Aya a bit of privacy. It was hard not to choke and start crying right then and there in the suffocating silence of the bathroom, except that wouldn’t do him any good. Aya again desperately wished that Yohji were there to say something, to assure him that it was okay. He didn’t want to depend on the man either, but what else could do right now? One day he would finally irritate Yohji enough for the blonde to leave, wouldn’t he? The list of things wrong with him couldn’t get any longer, or Aya was sure Yohji wouldn’t be able to stand him any more. It was a miracle alone that the man had stayed with him this long.

Aya threw both hands up against his face, miserably trying to decide between going to class, waiting until Omi got out inside his car, or just collapse on the floor right now.

* * *

Schuldig felt like he had been tricked. He had finally woken up early enough this morning to drive Nagi to school, parked the car, and promptly searched out Ran Fujimiya. It had been ridiculously easy to stroll up to the front desk and twist her thoughts around and she printed up Abyssinian’s schedule. All Schuldig had to do then was stand in the hall and shrug off the few passes made while he waited. He knew that he looked good, dyed his hair because it was better than the white his hair had stained after using telepathic powers for so long. Bradley’s was too, but the man chose to dye it the bland, original black; despite always pretending to not care what he looked like. Someone who didn’t care wouldn’t have gloves and an apron to protect his clothing from blood when they tortured someone for information. Nagi was still too young for the effects to show, but toward his twenties his hair would probably start to fade as well, just like Schuldig’s had, and Nagi could start picking out his favorite hair product brand. And, well, Farfarello didn’t even think like that. The albino barely able to keep the clothes they put on him for more than a day before he cut them carelessly in order to hurt himself, turning them into shreds like usual. Schuldig didn’t know if Farfarello even saw clothes or knew what they were for, at this point in the Irishman’s madness. Not that it really mattered to him, but Crawford demanded that he keep Farfarello clean and dressed. At least he had gotten today off of babysitting duty to hunt a certain Kätzchen.

The classroom door he’d been watching finally opened, and people began to file out in a rapid succession. Just a few at first, and then the rushed bulk of the rest of the class. Schuldig watched carefully, not seeing the redheaded Japanese among the crowd. He didn’t like it, glaring at the students impatiently as he waited around the corner of the hallway for his favorite prey to make his appearance. Even still, Abyssinian had almost managed to walk right past him, barely recognizable as the man he had once been. Before, Abyssinian’s beauty had been just as cold and deadly as the sharp blade he had waved around like the samurai this country had once had. Now, he looked like a damn woman; all pale and delicate as if he hadn’t been out for a proper kill in years. The long hair accentuated all those long limbs, softness of a civilian life crying out in every movement. Schuldig completely forgot to even dig into Ran’s mind, just caught with his jaw dropped in disgust. That mask, the hardness that Schuldig had worked hard on cultivating ever since he’d blown the boy’s family up, was gone without a trace. Ran was walking around like a fucking Weichei, not even looking up to see where he was going.

Schuldig followed slowly through the crowd, extending out with his mental senses. He had to actually look at Ran and concentrate to enter the man’s head, completely different from when Schuldig had last been in there. Abyssinian’s brain used to be like a steel locked box; impenetrable and solid unless one actually took the time to unscrew the hinges…then all hell broke loose, usually in a somewhat enjoyable manner when Schuldig had taken the time to watch. Now, those invincible shields were gone without a trace. Abyssinian’s mind was like a pond that had been frozen over. Just crack the surface and underneath was a whole world of dark, depressing hell to drown in. Schuldig wasn’t even sure what he should view first with so many dark bubbles of emotion floating up. Abyssinian was an open book, memories sliding past while Schuldig rejoiced in the feeling of being inside the man’s head. There was initial darkness, a protective layer to peel back before Schuldig got ‘inside.’ What he found as the last thing the German had expected to see; each thought beginning and ending with Balinese.

Schuldig found himself assaulted with overwhelming love, trust, and utter adoration for Balinese. Not just simple affection, but the sickening, gut-wrenching, all-enveloping kind of love. Schuldig didn’t have to struggle to remember the man’s name was Yohji, the oldest of Weiss; a tomcat, actually. The blonde had used a wire, but didn’t seem quite as attached to whatever good fight or high purpose Weiss viewed themselves being a part of. While it was hard to ignore the pleasure of breaking Fujimiya with just a few words when all the torture in the world couldn’t get Abyssinian to talk; Schuldig had always wanted to break that arrogant, ‘can’t really touch me’ attitude Balinese had walked around with. Too bad Crawford had always been calling them back before they could ever have any real fun. Schuldig regretted not fucking all of Weiss up real good when he had the chance. It was clear: Yohji fickte Abyssinian in den Arsch… They had a relationship, and for some reason it meant the world to Fujimiya. Ran loved Yohji when Schuldig had been sure the man was incapable of feelings. He had been pretty sure that any emotional growth had been stubbed short after that simple mission to kill a few civilians introduced him to Ran. Followed by a few years of sporadic psychological torture Schuldig had indulged in, Ran had turned into one fucked-up person that Schuldig prefer to keep intact.

Now, Ran held onto the thoughts of Balinese so dearly that his subconscious started fighting against Schuldig’s invasion. The man was instinctively remembering how it had defended itself from Schuldig when he had played around in the man’s head before. But, at that time Abyssinian’s will-power and self-control had been nothing short of amazing, always frustrating, and had even managed to fight back with his pure rage to fuel the man’s latent physic abilities. Almost everyone had the capacity for telepathy, but very few ever activated those abilities. Esset was likely the largest gathering of such people, and their team was the only made the breakdowns so much more delicious. Schuldig just had to press a little harder and the resistance was gone without a trace, like popping through wet paper. He had worked too hard to have Ran ill with happiness over Yohji Kudoh. The warmth, trust, love, affection was so overpowering that Schuldig couldn’t stand it any longer. It was sickening, so he went past the conscious mind and into certain things Ran was trying to forget. He knew his little Kätzchen had dark secrets tucked away underneath the surface, just as much a given as the violet color of those eyes. Schuldig wanted to see them wide with fear and anger, just like the good old days, instead of that dull, bovine glint in the man’s eyes now.

He reluctantly followed Abyssinian out of the building, having to wait even longer for the man to get to a good place before Schuldig completely assaulted his mind. He would want a little private moment with Ran first to confront this little business about going soft in Schuldig’s absence. He thought he had found love. Schuldig refused to let this go on a second later, frustrated enough to tear Ran apart mentally in public. He was about to try when the youngest Takatori came running up, distracting him as Ran’s awareness shifted toward the boy. Schuldig tisked; Nagi hadn’t said anything about the youngest Kätzchen playing around the college…not that it mattered much. Schuldig was still having a hard time trying to recover from the change that had taken place in Abyssinian. He was lost for a second before he regained his balance. He settled on shifting through Aya’s memories more carefully, the darker and hidden ones that would be much more enjoyable than the warm thoughts of Schuldig. He rolled his eyes at the man’s relationship, watching Ran and the Takatori carefully in case he needed to start following again.

Otherwise, Schuldig found himself free to dig through the man’s head for more details about the life Abyssinian had made for himself after giving up assassination. Just a single touch on one of those neurons and Schuldig was flooded with horrible scenes, once after another like bad porno. There was a darkness surrounding all of these thoughts, a heavy fog as Ran tried to repress the memories as much as possible. The only problem was they were still all connected to his senses, heavy trauma a tricky thing for any man to forget. Schuldig could have switched every memory on, would love to see the reaction the once ice-cold Abyssinian had to these experiences buried inside his head.

The pain was… delicious. So much self-loathing that Schuldig could taste it. He shuddered, devouring sweet agony that was hidden in Abyssinian’s memories. Everything and anything in the Tunte’s head was infected, memories of past paint and trauma ready to be triggered by sensory perception, sights, smells, noises all ready to go off. Gott, and the source of it was just so absurd that Schuldig wouldn’t have believed it unless he had ‘heard’ it from Abyssinian mind just like now. He had been a Bordsteinschwalbe; accepting money in exchange for his flesh, all for a little sister that he insisted on spoiling. It was all part of some masochistic guilt that the man refused to let go of, but it was damn hilarious. Schuldig had done the same when he was young and orphaned in an unforgiving city in Germany, before he accidentally killed a customer that had gotten too rough. Esset had snatched him up not soon after. Ran was very mistaken if he thought he was only one who had such a sordid past, but how much guilt the man felt over it was damn funny.

Schuldig tried to dig deeper into Ran’s memories of selling himself, but the man resisted with a heavy amount of denial and repression that had built up. Schuldig growled, pushing harder instinctively until he felt something pop…he backed off immediately, his awareness returning back to himself. He peeked around the corner to see Abyssinian slump down like a puppet with all its strings broken. Bombay tried to shore the man up for a moment, crying out and causing the mix of tattooed teenagers and studious adults to turn around and watch. Schuldig wondered for a moment if he should try to manipulate Bombay’s thoughts and go in right there to snatch Ran up. Then, he thought about the embarrassment and humiliation Abyssinian would go through; another event that Ran would tear himself up mentally for, even without Schuldig’s help. Screwing a man over completely was kind of like making a good soup. He had to let Ran boil for a while; let everything soak thoroughly until Abyssinian was really broken. That would be satisfactory payment for constantly fucking up their missions, for leading the only team that had actually given Schwarz a challenge, and for being so goddamn deliriously happy. Schuldig couldn’t stand the lingering feeling of contentment leftover from Ran, all because of Balinese. A Yohji Kudoh who had once been no better than a dog, humping anything that moved. Schuldig had found himself wanting to screw the half-American over too, because Weiss shouldn’t be allowed to fall in love with each other. This trusting bond wasn’t meant to be there, and Schuldig was pretty damn sure that Balinese didn’t return those feelings Ran held. The blonde was notorious for being a ridiculously easy lay that didn’t settle on anyone, and Schuldig knew that Ran would lap up the slightest bit of attention and hold it dearly. Even when the man that had murdered his parents showed up in his dream, Abyssinian had been flattered that the German had actually remembered who he was. He was so strangely insecure when he had such good features, something Schuldig couldn’t really understand.

He waited patiently, and sure enough the little Bombay was leading a staggering Abyssinian through the hall to the male’s bathroom. Schuldig smoothed back his hair, easing through the thinning crowd and closer to his target. He decided to hide out in the same study spot that Abyssinian had been set down into. Schuldig took a lucky guess on the only empty seat available and felt the distinctive body heat of a certain redheaded Japanese. He wasn’t about to forget that so soon, even though it had been years since he had last paid Ran a visit. The absence was only allowing him to savor this any more. His dear didn’t get to be happy, not with Balinese, of all people. Schuldig would see to this bit of absurdity quite soon, a patient person when it came to these sorts of things.

Sure enough, Schuldig was rewarded with Bombay trotting out of the bathroom alone. Schuldig rubbed at his nose, almost surprised himself with his good luck. He had been ready to wait for a chance, not expecting one to fall into his lap so easily…but, Weiss wasn’t expecting him. They seemed to think all bets had been called off; but Schuldig still had a scar in fucking side from a katana. He wasn’t a man to let such things go. He moved forward as the door opened again; for a moment Schuldig wondered where the hell he could jump to if it was Ran- and found it to be some plain-faced Japanese kid. He brushed around the little shit, irritated but short on the time to reprimand the man. Schuldig opened up his mind, moving past walls like air as he searched out other presences. It was as if God himself wanted Schuldig to have this opportunity right now.

He opened up the bathroom door and locked the one-way steel bolt with delight.

* * *

Aya heard someone else enter, but didn’t even look up to warn them with an intimidating glare. He couldn’t, beyond the anger or the fear; just finally hit a rock bottom numbness that might last him long enough to get to the car. His breathing was even, his heart rate slow, and he wasn’t bleeding anywhere. Aya was good to go. Now, if only he could get his goddamn stubborn feet moving, he’d be out the door and sitting in the locked interior of his Porsche listening to public radio to calm himself down. Funny how the sound of other people’s voices soothed him now, instead of pissing him off as it had before he met Yohji. The blonde hadn’t shut up since, and now silence could be a disturbing thing if Aya was left alone in it for too long.

His ears starting humming, like rain that was falling on the roof, even though it was the middle of summer. Aya’s throat suddenly constricted, a little bubble of panic rising up from his stomach. Instincts went off, telling him to turn around and look- before utter shock stole that reason away from him. It was Yohji, standing there with that same cocky smile in place despite the blonde being totally out of place. Aya’s eyes bulged, not sure if Yohji could really be there, but so damn relieved and happy that the older man was there. And at the same time, Yohji just couldn’t be here, had yet to discover anything about Tokyo University other than the girls attending classes that Yohji had picked up at one time. He was wearing a pair of loose cargo pants that Aya hadn’t seen before, and a black tank top despite Yohji’s personal preference for white for-

"Aya," the name shot through him, not his, but his sister’s. Aya-chan, who hadn’t called in over a year despite Aya leaving messages the first of each month. She was in England, likely married to her boyfriend that Aya utterly despised; probably already had the wedding and hadn’t invited Aya. What Aya could imagine happening between his little sister and that Sebastian such-and-such was so much worse than the actual truth. Why wouldn’t she just call him, just to let him know she wasn’t dead and healthy, happy? It wouldn’t hurt so much, then. Why was he even thinking of her now? Usually the grief he held for his sister waited until nighttime, when it could crawl up into his dreams. Something was wrong, so very wrong, and Aya couldn’t place his finger on it for the life of him.

"Omi called me and said you started bleeding?" Yohji’s question broke Aya out of his stunned stupor as he turned around, finally launching forward and just wrapping both arms around Yohji. School had put him on edge, the sudden faint wasn’t helping things; in the end he didn’t even care how Yohji had gotten here so quickly. It didn’t matter. Aya pressed his face up against Yohji’s neck, trying to hide away from this morning, pretend like it had never happened. He didn’t want to tell Yohji that he had gotten a nosebleed, but it seemed like Omi had already taken care of that for him. Aya couldn’t say anything, nothing at all, couldn’t find words for how he felt. He just tried to pull Yohji closer, wishing that they weren’t in public so Yohji could work his usual magic, do things with his body that Aya didn’t think were possible- until he forgot everything else. But, Aya was already feeling ill and weak after fainting and throwing up. His head hurt, really hurt- like he was having a migraine, his vision spotting at the corners.

Suddenly he wasn’t so much holding onto Yohji as being held up by the man, his legs no longer wanting to support him. Yohji wrapped one arm around his back to hold Aya up, reaching down…and grabbing one buttock. He gave it a squeeze for good measure, jolting Aya out of whatever new daze had fallen over him.

"What ar…" Aya couldn’t even finish his sentence, just shoved off hard and found his back hitting the tiled wall of the bathroom as they fell back from each other. He didn’t even realize that Yohji had turned him around, suddenly trapped. Aya stared at Yohji in abject horror; too slow to move away when Yohji came forward, shoving a knee between his thighs. Aya threw up his elbow to smash into the side of Yohji’s face, regardless of if they were lovers or not. This just wasn’t right. Yohji managed to catch his forearm with unnatural speed, smirking down at the futility of his actions. This wasn’t Yohji’s body language, this wasn-

Agony. It felt like a cheese grater was rubbing against his brain. There wasn’t a proper description for the sudden jolt of pain that ran through every nerve. Even his fingernails hurt. Aya’s mouth stretched open in a wordless cry, unable to find the wind to voice the scream of pain he felt building up in his stomach. Aya slumped down, but Yohji braced an arm against his chest and propped him up on the wall like he was nothing more than a doll. Aya was so damn confused, wondering why the headaches and flashbacks were starting to act up today when he been fine the whole week. This was Yohji leaning against him, invading his personal space instead of molding into it; not the gentle side of the man but the predatory, lusty playboy that hadn’t been around in months. The depravity of the situation just didn’t seem to want to root in his mind, something inside him insisting that in the end, Yohji wasn’t doing anything wrong. It was his own over-sensitive nerves and paranoia, like usual. Aya couldn’t keep control of himself for half a day before he was close to breaking down in the men’s restroom. Fucking…pathetic, his own goddamn weakness bleeding through the cracks, Why was there a need to get upset? He just had to close his eyes, and Yohji would take care of everything like usual; wouldn’t he?

"You’re bleeding again," Yohji placed a hand on the side of his face, a thumb wiping underneath his nose. "Why is that, Aya?" He held up his spotted hand, making Aya reach up and tentatively touch the spot in question himself. Again, there was blood, now right in front of Yohji. Aya cupped the bottom of his face, hoping desperately that he might be able to hide it from Yohji even now- as if that was fucking possible. His legs trembled- and as much as Aya hated it- he wouldn’t have been standing if not for Yohji’s support right now. Breathing was suddenly a hard thing to do, as if his lungs had become cased in iron. He stared forward at Yohji in horror, unable to come up with an answer. Just what was he supposed to do right now, and why was Yohji acting so strange? He was starting to get disturbed by Yohji’s cocky, self-assured smile right now… Maybe ‘disturbed’ wasn’t even the right word for it.

Aya felt like he was going fucking insane, lightning bolts racing along every neuron. He couldn’t even think straight, wondering if he had blacked out and lost time in the bathroom; explaining why Yohji had come so quickly. And if that was the case, why wasn’t he fainting right now, when it could have been a useful escape? Aya glanced around the bathroom, suddenly checking once again to make sure that there was no one else in there right now. Dizzy and embarrassed, Aya dared a quick look at Yohji’s face, only to see the older man smiling as he seemed to wait patiently for him to calm down. Aya tried a weak grin, though it was hidden underneath his hand. He could trust Yohji, couldn’t he? When had Yohji not been looking out for him, or trying to do what was best; even though Aya hated that overprotective aspect at times.

Yohji reached up, circling a hand around Aya’s wrist to draw it away from his face. He didn’t resist, stood there with little free will of his own at the moment; just simply overwhelmed. It was all starting to get to be too much. Aya just didn’t know what to do as Yohji kissed him, warm lips applied over his and a tongue pressing against his teeth. Aya moaned, letting Yohji in as the man’s tongue swirled up against the roof of his mouth. It was wild, disturbing in the bathroom with the door closed- but that could change in one horrible second. Someone could walk in right now, and that possibility became too much of a worry for Aya to ignore anymore. He tried to say Yohji’s name, but found that his lover wouldn’t allow him to pull back.

Suddenly, it was no longer so much a kiss as being muffled, Aya starting to choke against the painful clash of teeth and lips. Aya started trembling, shaken to the core; everything telling him to struggle, to fight this, but his eyes showing him that it was Yohji. Yohji had never been rough, had never insisted that they do more than a quick show of affection in public other than kiss or hold hands. And now…the older man was pulling the zipper of his pants with his other hand, deft as always as he dragged Aya’s underwear down along with the slacks to sag around his thighs. Cold air hit his ass, his now untucked shirt just enough to cover his genitals.

And that was it, his final straw. Aya didn’t give a fuck if it was Yohji or if it had been his own fucking mother- this was just not going to happen to him. Aya went to knee Yohji, but found his own pants tripping him up. Even so, it was enough to unbalance him and fall hard against Yohji. The older man hadn’t been expecting that, forced to take a step back to remaining standing. It was all Aya needed to launched forward again, this time with both legs. They went down together with Yohji underneath him, taking the worse of the landing. Aya was already struggling up off of Yohji before the blonde finished coughing in surprise, his tobacco-caked lungs preventing the man from doing anything other than hack for a moment. He scuttled across the dirty, mismatched grey and blue tiled floor on his knees, one hand gripping his zipper closed and trying to tug his pants up at the same time so he could stand up and run away with some dignity.

Unfortunately, he just wasn’t fast enough.

"Bastard," Yohji hissed before a fist connected with Aya’s temple, hard with all intent to kill him. He twisted, letting the fist swipe along the side of his head. Slimly deflected as it was, Aya’s skull bounced against the floor hard; dazing him with a stinging, ringing ear. A hand slammed down across his face, fingers digging into his eyes like he was trying to pop the sockets out whole. Aya cried out incoherently, not about to believe that this was his Yohji attack him. The older man would never- never do something like this. This had to be a dream, Aya waited for it to disappear into smoke while his fingernails raked at Yohji’s wrists in self-preservation. His struggles did little to dislodge the man, his eyeballs about to explode underneath the pressure; his brain feeling like it was catching fire. Aya’s shoes hit and scraped against the floor as he vainly struggled, which only seemed to encourage Yohji to add more force.

"I came here to comfort you, and you act like this," Yohji spat out, his voice stained with anger and disappointment. Aya choked and sobbed out a name, a plea; how else could he act when Yohji was trying to take advantage of him at school?! Figuring that his best option might to just play dead, Aya let his hands drop down to his sides and forced himself to go limp despite his aching head and burning eyes. Yohji had to back off when he saw such obvious submission, like a dog rolling onto its back. There was silence to meet his actions, Yohji freezing up but not backing off by so much as a millimeter.

"Maybe I should punish you," he hissed in a way that made Aya’s blood go cold. It wasn’t just the tone of Yohji’s voice that scared Aya; but, that those words were coming from Yohji. He just fucking wouldn’t do this normally. No fucking way, not his Yohji; the one who had comforted him and just held Aya after he had had yet another nightmare, who had always showed such infinite patience and utter adoration…was molesting him in the middle of a college bathroom. How could this possibly be reality? Aya couldn’t smell alcohol, would have known in a second if Yohji was drunk enough to behave like this.

"If you really loved me, you wouldn’t be fighting me."

Aya didn’t think that he could be hurt so deeply by words. Never once had he imagined that such a cold statement from Yohji could make his heart skip a beat, stop, and implode on itself. Yohji knew that Aya loved him. He didn’t have to say it- that was the beauty of their relationship. Why was Yohji suddenly turning the tables now? Aya did his best, really fucking tried to go along with Yohji on a lot of thing that he would have much rather refused to do all together. He had gone out to clubs, movies, concerts, bars, and cafes; all because he wanted to do something that Yohji would enjoy instead of keeping the blonde cooped up because of his own agoraphobia. Even so, the older man had understood that it was too much to ask for public affection on top of Aya already putting himself in a definitely uncomfortable situation. He didn’t need any added embarrassment.

"You ready to try again? I just came here to make you feel better, and you’re not going to argue anymore." Yohji made things simple enough. Aya clamped his mouth shut and made useless fists that trembled and shook against his hips. Yohji finally let go of his face, allow Aya to lie there, shuddering, blinking his teary gaze back into focus. The person looming over him was still Yohji, the face that had once looked at him so fondly now darkened into something different. It was like he was nothing more than an insect being examined. This was a nightmare. Plain and fucking simple. How else could this be happening? Why wasn’t he waking up yet?

The hand that slid underneath the hem of his shirt was very, very real. Aya clenched his eyes shut, his teeth, his knees pressed hard to each other. He did love Yohji, but was that enough to let him stay there on the floor and simply accept this sort of treatment? Someone was going to walk in; Aya knew that Yohji wasn’t the type to think so far ahead as to lock a door behind him. That fear was enough to keep Aya still even though Yohji had given him enough room to struggle again; hoping in a sick and desperate way that it might help Yohji be done faster. The sooner this was over, the quicker Aya could get up and pull his pants back into place.

He didn’t want to be naked, not here.

"Yohji, I’m sorry," Aya tried, knowing that his voice sounded hysteric but not able to come up with anything else to stop this. Maybe Yohji would just forgive him for whatever he had done wrong, get up, and leave. Aya had never wanted Yohji to get away from him more than now.

"Sorry isn’t going to cut it, babe. Why are you always fighting me?" Aya found it hard not to start outright crying at those harsh words. He wasn’t always fighting Yohji-well, it wasn’t him that made Aya so anger as much as his own weakness. This was his fault in the end, for not being strong enough to keep his own demons at bay and accidentally taking Yohji as one of them… It was his own mistakes, his own fault. He understood this now. Yohji didn’t need to punish him.

"I’ll be good," Aya agreed without thinking, sounding like an idiot, but unable to come up with anything else. Yohji scoffed at that, one knee jammed down between his legs, on top of his pulled-down pants to effectively trap Aya’s legs. Panic. No matter what Aya said, he couldn’t control the instinctive reaction to being pinned underneath another person. He struck out with the side of his fist, swinging blindly until Yohji caught the wrist and slammed it down to the ground. Aya still had another hand free, and reached up to put a thumb in Yohji’s eye. Unfortunately, Yohji had one more hand as well; except he grabbed Aya by the balls, literally, and started twisting like he was trying to pop it off. Aya cried out at that, grabbing Yohji’s forearm and trying to push him off. The grip only tightened until Aya’s vision spotted and his body froze up in self-preservation.

"If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you didn’t love me," Yohji actually sounded hurt, hurt, like Aya’s refusal meant something deeper. They were in the goddamn bathroom! Couples didn’t screw on the floor, Aya’s skin crawling at the thought of what could be underneath his skin right now. The imagined filth still wasn’t as bad as Yohji’s grin when Aya stared up at him, hoping there was something more. Yohji…wasn’t like this. Or at least, he hadn’t acted like this with Aya. Ken had always told such wild tales about catching Yohji in the middle of worse things than pulling down Aya’s pants in a public restroom, but Aya’s hadn’t believed them before. Even though he had seen some of the girls and the occasional guy Yohji was dropped of by or let out of his bedroom in the morning; even though he had seen Yohji come home with bruises before from what he assumed were bar fights…because Aya had never bothered to know better, back then. But, Yohji just wouldn’t do a one-eighty on him on become his worst nightmare, slowly loosening his hold around Aya’s penis.

"See, you like this," Yohji insisted, handling a hardening shaft that Aya wished would just go away, had never come into existence when Yohji was doing this. He had long since gotten over his body betraying him. It was a machine in the end; applying stimulus here and there equals reaction. Aya had never wanted to get used to some things, but after a while of selling of his body, he had found out that pain went along with sex, hand in hand. There was no escape from the agony, the same sort of hurt as a bullet wound or taking the brunt of an explosion in your back as they escaped from a building…Aya wished it had never become a turn on for him. His hand flopped down to the ground out of Yohji’s grasp, loose on the cold floor underneath his fingers. He stared up at the white ceiling, yellowed by stains and water damage. Just when had the University allowed the roof to go this far? When had Aya needed a reason to study it?

Yohji chuckled as Aya surrendered, closing his eyes and wanting it to be over. A warm tongue lapped up tears leaking out, yet another sign of how weak he was. Aya just couldn’t do anything else, not when it was Yohji. Not when it was at school. Wasn’t this supposed to be a place where he could finally gain back his confidence, like before? Why was Yohji shattering Aya’s stupid dream of this place being safe? Of Yohji being safe…It was his own damn fault for making Yohji so important, always depending on the man without thinking of the consequences. Of course the older man would eventually get fed up with Aya not being able to step out of the house without fainting.

Yohji’s hand snuck up Aya’s length, deceptive gentle, before a thumb dug into the sensitive piss-hole at the top. His thighs jumped spasmodically, toes curling up in his shoes, while Yohji jerked him off. Aya dugs his nails into in the floor, finding purchase on the grout between the tiles. He bit down on his lower lip, ignoring it when Yohji started to kiss him on the mouth. A tongue tried to coax him to open, and they shared a mouthful of blood when Aya finally bit through his lip. That only seemed to excite Yohji more, kissing him hard enough to grind Aya’s head against the ground. He used his fingers to tickle the sensitive area behind his balls, making Aya choke on his own desire to not start moaning- to not accept this as pleasure. Yohji used the momentary chance to shove his tongue into Aya’s mouth and ravish in a way that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with domination. More tears leaked down the side of this face.

Whatever was going in Yohji’s head right now certainly didn’t concern Aya, his opinion, his worth as a person. His hand started moving faster, making Aya’s hips start to twitch and arch up despite everything. Aya was not starting to pant right now; he was able to ignore the fire starting to spread up from his groin, knew that someone could walk in at any second and catch them. All they would see was Aya loosing himself, horny enough to let someone give him a hand-job in the men’s bathroom. He twisted, vainly trying to move out from underneath Yohji’s hands and mouth. It was just impossible, and even though Aya was being suffocated by Yohji’s body pressed over his, he’d never felt further away from the man than he did now. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be, ever. It just wasn’t right.

His back arched up, his knees went numb, and Yohji made him ejaculate with a sob, no names or endearments shared between them. He stood up after that, allowing Aya to curl around a wet, sticky stomach and try to find some scrap of pride to hang onto. Yohji tapped out a cigarette from a pack that even he usually held until outside a building, as if he might have just finished up with a business meeting or the like. Aya could only stare, trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened, while the blonde as he used a match to light up. He wasn’t using his lighter. Aya registered that strange fact in the middle of this nightmare, but still couldn’t even move. That was beyond him now, in this dead numbness that wasn’t spreading fast enough.

"Is that… it?" Aya asked slowly, almost afraid to bring attention to himself. Yohji stared down at him in a sort of mild surprise, as if Aya should be able to read minds and know exactly what was going on. He took a drag off his cigarette, blowing a large smoke ring that spread out in the air like a big fat mushroom cloud. The silence killed him inside, figuring Yohji was now deciding what to do next.

"Of course. What else did you think I was gonna do? Now clean yourself up, Aya, you’re a fucking mess," Yohji announced finally, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette absently. Aya felt like he was melting into the floor, trying to disappear, make it possible with all his might. Like he could just will his life to end on the spot. Yohji stepped forward, and Aya found it hard not to flinch back from the man as he came closer. The blonde reached down and grabbed Aya by an arm to haul him up. Aya pulled his slacks into place as he stood up on shaky legs, a horrible dryness in his mouth until Yohji finally let him go. Aya took a quick step back, keeping his eyes on Yohji. It was like being stuck inside a cage with a hungry tiger. The older man was watching him, still waiting for another chance to pounce. Just because he said that he was done didn’t mean that this was over. Yohji could try something again without any warning, as he had done only seconds ago. He couldn’t manage to meet Yohji’s gaze, but Aya kept his eyes on the burning end of the cigarette, glowing bright red before cooling down into orange again as the man took another deep inhalation. He got his feet to actually move, but they just wouldn’t lift all the way off the floor…so, Aya shuffled slowly back into a stall. He stood there, dumb and dead inside, feeling Yohji’s eyes on his back and unable to move out from under them. It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch, forced to stand there and take it as long as the man was in the room.

With a shaky hand, he pulled out a length of toilet paper and begun to wipe at the cum on his stomach. He didn’t have tears, didn’t even have words for Yohji. Nothing like that except a calmness that was almost frightening. Aya appreciated it nonetheless, his emotions behind a wall that he didn’t want to break down yet. Aya could deal with this later, when he was back at home and didn’t have to worry about the general public being let in on his personal life. He finally tossed the used tissue into the toilet and flushed it, watching the water swirling down the drain dispassionately, wishing that it didn’t suddenly remind him of his own life.

"Damn it, Aya, you’re no fun," Yohji finally cursed, stubbing out his barely half-finished cigarette out on the wall behind him. Aya froze up, knuckles going white as he made fists that he didn’t have any use for. There was no point in arguing with Yohji, because when had the blonde done anything really wrong? This was his fault, in the end, for not understanding Yohji’s motives, for freaking out, for being so goddamn weak. Dull and running automatically, Aya tucked his shirt back into his pants, pulled up the zipper, and tightened the belt up two holes more than usual. He pulled the extra through the belt loops, trying to make it as tough as possible for Yohji if he was to turn around and attack again. Not that his sanity would allow that. Thank God Yohji wasn’t touching him or Aya would have just struck out blindly and try to kill the man. Even though Yohji had just been trying to make Aya feel better, it had done exactly the opposite. If anything, Aya felt even more raw and vulnerable than before.

With a tisk followed by spitting into the corner, Yohji left without another word. He walked to the door, the distinct sound of the lock being pulled back before the door opened and closed. So, Aya’s fear that someone would walk in had been complete unfounded. Aya stared at his own expression, a pretty little doll face reflected in the mirror in the oppressive silence of Yohji’s disappointment.

He ran some water and splashed it on a tear-streaked face, dried it off with rough paper towels, and tried combing his hair into some sort of order. It didn’t help. Aya still looked like hell. He just wanted to go home- but then it might be him and Yohji alone in the house again. Aya would not put himself in that sort of situation any time soon. No. fucking. Way.

Aya slapped his hands to his face, determined not to cry. That wouldn’t get him out of the bathroom any faster. He could just wait for Omi to get out of class in the Porsche; that would be fine. Aya picked up his bag. He put it over his shoulder, dug out his car keys, and left the restroom. Small steps over the floor, around the corner, out the door. Didn’t once look out for other people, just made it through the hallways and buildings to the parking lot with his head bowed down the whole time. He had to raise his face once to find his car on the first floor of the parking structure; making sure to check that he didn’t see Yohji or Seven anywhere before rushing to his car. Put the key in the door, twisted and opened it before just as quickly slamming it shut behind him and locking the doors.

It was then, inside the insulated and tinted windows, that Aya allowed himself to start sobbing his heart out like he wanted to.

* * *
"Kitten in the House," Ken answered the phone lazily, slapping Yohji on the back of the head at the same time. The blonde mouthed a curse and flipped him off; grumbling and scratching at his hair as he turned around to deal with the customer at the register. It was probably the first thing Yohji had done his whole shift beyond moan Aya’s name over and over.

"Yes, I’m looking for Takatori Mamoru," an elderly male voice one the other end made it a question.

Ken slammed the phone back down on the set, staring at his hand. His blood turned cold, freezing up in his veins as he registered what had happened. Just who was that, who knew Omi’s real name, where he fucking lived? Ken’s stomach clenched, horrible possibilities coming to mind that he had to ignore for the moment. Why would somebody be calling for Omi? If they were using ‘Takatori,’ it must be some bastards from Kritiker or Esset. Ken trusted both group equally, which meant he could be sure that something bad was going to happen. Ken picked up the phone again, dialing Omi’s cell fast enough to break his finger. It began to start ringing, Ken twisting his hand up in the cord as he waited impatiently for Omi to answer. Omi would answer.

Both Yohji and a young high school girl stared at Ken as had to stand there in silence, listening to the ring. Yohji had an eyebrow raised, obviously waiting for an explanation but starting to piece things together himself. Yohji was smart like that, and could recognize trouble coming a mile away. Ken had hung up on pure instinct upon hearing the name Takatori, not wanting those bastards to have a single thing to do with Omi’s life.

"Hello?" Omi finally picked up, sounding cheerful and most importantly-alive. Ken let out a sigh of relief, glad that nothing had happened to his love. Phone calls about the bloodthirsty, psychotic band of Takatori brothers they had all put down like dogs did not bode well for anyone’s well-being. Especially Omi’s. Ken wanted the blonde’s cute little ass back home pronto, so he could have Omi in sight, lock every door, and protect him from anything that might be out to get him.

"Omi," Ken finally answered, realizing that he might want to try saying something too. Yohji’s pursed his lips at that, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he handed back the change for the girl’s purchase without even looking. The blonde rolled his hand in an obvious sign to continue, crossing one leg over the other as he turned his full attention onto watching Ken’s side of this conversation.

"Ken-kun! Is something wrong?" Omi asked, starting to sound concerned. That wasn’t what Ken had intended, shaking his head at Yohji before flipping his backside around. He held the phone up closer to his mouth and cupped a hand around it, even if it was still impossible to not be heard by the irritating asshole behind him.

"No, no, I just uh, wanted to call you, that’s all," Ken lied, not wanting to worrying Omi about this. "Are you coming home soon?" He asked, for lack of any other to call Omi. Yohji barked out a short laugh, but Ken forced himself to stay still and concentrate on talking to Omi. He was a lot more important that kicking the shit out of that bastard Yohji.

"I just got out of class, so once I find Aya we’ll be back soon," Omi answered. Ken scratched at the side of his face, silently calculating. If Omi had Aya with him if he was attacked, he could trust the purple-haired man to raise enough hell to either get away or at least make witnesses. Omi would probably try to talk things out when the typical bad guys in black suits came up with guns drawn.

"Okay, then, I’ll see you in a bit," Ken said his goodbye before hanging up the phone. Omi was safe. He could relax now, fall out of protective mode and back into ‘flower shop guy;’ a man just as gay as his job. They really should rename the place, their codenames no longer in use except after too much to drink or as an insult. It was only causing trouble, and was probably why this new threat had called the store in the first place. If you were looking for four operatives named after cats and knew their front, it would only take a small jump of common sense to figure things out. ‘Kitten in the House.’ Really. Just who the fuck had thought of it in the first place?

"So, you gonna tell me what that was all about?" Yohji demanded, tapping a finger on his arm impatiently. Ken shrugged. Some things were better kept to himself, and Yohji would probably end up telling Omi if he knew what Ken did. When people mentioned Takatori, bad things usually happened. Now that he knew Omi was on his was home, Ken was more afraid that Aya would be reminded of their roommate’s lineage. When it came to Takatoris, Aya had a hard time seeing a difference between family member and friend. No need to poke the lion when it was sleeping so nicely.

"Nothing," Ken replied with a shrug, even though Yohji did his best I-hang-around-Aya-too-much death glare. Yohji would probably tell Aya in a second that people were calling their place for Mamoru Takatori. And Aya would then attack Omi. The future chain of events was clear for anyone to see, so Ken kept his mouth shut despite Yohji’s raised eyebrow and doubting silence. Omi wasn’t going to have to worry about this problem, not when school was just starting.

"Since when is having a mild heart attack nothing? You look like you just shit a solid gold brick," Yohji returned, shaking his head. It was times like these that Ken wished Yohji wasn’t so damn insightful. He just shrugged and turned away, because to do anything else would have Yohji on to him faster than ever. Ken couldn’t hide his expressions, unlike Aya with his emotionless mask, or Yohji with his smirking attitude. Omi was the only one of them that was honestly happy, and Ken was going to see that it stayed that way. No bastard was going to ruin Mamoru Takatori’s life, no matter which name they chose. Ken would protect Omi without fail, phone calls or worse.

* * *
Omi frowned at the tree that Aya usually leaned against while he waited for Omi to show up. There was a couple sitting on the grass underneath the shade right now, but not a single sign of Aya. He kind of figured that this would happened, wondering if he should try calling Aya on his cell phone just to make sure the man was okay. Then, in a sudden jolt of realization, Omi figured one more place he should check before trying to call Aya. He went off toward the parking lot, humming as he walked on the sidewalk. He had some homework assigned, and there was going to be a project in his computer class soon. Maybe he could get Nagi to work with him on it. The Schwarz member just seemed so lonely and sad despite the expressionless face and monotone voice. Nagi was a lot like the older Aya in that way.

Sure enough, the Porsche was still parked in the spot Aya had pulled into this morning. Omi suspected that Aya wouldn’t have been able to go to his class after fainting in the hallway; but the purple-haired man had been so insistent that he was fine. Omi figured that he might as well leave Aya alone so he could collect himself, perhaps call Yohji or something. Still, he didn’t have to force himself- Aya could have said something to him.

Omi walked up along the side of the car, peeking in the passenger side window. Sure enough, there was Aya inside, hunched over the steering wheel like he was trying to take a nap in the most impossible position. Aya had let his hair out of the usual ponytail, so Omi just assumed the man was trying to sleep…nosebleeds would probably tire one out. Omi knocked on the glass to alert Aya that he was there, but the man started and jumped back hard in his seat, making the body of the car rock on its tires. Aya’s head whipped around to see Omi, surprise written all over his face. Just because he had fainted didn’t mean Aya would start panicking. Aya looked like he had just seen his mother killed in the most gruesome of ways…all over again, Omi corrected himself darkly.

It took a moment, as if he had to consider if he really wanted to or not, but Aya hit the button to unlock the door. Omi opened it up, about to ask just what was wrong when a blast of hot air hit him. Aya had the heater on, full blast, in the middle of a heat wave. How could he possibly be cold?! Something was definitely wrong, even more than Aya getting that nosebleed earlier. It was a good thing they were already at the car, or else Omi would have been insisting that they go home right now. Yohji would be able to tell just exactly what was wrong right now, but Omi couldn’t read Aya that well.

"Aya-kun, are you okay?" he asked tentatively as he threw his backpack into the small, near non-existent back seat.

"I’m fucking fine. Why? Yohji already called you back and gave the details?" Aya snapped out bitterly, the anger underneath poorly disguised. Omi froze in the middle of stepping into the car, smiling nervously as he wondered just what Aya could possibly be talking about.

"Uh, Yohji-kun hasn’t called me today," Omi trailed off slowly as he finally took a seat in the car. He closed the door and buckled his seat belt slowly while Aya’s teeth ground together. Yohji rarely ever did call him, unless it was to talk about Aya. However, Aya only snorted as if he knew better, buckling his own seat belt and tossing untidy hair out of his face. Now that Omi looked closer, Aya’s hair was tangled and his shirt fairly more rumpled from when Omi had last seen him.

"Aya, did someone…" Omi trailed off, finding himself unable to ask the question. .Aya looked like he had been roughed up, but Omi couldn’t very well ask if someone had hurt Aya. Had he gotten into a fight? The man would be insulted that Omi even thought that something like that was possible in the first place. And even if it were true, Omi would probably be the last person Aya would talk to. Even though he considered himself to be closer to Aya than Ken was, it was still far from Aya actually confiding in him. He’d only make things worse if he tried to talk to Aya right now.

"What, Omi? Finish your damn sentence," Aya snapped, irritated and obviously unsettled. He was even more pissy than usual, which was pretty hard to top some times. Omi grimaced, deciding to stare at the glove compartment in front of him instead of meeting Aya’s gaze. That would be like waving meat in front a starved lion. When Aya got in his moods, Yohji was the only one who dared approached the man; and also managed to come out in one piece afterwards. Omi didn’t have that kind of tenacity by far.

"Never mind," he mumbled, putting his hands over his knees and concentrating on sitting very still. Maybe if he just didn’t make any noise, he could get home alive without Aya ripping into him. Just don’t give him a reason, Omi reminded himself, knowing very well that any further conversation with Aya would be a death wish. So, he just sat there, starting to sweat in the suffocating heat of the car but not insane enough to mention it to Aya right now. He’d just have to endure it until they got home.

* * *
Aya was still surprised when he parked inside the garage between Seven and Ken’s motorcycle; pretty sure that he should have gotten into a crash three times over. Omi was pale as a sheet from all the times Aya had to slam on the brakes because he hadn’t been paying attention to the road. All he could think about was Yohji, what had happened between them at school, how he felt like complete and utter shit now. It still didn’t make sense, no matter how many times it replayed in his head. He just felt worse each time, more guilty by the second. Why did he have the freak out this morning? Why did Omi have to call Yohji about it?! Aya could have lied, perhaps then Yohji would have never come to campus and…

"Aya-kun, are you sure you’re okay?" Omi asked, hand hesitating over the car door handle as he waited for an answer. Like Yohji and he weren’t laughing it up behind his back. Just what had Omi told Yohji had happened to force him to give Aya a hand job. Aya didn’t even answer, finally twisting the keys out of the ignition and stepping out of the Porsche. He walked out the side door without really thinking, stabbing the button for the garage door with as much force as he could muster. Omi was following cautiously behind as they went through the yard, so Aya started to walk slower to let the boy get ahead. Omi was the first one to go through the back door, and thankfully, there was no immediate greeting from either Ken or Yohji as they both took of their shoes. Omi kicked his heels off and was already skidding around the corner in a rush to find his own boyfriend, effectively destroying Aya’s plan to keep someone between him and Yohji. He was left standing alone in the kitchen, the walls leering back at him and pressing in.

Even though he was loathe to do it, rather preferring to find a dark place to curl up and die, Aya went off after Omi. It would be better to stay around Ken and Omi while they made out rather than get caught by Yohji in the privacy of their home. Just the thought was already chilling him, making Aya walk faster to go to the front of the shop. Ken was probably working, and with any luck, Yohji was in the middle of his usual afternoon nap… even after molesting him in the bathroom? Oh, fuck if Yohji was sleeping after he had jerked Aya off and left him utterly humiliated! If he were sleeping, it would piss Aya off even more than actually seeing the man right now.

"…-so, behave, Ken-kun." Aya caught the tail end of Omi’s hushed warning to Ken as he stepped into the shop. There were no customers present, since the city’s high schools didn’t get out till later in the afternoon. Ken was sitting on the stool behind the register with Omi perched in his lap, two arms loosely wrapped around the boy’s waist already. Those two had always been able to cuddle and publicly display emotion even in the shop. Ken didn’t give a rat’s ass about other people’s opinions, and nobody was going to able to do anything mean to Omi.

Aya turned away from the two who barely even noticed his entrance, only come face to face with Yohji. He froze, taking in that Yohji had changed his outfit yet again to a pair of well-worn jeans and a light blue midriff showing off a muscled middle and bony hips… Aya suddenly found Yohji’s taste in clothes to be abhorrent, the man dressing like a slut, yet still too good to drop his pants in a bathroom. Only Aya had to go through that. Yohji had just seemed to think it was extremely funny while Aya wanted to hang himself in the closet over it.

"I missed you," Yohji whined out in a ridiculous tone of voice, arms opening wide. How the fuck could he have possibly grown lonely since their little meeting in the bathroom? The whole world slowed down, Aya’s heart and breathing clenching up as Yohji moved forward to hug him.

This wasn’t like back at campus, on the dirty floor of a bathroom.

There wasn’t the fear of a complete stranger barging in on them at any minute, even though the door had been locked after all.

It was still Yohji, though, acting like nothing was wrong, he hadn’t done a damn thing to cause this turmoil, utter doubt that was manifesting inside Aya right now. As much as he felt like it, tears just wouldn’t come. Aya didn’t even feel that emotion right now; just possessed with anger than went beyond red-hot passion and into a white numbness. He couldn’t even see straight, everything whirling and turning like a kaleidoscope as Yohji’s hands went to touch him.

Aya punched Yohji as hard as he could, right across that pretty face he had trusted so completely. He had let Yohji do as he pleased, because he had listened to the blonde as if he actually had a good reason to molest Aya in public. He had managed to talk Aya into stay still and silent like a good bitch. Aya somehow got cornered into thinking it was his fault, again, when he had a goddamn right to say ‘no.’ Since when had Yohji not understood that, completely agreed and respected his rights? Fuck, fuck, fuck! This is what happened when he left someone get close, every goddamn time!

Yohji staggered back, but Aya was already moving forward. He felt his fist connect with even force to bruise his own knuckles, satisfying twist of skin underneath it.

Things blurred after that, just anger and hurt and the person responsible there in front of him.

"Jesus Christ, calm down!" Ken shouted at Aya, his arm hooked under Aya’s as he forcibly hauled Aya back spitting and struggling. Aya found himself panting, winded from an exercise he couldn’t remember.

Apparently, it had involved beating the utter shit out of Yohji. The blonde just slumped down to his knees, then fell back on to his ass and stare down at the floor in a daze. Yohji’s right eye was already swelling and there was blood dripping out from the corner of his mouth. The last bit of hair pulled back in a ponytail finally fell loose, disheveled curly hair hiding Yohji’s face. He looked like a suffering saint, as if Aya had just mauled him for no utter reason. It only made Aya angrier. Yohji may have seemed like the worse end of a bar fight, but Aya still wasn’t satisfied as he tried to kick the rotten bastard.

"Aya-kun, stop it!" Omi cried out uselessly as Ken forcibly hauled Aya back a safe distance from Yohji. Ken didn’t so much loose his grip as toss Aya to the side, letting him stumble back and grab the counter for support. He took in the scene he had caused, the shop empty with Omi standing safely behind the register; Ken taking a stand between him and a very out-of-it Yohji that was wobbling upright. It was strange to see anyone get the best of Yohji, but in the end the tall but scrawny man couldn’t take a proper blow worth a damn. Especially the ones Aya couldn’t remember because he had went berserk.

"You fucking liar!" Aya screamed it at Yohji, not believing that Ken and Omi were defending the bastard. He had believed every poisonous word that had fallen from the man’s mouth; and now Aya had paid in full for it. He never wanted to experience something like what had happened to ever again. He was stronger now, and he wasn’t so confused and fucked up anymore. Aya knew where he could stand, and that it was perfectly sane to demand that he be treated like a human being. He wasn’t some twenty-dollar whore off the street, never was, not even in his ‘service’ days. He had let Yohji simply use him, and Aya didn’t have to feel like this-not one more goddamn time in his life!

"What… what the hell, Aya?" Yohji finally whispered, reaching up to touch the corner of his mouth in shock. Green eyes met Aya’s own in a dilated disbelief; making Aya wonder if perhaps he had hit Yohji too hard in the head. He didn’t feel sorry for it. Aya was already lunging forward again, tears in his eyes when Ken grabbed and held him back again. Aya tried wrestling out of Ken’s grasp while Yohji made a shaky attempt to stand and failed.

"How could fucking you do that to me?! You goddamn bastard!" Aya screamed at the top of his lungs when it became apparent that he wouldn’t be able to break free from Ken. He went still, waiting for Ken to loosen his hold marginally before shaking him off violently- and stood there. Anything more would probably have Ken on him again in a second, but as it was the brunette just took a step back and simply watched. He knew better than to stick his neck out in the middle of this.

"I trusted you," he hissed coldly while Yohji stood up, the words tasting strangely familiar. Yohji blinked up at him, not so surprised anymore, but more and more disgusted by the minute.

"And what the hell did I do differently? I take all your shit and don’t say a word, and you hit me for it!" Yohji snarled out lowly, one hand clutched to the swelling side of his face. Aya could tell he wasn’t just angry, but furious- Yohji always ran cold when he was pissed beyond all reason. But, what had been ‘different’ about today?! Yohji took fucking advantage of him in the public, and now was acting like they had gone out for lunch. As if Aya really was freaking out for no reason, like usual… But, this wasn’t usual, he had said ‘no’ and Yohji hadn’t listened...

Hadn’t he?

"I can’t fucking take this if you’re going to go berserk every single damn day. Why are you always attacking me? Why don’t you save it for someone that deserves it, babe?" Yohji snapped out smartly, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Aya’s mouth opened to automatically say he was sorry before he managed to clamp his mouth shut, taking in the words. It was that, that damn nickname, that had Aya turning on his heel and marching out the kitchen door. He couldn’t even think straight, ignoring Ken yelling his name. Yohji certainly hadn’t been the one calling out after him; probably happy to see him go. Aya had been so sure a moment ago, and now he was having a hard time walking a straight line down the alleyway and to the sidewalk. He just had to go, leave, get as far away from Yohji as possible so he could figure out what the hell was going on.

"That… That fucking crazy son of a bitch," Yohji’s voice got louder and louder until he was yelling even louder than he had with Aya. He launched up off the floor, recovering perfectly now that Aya had stormed out- as if he had some good goddamn reason to attack him so suddenly.

"A ‘liar,’ huh? Bull shit," Yohji snarled out before stomping out the front door and going the exact opposite way Aya had left. Ken and Omi stood in the relative silence of the store, only the low hum of the coolers for the flowers following the outburst. Ken started rubbing at his arm where Aya had managed to scratch him, since the purple-haired man hadn’t been able to get a good punch in when Ken was restraining him.

"So, how about lunch?" Ken turned around to his lover who was still behind the counter and pale as a sheet. Didn’t look like anything more than an aggravated version of Yohji and Aya’s usual fight. They would both probably be back within the hour, since neither had bothered to take a car.

"Oh, Ken," Omi moaned disappointedly, slapping a hand to his forehead.

* * *

Schuldig had found it ridiculously easy to follow the Kätzchen to his car, noticing the expensive taste. At least Ran spent his money well. At least knowing where the man was parked, Schuldig had left to bring his own car around and park calmly, sure that Abyssinian wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to his surroundings right now. Sure enough, the Porsche was still parked when Schuldig came back, so he had spent the next couple of hours smoking in his car. Forcing himself into Ran’s mind had been easy, but maintaining the Kätzchen’s thought processes had been more tiring than Schuldig had anticipated. It had been hard to make Abyssinian believe he was Balinese, especially when the man had so desperately wanted it to be not true. Ran had kept trying to deny the perceived reality Schuldig had forced on the man, an irritating habit that had almost succeeded in breaking his control. He would have to be careful, play this just right. One didn’t just gobble down a delicacy- it had to savored and drawn out to fully appreciate.

Halfway between dozing and staring at Ran’s car, he noticed little Bombay finally coming up along side and knocking on the door. Schuldig forced himself to sit upright at that, slapping his face and turning on the engine while the Takatori got in the Porsche. This fucking heat was eating away at his patience and attention, but it was laughably easy to follow Abyssinian the whole drive home without being noticed. It seemed that a few minutes in the bathroom had been enough to shake Ran up; judging from the swerving vehicle in two cars in front of him. The ex-assassin kept slamming on the brakes so suddenly that he almost caused several accidents both behind and in front of him. Schuldig still stayed back a safe distance from Ran’s dangerous driving, not just to follow the man but make sure he didn’t get involved in the seeming impeding crash.

It wasn’t even like he needed to follow his little Abyssinian when the white Porsche pulled into the driveway beside a flower shop. Not only had Weiss kept the same cover job, but after a little struggle with the Japanese, Schuldig read the name of the place as ‘Kitten in the House.’ Scheisse, just how dumb was Weiss? It pissed Schuldig off to no ends that they had posed any challenge at all, not even to mention more than once. All he had to do was put forth the barest amount of effort to find them again. He could see Balinese and Siberian inside the flower shop through the large glass windows, each and every member alive.

Schuldig could almost cry with his good luck. That God Farfarello was constantly bitching about was practically paving the way for him to destroy Abyssinian and Weiss once and for all, as he should have years ago. Too many good chances: getting Ran along, finding their home so easily, one right after another to simply be coincidence. He had already thoroughly disturbed Ran with the barest of contact, and now he had his pick from the other three. Schuldig couldn’t wait for one of them to leave, turning off the ignition for the car Crawford had let him borrow for today. Even the uptight Brad had bent a little to give him the day off for this newfound hobby- as long as he got results within a respectable timeframe. All Schuldig had to do was make everyone hate each other. He was already done with Ran, from the turmoil and utter devastation in the Kätzchen’s mind when he had left. Now all he had to do was wait and see how that would disperse through the rest of Weiss.

He waited on the side of the street across from the shop, lighting up a cigarette after a few minutes to help pass the time. He kept his mind tightly guarded and concentrated on only his own thoughts. He wouldn’t want to get distracted by anyone else’s mind right now and end up missing one of the Kätzchens leave. Schuldig was sure he could depend on Ran to piss off at least one of the assassins to that point. So, he simply paced over to the corner, trying to look inconspicuous and like any one of these Penners walking around. It only took half a cigarette before someone was already leaving.

Of all the people, Ran was the first to storm out the front door, so quickly that Schuldig didn’t even have the chance to hide. In the end, it seemed like he didn’t even need to. Ran was so angry that he simply breezed down the street and around the corner. Schuldig rubbed at his chin, watching that thin but broad-shouldered pretty go off in a storm, nothing more than a child’s fit. His purple-haired Tunte was beautiful even upset and two lanes away. Schuldig made to go after his first victim again, thinking that their first reunion might have been a little too mild. He hadn’t wanted to make too big a mess, not about to deal with the fine things like blood on the walls and such if he had done as he really pleased. That was usually saved for private, in isolated storage houses and soundproof rooms.

Then, Balinese also came out from the shop. Schuldig cursed, hunching down behind a car and hoping that the man hadn’t seen him. Not that a German trying to stalk down his lover would be very obvious to Balinese right now. The tall blonde was already off in another direction, looking determinedly pissed, perhaps even more so than Ran. It seemed like Schuldig’s plan had worked perfectly if the two were walking away from each other. Ran had likely done something to piss Kudoh off; now believing that what had happened in the bathroom was real. Schuldig would have laughed aloud if he wasn’t so concerned about hiding right now. People walking past him on the sidewalk openly stared, a girl pointing and giggling with the rest of her friends. He cursed, peeking up to check on Balinese.

The man was only walking, but with those long legs, he might have been running. Schuldig didn’t even have time for another cigarette, making a quick dart across the street traffic and then falling in line with the rest of the crowd behind Kudoh.

* * *

Yohji finally got drunk in the second bar he wound up at.

The first had refused to serve him any more liquor within the first hour of him sitting down- so he had paid the bill, left the bar, and staggered across the street right into a different one. The place looked exactly like the last one with the same dim lighting, smoke hanging around the few lamps hanging over small tables. There were only a few other salary men here in the middle of the afternoon, strangers that he completely ignored. Yohji went right for the bar in a veering curve, a little disorientated but nowhere near intoxicated. He took a seat at the bar in front of the on-house taps and waved to the fat, middle-aged man behind the counter. Yohji lit up a cigarette while the man came shuffling over, one leg shaking nervously along to the jazz playing on the speakers.

"You look like you came to the right place," the bartender said empathetically after one glance at Yohji’s face. It was stinging like a bitch and Yohji had long given up on trying to see out of right eye, already swollen shut and throbbing for some alcohol to numb the pain. A shot glass was set down in front of him and whiskey was poured without another word. Yohji had indeed finally come to the right place, pausing in his cigarette to take the drink down with a sigh of relief afterward. He might actually be able to get absolutely smashed in a bar like this.

"So, what can I do for you?" The man asked, standing back in a stained white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was wearing a too-small apron, but Yohji supposed it would be hard to find anything else for the fat bartender. He felt like he was looking at a father; not that he had any clue what a real one would be like. The man just seemed honestly friendly, but also not about to take any sort of shit; just as one would have to be in this line of work.

"Leave the bottle and bring me something harder," Yohji reached out with a hand for the whiskey. The man passed it and shuffled off slowly the other end of the bar, no doubt to mix Yohji something that might help with the pain. He didn’t have to say anything else to get the bartender feeling sympathetic, which only made Yohji wonder how bad his face was turning out after Aya had at it. He poured himself another shot, and this time the inside of his mouth stung like a bitch when he swallowed it. Aya had landed some damn solid punches before Ken had managed to pull him off. Yohji still couldn’t believe it. Those had not been the usual desperate strikes that Aya threw out when he was having a panic attack, but aimed to hit him in the fucking face. And, the shit that had fallen from Aya’s mouth. He couldn’t even begin to make sense of it, wondering just what the fuck he had done to set it all off in the first place. Aya had been fine before Yohji had tried to greet him, as was usual- except for the part about his lover deciding to beat the shit out of him.

"You want to talk about it?" the bartender asked as he set a tall, thin glass half-full of ice and clear bubbling liquid on top of a napkin. There was a red straw in it, which Yohji frowned down at. The man picked up the whiskey and poured Yohji another shot as well while he waited for an answer, providing the best customer service Yohji had seen in fucking years.

"You don’t have the time," Yohji responded automatically after a second thought, taking a drag off his cigarette. He left it in his mouth to free up his hand, stirring the drinking with the straw before taking it out and dropping the plastic on the wood countertop. He wasn’t even yelled at, making Yohji wonder how much this employee really cared about the place. On the other hand, maybe he just knew that Yohji would probably snap if he said anything about the straw.

"I don’t need all the details, just tell me what you want to," the bartender offered an ear for Yohji’s problems, likely having dealt with men much worse off than him many times before. The bartender would be hard-pressed to find someone right now, though. Yohji felt very alone at his rock bottom, hit one too many times and cursed out on top of it. Aya was infamous for running hot and cold on a moment’s notice, but this was ridiculous. Even Yohji’s patience came to end, and he found that being socked in the face got him there pretty damn fast.

"The person I planned to propose to just kicked my ass," Yohji explained simply, vaguely. No reason to share that he was gay when the bartender had already pried the situation out of him. Though the man would probably be able to guess since Yohji had said ‘person.’ He didn’t feel like lying either, Aya’s words echoing in his head. He shouldn’t be taking this to heart; knew that it was the purple-haired man’s usual insults…but, damn it, couldn’t just shake the words off either. He hadn’t once lied to Aya, not about anything that would really hurt him. Why was there a need to freak out now, today, a handful of days before Yohji had been about to give him a ring?

"Why?" the bartender asked as Yohji finally took a taste of the drink he had brought over. Sure enough, it made the cut inside his mouth burn like hell as a mix of every hard liquor on the glass display behind the counter with a hint of orange went down easily.

"You’d know as well as me. He just walked in and was already coming at me before I finished saying ‘hi,’ the insane bastard," Yohji cursed out, slamming a fist down on the top of the counter. He forgot that he had been trying to hide that extra bit of frosting on his cake of general fucked-upness. He couldn’t help it, pissed now that he was reminded exactly why he was drinking again. Yohji didn’t want to think about Aya’s face, twisted up in such pain and hurt when Ken had dragged him away. He didn’t want to consider that it might be his fault Aya had worn that expression like that, because that would be too much to bear. The one thing Yohji had promised Aya was that he would never betray the man’s trust. How had he broken that fragile bond in the minute that Aya had returned from school?

"This sort of thing happen often?" the man asked, not any sort of judgment in his voice. Just a little bit of concern, probably because of the bruises coming in on his face. Yohji shook his head negatively, taking a long drain from the mixed drink he’d been given followed by the last bit of smokeable cigarette before the filter. There was a clean ashtray sitting to Yohji’s right, where he stabbed the butt out and drew out yet one more cigarette. The cancer wasn’t killing him fast enough, as the fine writing on the side of the pack proclaimed. Yohji lit up again while the chubby man studied him silently for a moment.

"Well, then, what are you going to do?" the bartender finally asked.

"Get drunk," Yohji answered back honestly with shrug. The elderly bartender barked out a coarse laugh at that, reaching underneath the counter to pull himself out a glass. The man pulled out another glass, poured a shot, and hefted it up. He pointed at Yohji, so he pulled the cigarette out of his mouth for a second and reached for his own shot.

"You’re a smart man. To life screwing us over," the bartender made a toast, by far the most honest one Yohji had ever heard. They both threw back their drinks, slamming the glasses upside down on the table at the same time. For one moment, Yohji considered the man in front of him a future version of himself- bitter, broken-down, making light of everything because reality was a harsh bitch to face otherwise. Yohji didn’t think that a man this old and overweight would be working the afternoon shift at a bar unless life had given him a shitty hand.

"I hear you," Yohji agreed, finally polishing off the clear drink the bartender had brought him. It was already starting to work wonders, the deadly rage fading back long enough for Yohji to try and think about what had happened. He hadn’t said anything smart, made any gestures, hadn’t even looked at Aya wrong. He didn’t understand what could have sparked off Aya’s fury, but Yohji was damned if he would leave things the way they were right now. He just had to hammered first, or he was more than likely to kill the asshole next time he met Aya. Yohji was a stubborn man in the end, who was more than ready to hold a grudge over a black eye.

The bartender brought Yohji another drink followed up with a short autobiography. He listened with half an ear, draining the bottle and one new concoction after the other until the number of drinks started to blur. Yohji had already done a good job of filling up the ashtray next to him and the place was starting to fill up with the pre-dinner crowd. Yohji’s friendly bartender was taken away by mismatched couples, businessmen and women who were barely old enough to be in a place like this, elderly widows sipping martinis with young gold diggers pressing in. Yohji had been like that before, his own scruple being between the ages of eighteen and fifty. As long as it had two shapely legs, Yohji wasn’t about to discriminate about who he ended up in bed with. Sex had simply been an act to assure himself that he was still alive, could still feel satisfied and spent afterwards, instead of the hollow deadness that stayed after missions.

Except for Aya. He was probably the first person Yohji had ever actually made love to, after Asuka. And now, Aya was also the first lover to actually return all that with a right straight to the fucking eye. Yohji didn’t understand him at all, no better than day one. He slapped a cold hand to his face, feeling drunk, depressed, and so goddamn lonely. Aya was still pissed off for whatever reason he had perceived this time, and Yohji had finally lost his temper. How was he supposed to propose to Aya after saying he was fed up with the man? Now that Yohji was completely shit-faced, he had the sense of mind to regret his words. Even though Aya had started this one, and was all bent out of shape for no good reason, Yohji had only aggravated things. He wondered if Aya would even be coming home tonight.

Speaking of which, Yohji didn’t even know if he could get home. He was feeling pretty good on the stool, a smoke-haze buffered by alcohol. Yohji was certain that if he was to try walking right now, it would probably ruin this little bit of euphoria he had managed to make. Alcohol and nicotine worked their wonders, slowly crawling up on him and making everything swirl and shine. Even though he couldn’t stop thinking about Aya, at least he didn’t feel so suicidal anymore.

A woman took the barstool next to him significantly, sliding into the seat with a black leather mini-skirt and boots laced all the way up to her knee. Yohji frowned down at the short, slender thing exuding confidence and sex appeal for looking like a complete street punk, except female. Even Yohji wouldn’t wear that heavy chain she had swinging off her hip; hell, he’d probably be falling over with the weight of it. She had fishnets on; not just covering the generous expanse of her almost too thin legs but full sleeves as well that disappeared underneath huge leather wristbands. She had a set of manicured, too-long, bright neon blue nails to match the synthetic tube top she was wearing and the fake dye of her short, straight hair. Even her makeup, lipstick and eye shadow were that shocking blue with a set of fake purple contacts.

Yohji wanted to punch her for pretending to have that eye color tonight.

"You look like hell," she started in a cutesy tone like she was only five, pulling out a cigarette from a silver case that had been hidden in her back pocket, clearly waiting for Yohji to light it.

"Don’t. Just…don’t fucking try right now," Yohji could barely reign in his temper for the woman trying to pick up on him tonight, of all nights. He had been doing an exceptional job of driving off all that kind of attention by chugging every drink put in front of him, obviously on a business trip to get smashed instead of indulging in the bar life. He didn’t need a woman right now; he needed a fucking clue as to what was going on inside Aya’s head at times. She, of course, narrowed her eyes and looked at him like he was the biggest idiot she’d seen in her life. Yohji sure felt like it.

"Hey, don’t compliment yourself, shithead. Why do men always think women only want a deep dicking? All I see is some poor bastard a step away from suicide," she snapped out in a deep but feminine voice that would have given Aya’s a run for his money. Yohji stared at her, checking down and yes, indeed, there were a pair of breasts meeting his gaze. He had been quite the chest connoisseur in his day and judged them to be real with a vague sense of relief. She had just been so assertive and insulting that Yohji had thought she might be a cross dresser for a moment. The switch from flirting to abusive was so quick that Yohji couldn’t help smirking, thinking of Aya.

"Buy me a drink," she demanded, reaching across the counter to pick up Yohji’s lighter for herself. Yohji felt his jaw drop down even further, if such a thing were possible. Surely it wasn’t late enough for the crazy people to come out yet. The place was starting to get busier, Yohji’s quiet calm starting to fade away with the sound of music and other people crowding into the dark bar.

"Why?" Yohji cried out, not drunk enough to find that even remotely funny. She just raised an eyebrow at him as she clicked the flame on and held the lighter to the end of her cigarette, inhaling deeply to start it before dropping the lighter back to the table unceremoniously.

"Because I’m smoking you out and I’m providing free therapy," she returned, blowing a sweet, tangy smoke in Yohji’s face that certainly wasn’t tobacco, nicotine, and the three hundred some odd chemicals of a cigarette. Yohji blinked, taking in the fact that she was smoking marijuana so publicly before glancing around the bar and realizing that so were most of the other people in the room. In fact, it seemed like marijuana and underage drinking was the least of his worries in a place like this now that the night had He had been slamming drinks so fast that he didn’t even notice that musty scent or the light haze hanging around the dark ceiling. Yohji wondered why he hadn’t heard of this place before when it was so close by- and lamely realized it was because he had stopped barhopping and clubbing the very night Aya had finally let him into his bed.

"What?" Yohji still didn’t understand what was going on. Not just with this women, but with Aya, with his whole damn life. He had been depressed himself, on the verge of suicide because there was no point in a murderer that had outlived his usefulness, no missions to hide behind and pretend that all the blood on his hands had been for a higher purpose. And, then, Aya had needed him. Yohji didn’t doubt that anyone would have done, just another human being that would stay there when Aya had finally decided to make a clean break from assassination and prostitution- and whatever little secrets the man was still hiding. It didn’t matter, because it had given Yohji a purpose. Aya had needed him, not just to deal with the nightmares and flashbacks, but also to provide the only human comfort Aya accepted from anyone. Yohji had twisted his life around Aya, not just because he loved the man, but because he had also required something to fill the void his life had become. It had been nothing but sunny days, every cloud with a silver lining, everything was fucking paradise-perfect until one afternoon could come along and ruin it all.

God, his face hurt from Aya punching him.

"Hit this and tell me about it," she made it an order, passing Yohji the joint. He took a drag, composing himself to tell her something¸ all right…and, damn, she had good weed. He had stopped smoking the more expensive grass after Aya had complained of him falling asleep before they could have sex like he had wanted to. Well, that had been a good enough reason to quit at the time, but Yohji was already in such deep shit that he didn’t know when he might ever get to even touch Aya again.

Before Yohji knew it, his thoughts were being said aloud as they passed the joint back and forth, the girl nodding her head and listening for the most part. Yohji ordered two rounds the next time his friendly bartender passed his way, and the elderly man just nodded to his companion and called her ‘Empyrean’ in the middle of familiar chitchat before setting down two glasses. It figured that Yohji ended up telling his life story to some barfly that was a regular here, handing out joints and listening without turning it into a sexual proposition. He felt like he was in the fucking Twilight Zone, but he didn’t stop talking. Shit, he couldn’t stop now, spilling it all out to her before he even realized it.

"I have a damn ring hidden in the room right now. I was gonna propose to him; what a fucking idiot," Yohji didn’t know who he was directing the last part at. He was drunk, he was high, and he felt incredibly alone next to this girl-thing. The longer he had sat next to her spilling all those intimate details about what had led him to this bar, the more he had realized she was a day over eighteen at best. She probably had him order the drink because she didn’t have an ID. Yohji always attracted the messed-up ones.

"That’s screwed up," she finally assessed, probably the most rational thing Yohji had heard all day. He didn’t know how long they had sat there after the joint had finally burned down a small butt that was added to the ashtray. There might have been another, but Yohji’s memory was already becoming blurred and confused. He was still delightfully high, floating with a tingle spreading over muscles and skin. On top of the alcohol burning a whole in his stomach, it should have been enough to make him forget why he had gotten on this mission to get fucked up as humanly possible…But it wasn’t. "Tell me about it. I’m the one that can’t see out of an eye," Yohji snapped back, though the anger wasn’t directed at her. There wasn’t some magic solution he could smoke or drink to make Aya become nothing more than number crossed off in his black book. Yohji used to be so good at leaving women before they ever became a bother, before they formed the attachments and chains that he had done with Aya. He’d become everything he had hated, stuck in one spot with one person, his steady job and mundane life. He’d give anything to have it back, to be able to walk home and know that Aya would be there with that precious, faint smile that Yohji had finally managed to coax out of the man.

"You shouldn’t be here. You should go back there, get in his face and say that if he hits you again, you’re gone. Period. That simple," she snapped, echoing self-help books and pamphlets that Yohji had laughed at before. He couldn’t believe that someone would ever say such sentiments to him; he was a guy, for crying out loud. He had gotten into a fight and had his ass kicked at worst, but he hadn’t just sat there and taken it because he though Aya loved him. Yohji had been too shocked to wrap his mind around anything other than the fact that Aya had hit him, otherwise Ken would have been holding him off of Aya. Yohji Kudoh wasn’t a man that let himself be taken advantage of, and certainly wasn’t going to be some domestic gay horror story marked off as another statistic for things gone wrong.

"Babe, this isn’t abuse," Yohji could barely say it without laughing, the giggles threatening to ruin this serious conversation. Yohji Kudoh had turned into a lightweight

"You’re the one with the pretty mug, sweetheart," she answered, Yohji reaching up and touching the swollen side of his face in a bit of self-consciousness. She smirked down at him, as if Yohji was some naïve bastard that had come roaming into this bar after a bad fight with his man. If she only knew half the things Yohji was feeling guilty about tonight.

"Listen, I can tell now you’re not going to let me screw you. You’ve got a home and someone that matters so much you’re telling me about it. You don’t need to be here, because you’ll just regret it all in the morning. Go home," she gave him a nice, final piece of advice, obviously sick of waiting like a vulture for him to finally be too drunk to fend her off. She finished off what was left in her glass along with his, giving him a sad and pitying smile before hopping off the barstool and disappearing into the busy crowd just as quickly as she had come. Yohji found himself staring down at the stained counter, wet rings from the many drinks he’d put down. Just how much time had he wasted in here, feeling like shit and whining about it to anyone that would lend an ear? Would enough time have passed for Aya to finally cool his head and listen to what Yohji had to say?

Doubtful.

Yohji raised up his hand, intending to get one last drink for the road. The girl had been right; he didn’t belong here, not anymore. He should be heading home instead of sitting here getting trashed and pissed while nothing happened. He’d go talk to Aya right now and straighten things out. Either that or give the snobby little bastard a bruised-up face to match. Yohji couldn’t understand how Aya could hit him in the face, no matter how pissed off he’d been. It was still a cheap shot- correction, a couple of cheap shots. Bastard. Yohji still couldn’t believe that had happened, not having expected that kind of violent attack in broad daylight in a thousand years. He hadn’t even noticed something was wrong until Aya was already flying at him…Yohji frowned, wondering what else he hadn’t noticed. He didn’t think it was possible for him to miss a single detail, extremely observant when it came to someone as complex and hard to read as Aya- but it had never been impossible before!

A new bartender cut off his attempt to figure out just what the fuck was going on; some young, blonde jackass that didn’t want to focus in Yohji’s blurry vision. Again, he was refused any service and told to get the hell out, frowning at him slumping sideways on the stool. Yohji was more pissed that he had missed the old man leaving, and had forgotten to tip him as well. Fuck. The one good person he had met in a long time, and Yohji hadn’t even noticed the shift change. One real fucking attentive bastard he was. It was all Aya’s fault of course, because Yohji suddenly couldn’t even live without the temperamental asshole. He had missed something today, between Aya coming home and flipping out. Aya had totally freaked out and had definitely hit the wrong person, yes… but something had also made him so upset to spark it. Yohji was supposed to know Aya, wasn’t used to having to make assumptions and educated guesses for quite sometime because he thought that the purple haired man had finally opened up to him…How wrong had he been? He had always paid the utmost attention to every facet of Aya’s personality…even the ones he wanted to strangle the life out of. ‘Take the good with the bad,’ or some saying like that.

Yohji finally decided to give up on this place, no longer able to get a drink and finally out of cigarettes. Besides, he had accomplished what he wanted to, feeling drunk and pleasantly above it all. Maybe Aya could be in the mood for some make-up sex- of course, Yohji had no idea how they were going to clear this one up in the first place. He was getting one hell of a shiner and the inside of his mouth was cut up; both things that weren’t going to be healing up anytime soon. Yohji didn’t think that he’d get bruises anywhere else, but it still hurt like hell to stand up. Not even the alcohol and following dizziness was enough to distract him from the pain. Aya still knew to aim for the body, judging by the tightening of Yohji’s organs. One more line on the list of complaints.

Walking turned out to be harder than Yohji had thought it would be. Even though he used to get thoroughly trashed and still manage to come home with a woman or two, it had been a while since he had gone binge drinking. He made a wobbling line through the throng of people, trying to use his hands for balance but it didn’t seem to help matters. Yohji stumbled against another patron and found himself shoved back just as rudely. Yohji managed to catch himself by no small miracle and tried to apologize, but discovered that his tongue had swelled up in his mouth. So, Yohji simply gave up on anything other than getting to the door.

When he finally shoved his way out the door and into the cooling early evening, Yohji- slipped on the stairs he didn’t remember being there on the way in. Yohji fell with all the grace of drunken ex-assassin, wind milling helplessly before he half-landed, was half-caught by another man just as tall as he was. Yohji looked up with kaleidoscoping vision at a foreigner with bright orange dyed, shoulder-length hair and pale skin. Close enough to certain sadist back at the house who was probably waiting for him to come home and apologize like usual. Yohji was drunk, already moving before he gave it anymore thought, kissing the stranger as deeply as possible, putting every ounce of his mouth, tongue, lips to work. He didn’t need to deal with Aya tonight, just too damn tired and hurt to go back home. Thankfully, the man slipped an arm around Yohji’s back and started to kiss him back as well, with marvelous skill that might, just might have surpassed Yohji’s own…only because he was drunk.

The man finally pulled back, ending the meeting of their mouths even though Yohji would have rather liked it to keep going. The arm wasn’t removed, and Yohji found himself being dragged away from the rather stunned crowd of people waiting outside the bar. He didn’t even fucking care, letting the man lead the way to wherever he wanted to go; Yohji more than happy to concentrate on not throwing up as he felt more and more drunk by the moment.
AUTHOR’S NOTES: Well, thank you to the newly formed ‘German-correctness committee’: Cattley and Auribeil. But, I wouldn’t have even started writing another chapter if not for Bisexual Pygmie, CharlizeDoe, evilkat, demshinigami, Dephinium, falling slack, iie nome’s internet-deprived friend, ilovedaveyhavok, lady gackt, memorietrail, miko no hoshi, Paintersx43, princesskywynn, and Sibyl reviewing me(snuggles) and of course my beta-readers eternity’s end, Morningstar, and ThantosEros. Though I still like more beta-ers… (WINK and sexy dance to entice you, I know its summer now and some high school students that shouldn’t LEGALLY be reading this that are smarter than me have time on their hands). I still think it has sequel syndrome, but after this chapter, it should just descend into dark smut land and everything will be business as usual. And yeah, as strange as this may sound, Aya will NOT be main angst victim- everybody is! Yay!

…I lie yet again. Aya will be given more than his fair dose for Koyasu allowing the Gluhen animation to go as far as it did with those character designs and not shortening Hiiro’s hot pants as promised!

And this chapter is NOT titled after the Britney Spears song… listen to the acoustic cover of it by Weezer. The words actually sound meaningful then.
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