Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Carefully Out of Reach ❯ Meeting Hideo ( Chapter 5 )

Carefully Out of Reach

By Verdorbene Unschuld

Disclaimer: I own very little, extremely little, and Weiss is not included in that very small amount of things I do own. I'm using them for the entertainment of others and my own personal therapy. Think, I'm opportunistic to use anime to escape from real life? Sue me. Wait, on second hand, don't.

Warning: Plenty of angst, sadness, disease, hopelessness…it's depressing, NOT HAPPY. This is also Yaoi or m/m relationships. Aya seems just a tad fucked up, well he's anyway.

Rating: NC-17, there's swearing, there's sex, there will probably be a little violence if I'm in the right mood because it adds a nice side dish to all the angst.

Pairing: YoujixAya

Summary: Something is very, very wrong with Aya but will he let Youji help him? And even if he does, will it be far too late?

If I close my eyes and think of every nuance of your face, every facet of your eyes, the exact texture of your skin, the particular softness of your lips, the silkiness of your hair; if I sculpt your image with my imagination, when I open my eyes, you will not be there. Fantasy is not reality, and that is all you'll ever be for me, a fantasy. So very far out of reach. I wish I had a better imagination, even in my dreams I cannot make you love me.

Aya glanced him over, "Either come … or go," he said and turned, walking to the window to look at the park below. Aya had left the door open, had given him a welcoming invitation in Aya standards. Eons ago, he would have walked in with an eighth of the enthusiasm he had just received from Aya. But for the first time, in all the times he'd ever walked into Aya's room decidedly uninvited, he had not let Youji look at him. Now, with Aya's back towards him, he couldn't tell what Aya really wanted, couldn't read any loneliness or desperation in his eyes. Without the insight Aya unwillingly gave him with those violet orbs, he had no clue as to whether, despite the redhead's words, he was wanted there or not. Youji stood there for a moment, watching Aya rigidly _not_ look at him and thought harshly, 'fuck it.'

The door closed resoundingly behind him.

Aya continued to stare at the glass in the widow as the door closed, so Youji felt the need to start up the conversation. "Either come or go?" he reiterated, "Don't you think that's a little caustic after so many months?"

Aya turned his head slightly to look at Youji over his shoulder. The hospital lights showed how sick he really was, and Youji uncomfortably lowered his view to the hands clasped behind the man's back. They were trembling; whether from his presence or something else, Youji didn't know and the muscles in the arms attached to them was gone, skin stretched taunt over what little was left. He closed his eyes and remembered how graceful those hands had been, arranging flowers or playing along an old piano. But the memories were no distraction to Aya's next words.

"What more do you want me to say? I should hate you," Aya's voice, always so smooth and deep was now almost rasping. Youji swallowed and looked at him again. He could see the lines of pain and weariness on a face that though always pale, was nowadays far past the point of fair. Violet eyes were a duller shade of grey and the hair he had always adored had thinned out now and was more straggly without the small attention it had once received. For so many reasons, it hurt to look at Aya, to stare into dead eyes as he agreed with the man.

"And that's the problem," Aya said bitterly, glancing at Aya-chan's oblivious face before turning back to the window. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass, closing his eyes as he whispered, "Because I don't."

Something in Youji sprung forward at the admission so that even as he forced himself to push it down, knowing how dangerous it could be, knowing that it would only lead to disappoint, he still found himself taking steps towards Aya. He stopped once Aya started to speak again.

"It's funny, in a fucked up way, even when I first found out, I knew I wasn't going to be able to - just like I couldn't when you…," he paused and swallowed before continuing, "I wasn't supposed to see you. The message I sent with Manx was supposed to ensure that."

"Sorry," Youji responded, unrepentant. Anger and resentment laced his tone as he continued, "Manx must have misconstrued the message then, because all we got was a half-assed good-bye that made it seem like we were a loose end you figured should probably be tied up."

"Hn."

"_You_ should have _told_ us, Aya. We shouldn't have had to have found out by some fucking document on a computer," he growled accusingly.

Aya whirled suddenly; the spark of anger bringing a little bit of colour back into his eyes and forcing some of the apathy out. "Are you happier now?" he asked, all but hissing, "are you glad you know?"

"Shit…no…I mean…fuck…Aya," he started and stopped, not sure what to say.

"Don't say anything. Leave."

"No," he stated, crossing his arms. "I'm not happy that this happening to you, but I wish I had known from the beginning. I would have been here with you-,"

"Exactly!" Aya said, glaring at him, "Did you ever consider my privacy, my personal wish that you _not_ know about this before you sent Omi on a hacking spree? Did you ever think about the idea that I might not want you here, every step of the way, so that you could watch me die? So that I could watch you sit there and remember….,"

Youji blinked at the redhead. He had never thought that Aya wouldn't want to see him, unless Aya had hated him, in which case he would have fought for their - friendship. But Aya didn't hate him, and Youji had lost him anyway.

Aya snarled at him, furious at his incapacity to think. "If you want to stay here, fine," Aya stated, "But I'm not staying here with you." He walked to the door but the statement had dragged Youji from his stupor and he reached out and grabbed Aya's wrist, wincing at how frail it seemed in his grip and loosening his hold.

"You shouldn't be going out. It's bad enough you're not in isolation," he said, glaring at Aya as the man tried to pull his wrist away from Youji's grip. It frightened Youji when he couldn't, and he watched, heart breaking, as Aya settled for a glare instead.

"I don't need to be protected by you," Aya hissed out, backing as far away as Youji's hold allowed him to, "Gods, if anything I need to protected _from_ you."

The bitterness, anger, and self-hate in the redhead's voice were just as shockingly hurtful as the implications of the actual words. In his surprise, Youji's grip relaxed slightly and Aya slid his hand out, and with one sorrowful unnoticed glance back, he slipped out the door. Youji leaned against the door, not even trying to follow as his own conscious threw all its torments back at him - this time not in his own voice, but in Aya's.

******

Aya walked into the apartment building, ignoring the slightly startled security guard. So what if he hadn't been here for most of the time since it had come in to his possession, so what if the only reason it was clean was because of the service the building provided; it was still his. He stood alone in the elevator. The gold-tinted mirror that covered the car's walls showed someone else. He turned his head up to look at the buttons light up, indicating that there was only one level to go before he could leave. He gritted his teeth at the cheerful 'bing' that announced the opening of the doors and he stepped out, walking down the corridor until he reached his door. It seemed as if nothing had been touched or taken since he had last been in the apartment arranging things for a prolonged stay at the hospital.

Curling up on the sofa in the living room, he put every ounce of his being into _not_ thinking. He stared at the picture directly in his line of sight. One of Aya-chan smiling congenially back at him from the cabinet on the far wall. He got up with effort, walking over and picking up the frame before sitting back down. He ran his hand down the piece of glass, it smooth coolness soothing. He flipped it over; turning each holding bracket hesitatingly, as if it might attack him. Aya lifted the backing out, placing it gently on the coffee table before pulling out the contents, which he also put face-up on the small table. Five people stared back at him. One of them was him - except it wasn't him.

He stared at himself, scowling slightly at the camera with Youji's arm draped over his shoulder and Ken and Omi in front of them. Even there, he could see his image leaning ever so slightly against Youji's arm. Fool. He had prided himself on his restraint, on making it painfully clear that he and the blonde had just been friends. Yet here was solid proof he had done no such thing. He snarled and fell back onto the sofa with disgust, leaving the picture on the table.

He awoke to the sharp sound of the phone ringing. He frowned at it sleepily, wondering who would call him, when he realised he should probably pick it up.

"Hello?" he said casually, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He had slept for a few hours from the lack of light outside.

"It's Youji. Let me in, will you?"

"No," he responded, bringing the phone down, resting his fingers on it lightly.

It rang again and then again before he picked it up.

"Stop calling," he ordered over the phone.

"I will if you let me up," Youji responded cheerfully, sounding like he had once used to. The falsely cheerful tones grated on Aya's nerves.

"You know I hate to repeat myself," Aya snapped back, in no mood to hear it, to hear _that_ voice.

"I don't know, I mean you've changed your name, your apartment, what's to say-"

Aya hung up. He was breathing hard as he glared at the phone. He didn't need to wait long before it rang again.

"Youji," he said sharply.

"The security guard is going to call the police if I don't go and as I'm _not_ going until I talk to you…" Youji trailed off, sounding annoyed and stubborn, "Do you want me to be arrested?"

"It's no less than you deserve," he retorted, only to become angry at the guilt that infused him afterwards.

"I didn't ask what I deserved," Youji replied, softer but no less stubborn. Aya grimaced at the hurt not quite hidden in the man's voice. "I _asked_ if you wanted me to be arrested?" he repeated.

He made no verbal response, just pressing six so the door would be opened and hanging up the phone. He stared at the device for a moment as if Youji might come out of it instead of coming through the door. The knock from outside dragged him from his thoughts and he whirled, hitting his shin on the coffee table. He looked down- the pictures were still there. Aya ignored the shouting for him to 'open the fucking door' in favour of hurriedly putting the frame together. He placed the picture back on the cabinet and threw open the door.

"Wow, you actually opened it. I expected you to let me sit outside the door now that you don't need to worry about the police anymore, Hideo-san," Aya flinched slightly at the inflection on Youji's last word. He frowned but didn't respond, only opened the door wider to let the blonde man in.

Youji walked through the doorway, glancing around at what was visible of the apartment before slipping off his shoes and flopping himself down on the sofa. Aya's scowl deepened as he realised that Youji had sat exactly where he had been sitting moments before.

"Would you like something to drink?" he asked striving for the polite tone he'd used often when he was young and hadn't used since. He desperately wanted to leave the room.

Youji smiled at him, and something stirred in him, a coil of anger tightened in his gut. None of it was real, the controlled smile, the glance overtop of his sunglasses…it was driving Aya nuts. "When did you decide to play host?" he asked.

"I'll take that as a 'no'," Aya said with a raised eyebrow before walking into the kitchen. Youji got up and followed him, making his shoulders twitch in displeasure.

"How do you have anything anyways? Do you really think anything lasted while you've been gone?" he could hear the amusement in Youji's voice.

"It's called a freezer," he said, the word idiot implied by his tone as he pulled out a can of frozen concentrated orange juice. He brushed past Youji, refusing to look at the man as he reached for a pitcher before turning to the sink.

Youji watched as Aya kept his back to him, once again deliberately not looking at him as the blonde smiled tiredly. It was still so easy to push the man's buttons and hide behind the anger that was almost a constant between them. Youji knew Aya sure as hell wasn't going to be the first to try and bridge the awkward silence that had appeared. The redhead was the king of silence, including the awkward kind. If he hadn't been famous for his family's downfall, his unusual colouring, or throwing swords at helicopters, Aya would have been famous for the ability to not say _anything_ for the longest period of time.

He could have made millions on it on some weird American show probably.

But then again, Aya wasn't a capitalist.

He was a dying ex-vigilantly with a capitalist father.

What a difference a generation can make, my friends.

Youji shook his head, trying to get out of the odd and useless mindset he was in. Someone had to try and make this work, even if the 'this' was indefinable at the moment. There was only one small problem. He could thing of hundreds of things to say, humorous, stupid, sad, flirty, you name it, but he had no idea what would help and what would hinder. So he settled for a neutral, "umm……"

"Why are you here, Youji?" Aya asked, _finally_ turning to look at the man, revealing the emptiness and weariness in his eyes. Fear washed over Youji as he realised that Aya had given up. He hadn't wanted the blonde to see his countenance because he knew that Youji would fight to try and save him.

And he didn't want to be saved.

This wasn't Aya's normal stubborn nature refusing to ask for help. It was Aya _wanting_ to _die_. Well Youji wouldn't let him. Fuck him. When the fuck did Aya, of all people, start giving up?

"I'm not letting you die," Youji growled aloud by accident, but meaning it all the same.

Aya appeared surprised for a moment before his eyes narrowed. He crossed his arms over his chest and his expression twisted. "And how do you plan on managing what doctors and chemotherapy couldn't? I didn't realise you could stop cells from mutating," he murmured, walking out of the kitchen with a glass of orange juice.

Youji reached out and grabbed his arm, spilling some orange juice, "Oh fuck you. Did you even try, angst boy? It's such a perfect ending for someone as dramatic as you. Are you that desperate for death that you'll accept _this_?"

"Screw you, Youji. What do you think you know of me that allows you to judge me? And even if that was true, how would you be able to save me from myself? You're a _killer_, Youji. You're no good at saving people, only the opposite."

Youji was probably more surprised by the punch than Aya was. He only realised that he had thrown it by noticing how the extended arm connected to his shoulder. He watched, isolated, as Aya fell, one hand reaching out to grab the top of a cabinet for balance. A picture fell off the lacquered wood and the sound of breaking glass pulled the blonde out of his daze. He reached for Aya only to have him jerk away, turning around to start picking up the broken glass. His hands shook and he kept on dropping the pieces. Youji bent down to help as Aya ignored him. Carefully removing the picture to keep it from being ruin by the sharp shards, he realised that there was not one put two photographs.

"Aya…?" Aya ignored him, intent on cleaning up the mess and keeping his head down.

"Aya, what is this?" he asked, sharper this time as he glanced down at the second photo. The one of Weiss.

Aya leaned back onto his heels and closed his eyes, "Youji I'd like you to leave." He sounded tired and blood dripped from his hand from where he had tried to clench it around the fragments.

Youji tsked and leaned closer. He grabbed the wounded hand and pulled out the embedded shards. "No, I'm not leaving you now that I finally found you," he said, gently but firmly, "Why did you keep this?"

"It's just a picture, Youji."

"It's not just a picture!" Aya opened his eyes at the angry tone, gaze shifting from desperate green eyes to the picture held in a golden hand and back again. He said nothing, finally glancing around at the floor covered in spilt orange juice and glass.

"Why, Aya? If nothing during Weiss mattered to you, if the only thing you cared about was your sister, why keep this?"

"I never said that," Aya moved his gaze to the space between them. It was so small.

"What? What?" Youji grabbed him by the shoulders and shaking, "You left us. You always stated your sister was the most important thing. The fact that we didn't matter was implied."

"My sister is the most important thing. But she wasn't the only thing that mattered," he looked up again, watching, strangely frightened/eager to know what Youji's reaction might be.

"Well shit," Youji said; he backed up and Aya felt strangely disappointed. He felt strangely bereft without the feeling of Youji's breath on his skin. He couldn't quite understand why he had wanted an explosive reaction.

Aya watched as Youji ran a hand through his hair. "You never showed it, never let on that you cared at all," he muttered.

Aya snorted derisively and as slowly worked his way up, hurting more than he ever should just from the simple fall. Youji took a step forward to help but changed his mind, letting his hand fall. "Because I always show my real feelings?" Aya questioned, an eyebrow raised.

Youji smirked ever so slightly and said, "Taketori." Aya growled. "Case and point," he continued, looking slightly smug.

"Alright, so there were a few extreme cases…" Aya allowed, albeit grudgingly. He sat down on the couch, abandoning the picture frame as a lost cause and placing the few shards left in his hand on the coffee table. The picture was still in Youji's hand so reached over and tugged at it a little until he captured it. He tapped the photo against the coffee table lightly a few times and sighed.

"It was just a reminder, that's all," he said, looking up to find Youji staring at him oddly.

"A reminder of what?" Youji asked, sitting down beside him, unknown questions in his eyes.

"A reminder of Weiss, of what I had gained and lost, of a lot of things," he frowned, "Why?

"Why what?"

"Why do you care about this? Why come now, knowing it's too late to ask questions that don't matter?" he stared at the blonde, anger coming to the surface. He had dealt with this, said his goodbyes, so why did Youji keep trying to make him remember his past?

Youji shrugged, "Hell if I know."

Aya twitched and his hand clenched and unclenched in a familiar manner. Youji blandly wondered if he should be frightened by the fact that he was comforted by Aya wanting to throttle him.

Ahh…those warm fuzzy feelings of better times.

Hmph.

But just like then, Aya was here, in the moment, focusing on Youji as he all but hissed in the blonde's face. He was _here_, in front of Youji. Here.

He swore to himself that he wasn't imagining this, that this wasn't another dream gone wrong. But he couldn't quite make himself believe it. He had touched him earlier, just today mere minutes ago he had grabbed his arm…but still…

He reached out and Aya started at the feeling of his fingers on the man's face. The redhead tried to lower his gaze but Youji just lifted his chin until he could see the sparks of anger and hesitation shooting through the violet orbs.

"How do you not know?" Aya asked, the hesitation in the fore now, despite the irritation in his softly spoken words.

"The only things I know anything about are love, sex and killing people," he said, hands still cupping Aya's chin as he spoke a small untruth, "And those really don't have much to do with this situation, do they?"

"…No, they don't," Aya said, but Youji could have sworn he had heard…no…he hadn't.

There hadn't been disappointed in Aya's voice as he said it. He had just been imagining what he wanted to hear. But as Aya finally pulled his chin away from Youji's grasp, he couldn't be sure.

And if it hadn't been his imagination, he'd be damned if he'd let this chance go without one hell of a fight.