Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Blood And Flowers ❯ two ( Chapter 2 )

Blood and Flowers

By Nix Winter

Disclaimers: I don't own Wk…

Chapter Two

Aya had caused many traumas, much violence in his life. He'd fought with Youji, even as they were fighting against other people for their lives. Fighting with Youji, loving Youji, Aya had begun to find a balance and a harmony in his life again. Youji was the kind of lover that took everything a person could give, then some. Aya had done all kinds of things he'd ever even thought about doing before he'd met Youji.

Since they'd become lovers he'd even helped bleach that hair, secretly, pretending to the other two that it was natural. He'd helped Youji wash blood out of his hair as well, and maybe understood the reason for the bleach. As if bleach could clean anything. God, it was so much nicer to think about washing Youji's bloody hair than to be present in the alley. Aya's hand fell away from the doorknob, as he let the door bang closed.

It was not good.

Ken leaned against a grungy brick wall, leather coat and apathy out of place for the club, out of place for the alley. The side of his fist pressed against his forehead and Aya dismissed him mentally.

His own heart beat like a katana humming bird, lacerating his soul. Death he could dance with, head on, violent, raging, but this laid his soul open.

Omi stood before Youji, cell phone held in both hands. A surreal peace hung around them, a fog that Aya did not want to cleared away. There was just this moment, where he hadn't breathed yet, hadn't acknowledged that Youji wasn't just being doing something reckless.

Youji's bare feet stood on a pedestal with just enough room for the balls of his feet. Red trickled down shivering smooth legs like slow flowing black tears.

Aya's mind wanted to believe those couldn't be Youji's legs. Youji's legs were strong and elegant, powerful and always stealing the blankets, not shivering naked in an alleyway.

The flickering old yellow light above the door darkened the cross painted over a lean belly. A sharp scent of metallic salt haunted Aya; precious fluids now staining the alley. He staggered into a dangling fire escape ladder.

The rusted metal groaned, bending away from waking rage, touching Youji, as much as if Aya had called his name. His head lifted, blond hair, tawdry in the witnessing yellow light, fell back away from his face. Arms outstretched, held to the chain link wall by his own wires, he looked at Aya as if recognition were no longer something he could do. He held a grenade in either hand.

Aya stumbled over the world. As much protection as his Aya personality had been to him, it was deeper, older, Ran that caught him now. He was an historian, an accountant. Those thoughts went nowhere, but gave just enough cushion to allow him to cross to his bloodied, violated lover.

Sirens screamed, but Aya did not connect that those were for them. For Aya time had stopped. His angel hung from a wall of chains and Aya's believe in anything more distant that Youji's breathing body was illusionary. The world was simply that Youji lived still. Looking up, Aya reached out to touch that chest, to feel the movement for himself.

"Aya, get away," Youji whispered, eyes moving to look at one hand then the other.

Frozen, Aya's face went pale, undead granite, as a sense of failure stole his breath.

"Aya," Youji pleaded, "I can't hold them much longer."

"Aya-kun," Omi said, grabbing Aya's shoulder. "Don't! He's standing on a bomb."

Omi turned to Ken, as the stupor of shock finally let go of Weiss' leader. "Ken, you and Aya go home. The bomb squad is coming."

Aya arched an eyebrow, the movement an elegant `shi ne'. Careful not to step in the rivulets of red, Aya moved closer. Red fury embodied, he squatted down and examined the tower Youji stood on.

"Baka," Youji snarled, "You don't know how to diffuse bombs. I want you to get away from here."

"There is enough here to demolish a block. We should warn the people in the club," Aya said, cold logical Aya. The bomb was very hard to look at, made his temples throb.

"I'm going to beat you senseless if you don't get the hell away from here," Youji threatened.

"That will be harder to do if you're dead," Aya said, emotionless. "We are leaving together. This bomb is fake."

"Aya! Don't touch it!" Omi begged.

Aya stood, violet eyes narrowed with fury. The `bomb' was a wad of still wet paper mache and digital clock. This enemy moved right in line with Taketori. Decisive, Aya pulled a small ceramic blade from his jacket pocket, sliced the wire holding Youji's wrist. Youji fell forward and Aya caught him, arm around his back, lifting him as he sliced the other wire. His blade back in his pocket, Aya slipped an arm under Youji's knees and strode towards the end of the alley. "You have been compromised," he said to Omi. It wasn't an accusation, just a statement.

One of the grenades dropped from Youji's numb fingers. Ken ran forward, kicked it hard out into the street, where it spun, round and round, no more dangerous than a deflated soccer ball. Aya and Youji disappeared towards Youji's car, safely before the police arrived.