Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Glowing ❯ I Wonder ( Chapter 1 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

light is blinding. It seeps in through my eyelids in a red haze, a bright line piercing through my lingering unconsciousness. Sighing, I grope around for the covers, which by the feel of it are bunched around the end of the bed, far beyond my reach.
“Redheaded bastard.“
Satisfied with my grumbling and resigned to the lack of covers, I roll over, burying my head in the pillows to continue my attempt to spend the rest of my life here, naked, comfortable, and not awake enough to seriously consider or remember anything. My body is loose, stretched out and bared to the world, carelessly vulnerable and thick in sleep. I don’t bother to open my eyes and clear the residue on them so I can check the time. Fuck time, I don’t ever want to get up again.
My skin tenses as I hear a pounding on my door.
“Yohji! Come on, get your ass up man!”
I groan, checking the clock. It’s only nine, damn it. I have plenty of time to sleep through.
“Damn it Yohji, I’m not covering for you again!”
Go away Ken. Go take your damned clean cut shit and find a ball to play with since the two between your legs are clearly going to waste. I dig my hands into the mattress, clenching my eyes shut. The pounding starts again.
“Yohji! Just get your ass up. Aya’s gonna be pissed if you’re late again.”
Aya’s always pissed. He’ll glare at me and just go back to work. I’m tired of his standoffish shit. He acts like he doesn’t know what to say to me. You can’t get close to him unless you fight him for it. You have to shock him into opening up. You can tell in his eyes he’s always thinking, he just never shares it, or only rarely, at great lengths, when something inexplicably pries it out of him.
I’m too damned tired to fight.
Sitting up I decide its not worth it to stay in bed. Getting off the bed, I dig through the closet, pulling out the first things I see. Glancing in the mirror, I decide its also not worth my while to shave, my face is passable, and run my fingers through my hair. Once my sunglasses are on, I figure there’s nothing else to keep me from the inevitable mundane reality awaiting me. At least Rex hasn’t been by in a few weeks to hand down a new mission, so we’re really florists for the time being.
I’m still sure that’s completely contrived, that somehow playing with flowers, losing ourselves in the innocuous responsibility of meticulous and ultimately wasted effort towards equally contrived beauty is going to keep us pure, or pure enough to remain Weiss. Weiss is just a convenient name, it’s a blank check for our actions because it implies that we are good, we are purposed, and that we know what the hell we are actually doing. Maybe not that last one.
I catch myself fingering my watch. Smirking, I pull it off, drop it with a bitter flourish on the dresser. It hits with a thud, carrying the weight of everything in my mind.
Sinking to the ground, I feel my hands fly up and knot in my hair, clenching around the strands like wire. I pull at it, pull it tight like wire snapping the neck of some corrupt and sadistic businessman, a security guard positioned outside the wrong door, his face contorted with hopeless objections. Doesn’t he know you can’t reason with the guilty? I’m guiltiest because there’s no choice in this, and when there is, I do the same. My reasons, my justifications fell apart a long time ago, thrown in my face with the real end of all of this and how cold it invariably leaves all of us. I think eventually we’ll give up this pretense at humanity, at lingering preoccupations, I’ll even give up drinking, and we’ll only live while we kill. It’s what allows us life now, why shouldn’t that dependency expand?
My fingers dig into my palms, biting with thin crescents that crack in brittle fragments over the skin, pulling my hair out in bunches of blond strands, sticking to the thin cuts. Pulling with a snap, a horrible wrenching, the snap of her neck over me, voice escaping like smoke, choked out, a terrible mantra to haunt my dreams and set a rhythm behind my life. Faintly, I can register myself moaning, a low hopeless noise scratching out my throat. My fingers are sticky around the cuts, nails digging in with a sharp hot pain, a negligible pain, the pain of wire stretched over my gloves, biting the leather, curved tight around it.
I pull harder, red hair hanging down, tangled in wire, face flashing with rage as the body kneels, a sword dropped in front of it as it goes limp, dependent on the wires holding it up. A voice hissing out, spitting curses. The eyes shocked right before he’s knocked out. I wondered at his pale skin as it bruised, at the welts around his neck from the wire, brilliant against the skin, against the sheets of my bed as he slept. And wire wrapped around his wrists.
The wire tricked me for a long time into thinking I had any measure of control. I flicked it out, bound, severed with an acute fluid reason of motion. With it I could break the most vital connection in the body. Such power, power as it turns out is always mortgaged to another power, convinced me that somehow I was capable of transcending this. This too shall pass. The moments pass, the immediate sensation of snapping bone passes, of the momentary and disgusting thrill as the wire goes loose in my hands and snaps back. It flies with a liquid precision, cutting the air in two. That passes too and it’s retracted into the little cage on my arm, the watch counting my hours, wearing a mark in me from my wrist. An extension of the wires that bind me here, those invisible strands that jerk me relentlessly forward no matter what objections I can muster or disgust I can feel, no matter how much I break my mind or the rest of my body, as long as my wrists are intact they‘ll continue to pull by striking outwards and holding me here, an eternal witness to my own hopeless immersion in this. Wire is strong, it can’t be broken, only retracted.
The images shoot through me, shaking through me with a furious vitriol. My hands clench again, tightening their grip in spasms, as I hear the door open, the floor creaking. I flinch at the hand on my shoulder, take in the cold wall pressed into my back, my knees drawn up to my chest.
The hand trails down my back, rubbing between my shoulders in circles, a gesture meant to be soothing. He presses his hand in too hard, rubbing slowly. I wouldn’t be surprised if it bruised.
“Are you alright?”
His voice is tight, strained. I snap my eyes open as he speaks, taking in the strands of hair clinging to my legs and down my hands, masses of hair, thin gleaming bundles of it. His eyes are bright with worry, contrasting with the cold mask of his face, the thin inexhaustible set of his jaw. He reaches up and untangles my fingers from my hair, dropping them to the floor. He crouches in front of me, still, impassive. I grin, I can read the worry in his eyes. Its almost funny to see how obvious my falling apart has become.
My voice comes out choked, quiet, hardly a whisper.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
“What was it?”
His voice is deep, low and shaking with concern, or frustration or both. If it wasn’t for the look in his eyes I’d wonder when he was going to start yelling at me for not showing up to the shop. He’s always so quiet, waiting for me to answer. He bites his lip carefully.
“Nothing.”
I try to make it sound light, easy. Instead it’s a low whisper. I don’t know if he can imagine what I’m denying.
“Yohji-”
He says my name like it explains everything, like that one word can express everything for him.
“Don’t worry about it.”
I run my hand over his cheek, marveling for the hundredth time at the smooth skin. Funny how I always have to reassure him. Of course, he’d just say I don’t let him do the same for me. He stopped criticizing most of what I do a long time ago, stopped calling me a drunk or a pervert once he saw the reason behind it. He hasn’t gotten yet that he’s another sort of vice, that more than alcohol or sex or whatever the current fetish is, I distract myself from my own hell in him and blame him for it. I can throw all my faults on him and derive every joy from his presence. He revels in guilt like no other. Seeing the way I am now, it makes me wonder if the obsession is contagious, transmutable from one mind to another. He pulls back from me, a hard set to his brow. So we’re going to play honesty now are we, Aya? Funny how you would have hit me by now if I’d invaded your own private neurosis, the agony that seems to color everything you do.
He pulls back from me, a dark look cutting over his features.
“You were thinking about Neu.”
He says it softly, stating it without question, his voice thick and cool. And it spins back into the same, all over again. The monotonous, hopeless drone of killing, of fighting.
She was going to be my savior. Asuka, I could free myself, find liberation in her escaping death.
I thought once that Aya could save me too, give me a sort of freedom. But he is mired in everything I am, reflecting my sins back at me through his.
I used to believe we were good, the heroes in some sense. Thought there was something just in the blood we shed. We fight for the innocent, in name.
I don’t know what I fight for, except to continue this for the sole reason that there is nothing else for me. I can feel the weight of it settle around me shoulders as I wake up, the lingering taint of every kill, the remnants of ideals, at once disgusting and regretful, the saddening sense of love and distance.
I let Aya be distant because I don’t want to admit I need him. He’s always needed me to alleviate or justify or expound his guilt. My guilt can wait until its overwhelming.
I don’t say any of this, letting it die in my throat with a whisper.
“Yes.”
Simple, absurd and vaguely obscene. I wish he’d just go away and leave me alone with this. He stands up, looking down at me, lost in confusion. Sighing, I pull myself up after him.
Not looking at me, he whispers, his voice comes out hesitant, sounding young, younger than I could have ever imagined him to be. Maybe as young as he really is. I almost miss it.
“This doesn’t make you happy. Does it?”
What he’s really asking is if he’s enough. If its somehow his fault that I let Neu trick me, that I had to kill her, even though he warned me against it.
He understands how I linger over the memory, understands blame and self-loathing. What he doesn’t understand is how to help me.
I reach out and rake his hand, looking up at him, taking in the scared cast of his eyes, the anxious set of his lips.
“Aya……fuck. No, I’m not happy, but its not your fault.”
The words come out slow. He looks away from me. Without his eyes as windows, his expression is unreadable.
I may as well say it.
“I don’t know why I do anything anymore.” I pause, squeezing his hand.
“Aya, why do you continue to kill like we do?”He looks back up at me now, a tired look marked into his face I’ve never seen before.
“Do we have a choice not to Yohji? Is it possible now to walk away? A part of myself dies with every person I kill, my blade is drenched in as much of my own blood as anyone else’s. I’m glad for that.” His voice gets quieter, halting as he speaks,” It means I’m human, it means that the pain I’ve endured is still there, the guilt is still real and that what I’ve done- good and bad- won’t be forgotten quite yet. Yes, with each target, I take on guilt for an act I can no longer rationalize, no longer justify with revenge, which is really no justification at all. I saved no one in the end, Yohji.”
I wonder at the raw emotion in his eyes, the brilliant pain turned over itself. His eyes are marvelous because they are fractured, a reflection of their bearer, so twisted and turned in on himself that he can’t help but reflect his own perfection. I don’t know what is so beautiful about him, who is so miserable, so caught up in his own sense of pain that he can’t help anyone. I wonder every so often if he keeps his distance in an attempt to protect us from what goes on behind those eyes.
“But Aya-chan’s alive isn’t she? Doesn’t that mean something Aya?”
I have to wonder.
His voice now is so quiet I can hardly make out what he says.
“Yes. It means more than anything to know that she’s free, that somehow I helped to give her that chance at life. But that doesn’t remove the taint of my actions or change the fact that I’m a murderer. There’s no hope left for me, in Weiss or outside it. Sometimes, Yohji, sometimes I forget what crime exactly I’m making up for. My guilt ensures that my actions will never be forgotten for what they were, however they were intentioned. I atone through what I am, through what I’ve become by such measures. I continue because I don’t know what else I can do. Because each death changes my guilt and adds to it, each killing is an atonement and more guilt to be taken on. I am weak Yohji, because I do this, because I have nothing else in life but to shift the balance of corruption and pain through death and if I can take that pain to endure for myself I am happy for it.”He goes quiet. I stare at him, gaping at his honesty. It’s something I have heard him say before, but now, it leaves me silent. This is the end of what he forces himself to be. I wonder what it means for him to say it. His voice breaks through again, suddenly.
“Do you expect to be saved Yohji? Do you expect anything different?”
It is a thin apprehensive sort of hiss with which he says this. He sighs, the tired look obscuring his features again.
“I don’t. Why would we deserve to be saved? We weren’t forced into it. I realized that after I survived my revenge. I never expected that.” He pauses,” You know, and we’re left without a real purpose, a real reason for any of this, to something hollow and painful, and all you can do is endure it. I’ve tried for redemption, nothing comes of it. It is my due, my atonement to live like this.”
Even if he’s being honest, there’s something heavy and sad in his eyes that makes me think he’s keeping some thought to himself. I used to wonder how he could act like nothing affected him, now it’s obvious this is how it affects him, by forcing him to look at himself without reservation. And I used to think I could pull him out of that.
My voice escapes, involuntarily.
“It’s too much.”
He inclines his head towards me. I wonder if I’ve absorbed too much of his philosophy.
“It is.”
These are the most words we’ve exchanged in a long time, words that mean anything anyways. We lock eyes, staring into each other where we can. I used to think moments like these rendered me capable of anything, that they proved somehow escape was possible.
I thread my fingers through his hair, which is thick, spilling in red waves over my hands and down my arms, a long dark sea of crimson down his back and over his eyes, and tilt his face up to mine. Asuka never had hair like this. His eyes are brilliant with an uncertainty that’s always present but that he’d never admit to, even if he’s in an open mood, like now. He lets them drift close and I kiss the lids, pressing my lips down his cheeks as I pull him close. Tightening my grip on him, I press our mouths together, letting him sigh into me. I can feel him relax, tell he is thinking that it was a momentary thing, an anomaly. That when we pull apart everything will be alright. Good thing he didn’t catch this last night, that he didn’t wake up until it was over and I’d shaken the dream off. It’s always the same series of images, the same searing memories.
Its strange to realize that no matter how sick I feel, how through with it all, that I still want to protect him where I can. Let him think that I’m still free in this somehow.
He pulls back and I smile at him, feeling a rare honest spark of joy at the slight upward curve to his mouth, smiling back at me.
We are standing there, still silent and wrapped in each other when there’s a new pounding on the door.
If its Ken, I’m going to fucking kill him, I don’t care if he adds another face in my dream.
“Um, Yohji? Aya?”
Sena’s voice chirps anxiously through the door.
“What?”
“Rex is here. We need you down in the mission room.”
Fuck.
____________________

Rex is silent as she slips the tape in and plays it. A slim silhouette appears on the screen, surrounded by same milky light from the same window its always been, its hands clasped in front of it. The voice comes out rough, distorted. I don’t know who Omi- sorry Mamoru as he ordered us to think of him- thinks he’s fooling.
I think he’s better out of it this way.
“Weiss. There have been many recent attacks of terrorists on important people, people around the world who were once affiliated with Esset.”
I can feel us all flinch at the words, gory scenes spread across the screen, flickering in and out of various bodies, strangers faces contorted in pain. Even though its obvious these are only here to compel us to agree to the mission, they are still horrifying.
“And though we have used all the resources at Kritiker’s disposal, even searching through Interpol’s files, we can find no definite connection, to Esset or otherwise. We do not know who is leading this attack or for what purpose.”
Brilliant, yet another mission with nothing to lead us.
“The only leads we have are the terrorists who killed themselves at the crime scene, two Germans, and one Japanese. All three men were young, in their late teens, and affiliated with top high schools that were founded recently. The Japanese left a note saying nothing but “I am a failure”. We believe this may have a connection to the ongoing suicides at Koua Academy where the Japanese terrorist had been a student. The school is famed for its mysterious curriculum and presumed political affiliations.”
More pictures flood the screen, the bodies of kids is uniforms splayed out on sidewalks, hanging from rafters. Why are these kids killing themselves?
“According to the information obtained by Kritiker, the mission begins with entering the school and finding out its relationship to the terrorists and their targets. Weiss, deny these dark beasts their tomorrow!”
With the customary pseudo-poetic demand, the tape ends, the screen going black. Rex switches the t.v. off.
“Any questions?”
No one speaks. I however, am in a curious mood.
“Yeah, Rex what do we expect to find? Do you have anything else for us? I mean, come on, that’s not exactly a lot of information.”
She looks at me for a moment.
“Yes, you’re right. There is more. These schools-”
“Wait, what do you mean schools?”
Ken glares up at Rex, obviously irked by the as always, halted disclosure of information. Sometimes I wonder if Kritiker likes to hold back information, just to see what we can do without it.
Rex sighs, clearly uncomfortable.
“Yes. Weinrow High School in Germany. It’s the sister school of Koua Academy. Their funding seems to have similar sources, and……both schools have inordinately high suicide rates.”
“So what’s that got to do with us?”
It’s always amazing how Ken seems to be snarling when he asks these questions. You almost don’t want her to answer just to see if he’ll snap.
“As well as infiltrating Koua Academy, we’ll need operatives to enter Weinrow.”
What. The. Fuck. I speak up, better that Ken doesn’t go at her before we get all the information.
“Why not another team?”
“We need the effort to be cohesive so comparison of the two institutions is easier. We believe that whatever is causing the suicides at Koua, is causing them at Weinrow as well.”
“What does this have to do with terrorists?”
Rex shifts about, obviously unsure of how to respond. I smirk, apparently we’re not the only ones who aren’t getting enough information. Suddenly she spoke, her voice in a whisper.
“Esset.”
Ken jumps up from where he is sitting, furious.
“Esset? I thought we killed those guys! What the hell is this?”
“You killed the Elders. Esset, thanks to its international funding and connections managed to survive.”
Sena chirps out, confused:
“But what would they want with a school?”
“That, Weiss, is what you are going to have to find out.” She pauses.” Now who accepts the mission?”
“I’m in” Aya pushes himself up off the wall, a dark look on his face and walks over to Rex.
“Alright, who else?”
“Sure.” Ken joins in, the smile dropping off his face.
“I’ll do it.” Sena steps over to stand by Aya, his head inclined.
I don’t want to, Aya stares at me, looking through his hair. His eyes narrow when I remain silent.
“Fine. I’m in too.”
The words leave me before I’m convinced. Aya’s expression smoothes back out as he turns towards Rex. She hands a set of packets to Aya and Sena, who grip them tightly.
“Aya, Sena, you two will infiltrate Koua. Inside those folders are information on the school, as well as the specifics on the roles you will serve at the school. Kyo will serve as back-up and technical support.”
Ken stares at Rex.
“And what about us?”
“I’m getting to that. I will need the rest of you to leave the room so I may brief Ken and Yohji on their assignment.”
Aya nods, turning towards the stairs to leave, already wrapped in his mission persona. Abyssinian doesn’t look at me as he walks past, exiting quickly.
Once they’re gone Rex motions for us to sit.
“So what is it?”
My voice comes out in a lazy drawl. I can tell she doesn’t like it.
“We will need you two to infiltrate Weinrow.”
Ken tenses next to me.
“So we’re going to Europe?”
I nudge him in the shoulder, smirking again.
“Hey come on Ken, it won’t be bad, na, fine wines, good food, the best legs in the world. I look forward to it.”
He sends me a dirty look. I think I was right on his balls, they’re clearly going to waste.
“Shut up Yohji”
It’s easy being the obnoxious slut in front of everybody. They tend to leave you alone.
Rex clears her throat, drawing our attention back to her.
“As I said, you two will infiltrate Weinrow. Your orders and positions will be similar to your teammates’ at Koua, and you will join them there once you return from Weinrow.”
Sure. Just give us the names of our targets and let us go.
“Ken.” He snaps to attention. “You will pose as a student. We want you to be on the lookout for any suspicious or strange activity, and in addition look into the most recent suicides. Our answers may lie there.”
He nods and takes his packet from her, already tearing it open to get his specifics.
“Yohji. “ I loll my head toward her, leering slowly. She glares at me.
“You however have a more specific mission.” Rex pulls a picture from her jacket showing a slender European woman in a suit. Her brown hair is swept back into a loose ponytail. She is smiling, her pretty face glowing.
“This is Michelle Dirne. She is the head of Weinrow Academy, as well as being an alumni of the school, graduating with the first class five years ago. She is suspected to be an agent of Esset and is affiliated with several of the politicians who benefited from the recent assassinations.”
I look again at the picture, her features are soft, she looks no older than Omi ever did. Its always hard to believe that someone who looks so kind, so innocuous could be a cruel, power-hungry murderer, or so insane as to believe in that dogma of Esset’s. But then just think what we’re capable of. Yes, I believe florists are usually inclined to assassination.
I shudder, remembering some of the things their followers did to prepare for that gruesome ceremony. If this woman is capable of any of those things, then killing her shouldn’t be so hard.
I’d like to think so. Rex starts up again.
“We need you to get close to her, find out exactly what she’s involved in and as much as you can about what the school is being used for, as well as if Esset is actually involved, and to what end.”
Rex pauses.
“We will update your orders once you learn more, but if she is involved with any of this, or Esset, you are to kill her.”
I close my eyes. Shouldn’t come as a surprise, but its shocking how sickening that thought is. For my own sake, I hope this woman is just caught in the wrong place. I doubt it. If Weinrow is anything like Kritiker suspects, there’s almost no way she’s not involved.
Sighing, I reach out and grab the packet from Rex. Turning to leave she says one last thing,
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t share the specifics of your mission with the rest of Weiss. They aren’t aware that this is more than a reconnaissance mission.”
No, they just haven’t been told. It’s expected that once they find the names, they’ll just be pointed in the direction to kill. That’s what we do, we find the names of our victims and then our murders are sanctioned.
Officially anyways.
Ken nods and Rex leaves, taking the stairs slowly. I wonder is she has any other teams to brief and decide I don’t really care.
I feel myself stiffen as Ken puts a hand on my shoulder, his voice coming out in a mockery of cheerfulness.
“Well, you have to seduce a woman Yohji. That should be right up your alley.”
Grinning back at him, I let my voice come out heavy, with a decadent tone.
“Yeah. You know, they say Germans are real wild. I look forward to it.”
Shrugging his hand off, I give him my best leer. Ken just rolls his eyes.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
I nearly choke on my laughter. I think that’s the closest I’ve heard Ken make to a sex joke since…well since we got a new Persia.
I wonder if he’s thinking about that now.
He scowls and I grin at him again, fluttering my fingers goodbye as I walk up the stairs. As soon as the door closes I let it drop, crumpling the mission packet between my fingers. I can feel the outline of the plane tickets inside, they stand out against the regular thin paper, which I assume details a biography of this Dirne woman I’m supposed to go after.
Better a prostitute than a killer. For now anyways.
When I walk into the bedroom, Aya is hunched over his packet on the bed, with all the papers spread around him. I sigh, going over to dig through the bookcase, knowing him, he won’t want to do anything else for a few hours.
In the bookcase there is nothing but stacks and stacks of Aya’s books, all obtuse stuff I’ve never felt the desire to read. Still I glance over the titles. Anthem, The Collected Plays of George Bernard Shaw, The Collected Essays of Aldous Huxley, The Sickness Unto Death. Who the hell are these people? I stare at the spines of the books, demanding they give me a name I at least recognize.
On the second shelf is a volume of Shakespeare. I know him, “To thine own self be true”, and all that.
I don’t know if I am, true to myself that is.
I pull the book off the shelf and flip it open, marking a few pages of the plays that seem vaguely familiar. Hamlet, Macbeth, Romeo and Juliet.
I lean back with it, starting with a random page of Macbeth.
“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
crawls in this petty pace from day to day,
to the last syllable of recorded time.
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out! Out! Brief candle,
Life’s but a walking shadow….”
A walking shadow. I feel a slow smile spread over my face. A walking shadow. Isn’t that fucking perfect? I glance back down at the page, reading the rest of the speech.
“…………………… ………a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.”
They say words are universal, that there are only so many feelings humans can express. I guess a sixteenth century Englishman got to this hopelessness first then.
I should print this on my skin, an answer to the mark already on my arm.
When you gonna learn?
I’m not. Anything I tried to take up, anything I tried to perfect would just be more noise, more complications of a simple situation. I kill. I have killed, and will kill again, and no one cares a damn for how I react as long as my arm functions and my watch doesn’t break.
“Signifying nothing”, isn’t that the truth.
It’s too much. You would think the realization of the emptiness in all our actions would be relieving. Instead it weighs heavier than any ideal, any purpose or force of action.
I realize I’ve dropped the book when I hear it hit the floor, landing in a tent, the spine pushed upwards shouting the title up at me, demanding to be picked up. I let it stay where it is.
Aya looks up at the noise, staring at me.
And now, cued perfectly, he is going to bitch at me for dropping his book.
I’m waiting.
He gets up from the bed and walks over, picking the book up.
“Have you ever read Shakespeare?”
His voice is light, almost conversational.
“No. I mean, just now I read a little part of Macbeth, but nothing else.”
He smiles at me,
“Did you like it?”
Like it?
“I don’t know. It just….it really made sense to me.”
He hands the book back to me.
“The best writers will do that. It’s not really about a gut decision of like or dislike, of good or bad. It’s the thought that the book inspires in you. Sometimes, reading will make things clearer for me because the piece reflects what I’m feeling and thinking.”
He smiles at me again, a deep beautiful curve to his lips. It’s a rare look.
“I suppose that proves I’m human, na? It’s amazing just to imagine the collected imaginings written down, the amassed expression of man. You almost don’t want to identify, because identification makes you a part of that, of all the atrocities and injustices, all the weakness and guilt of the world. But it also gives you a part of the joy, of the ongoing epiphany both within yourself and in these books.”
His eyes glaze over reflectively. If this is how he thinks of them, no wonder books keep him sane. Or near enough anyways.
“I think you’ll get a lot out of this. Keep it.”
With that he turns away and walks back over to the bed.
It’s not often Aya gives anything to anyone. I hold the book to my chest, watching him. He moves so gracefully, elegantly. Looking at him during the day, you’d never even imagine what it was he did at night.
I wonder how he’ll react when I tell him what my orders are. May as well not put it off.
“Aya..”
He doesn’t look up this time, reabsorbed in the specifics of the mission.
“Hn?”
Ah yes, back to monosyllabics. He’s said a lot today. I should have expected it.
“What do you think of the mission?”
May as well ease into the announcement.
“It should be interesting. You know, I kind of wanted to be a teacher when I was younger.”
I can almost see it, except I can’t picture Aya as he is, Aya who prefers to be alone, Aya so immersed in his guilt and rage that he’s intolerant of most light hearted pursuits, Aya who is nearly famous for his frequent yell of “Buy something or leave!” Maybe Aya used to be better suited to that.
It’s odd to realize that I will never know what he was like before his life was torn apart by Takatori, before he took up the pursuit of vengeance and let that consume his life and everything he was.
I can see traces of who he was when he smiles, when he reads or gets caught up in some stupidity of mine. I imagine the way he smirks when he calls me an idiot or an equally insulting endearment, is something left over from what he was before. I like to think I’m able to bring that out in him.
I smile at him and settle for saying,
“I think you would have been good at it.”
Still smiling he sets the paper he was reading down.
“Well, at least I’ll get the chance to see.” He pauses, studying me, “Are you going to be posing as a teacher as well?”
I decide to answer honestly.
“Maybe, later.”
The smile slips.
“Yohji, what did Rex have to say to you.” He stops, a little hesitant. “If you can’t tell me…..that’s alright.”
From the look on his face it’s most definitely not alright. I sigh, picking my mission packet up again.
“Ken and I are going to Germany, to infiltrate Weinrow High School.”
He frowns.
“Is that all?”
What he doesn’t ask is why she didn’t just say it in front of him. I start fidgeting with the edges of the packet, feeling around for the ticket.
“Not entirely…”He is silent.
“Ken is going to be doing basically what you and Sena are doing here.”
He doesn’t look at me
“And you are?”
“They want me to…get close to the head of Weinrow Academy.”
“A woman.”
He states it simply. I can hardly hear the strain in his voice.
“Yes.” Finally opening the packet I rifle through it until I find a picture, which I hand to him.
“Her name is Michelle Dirne. They think she’s connected to Esset. I’m just supposed to find that out.”
“You’re supposed to seduce her.”
He doesn’t sound surprised, but then I’ve been offered this sort of mission a few times. I just never had to accept them before. He looks up at me again.
“Will you be able to? I mean…you’re probably going to have to..”
He’s always so awkward when he’s trying to comfort anyone. I stare at him, refusing to let the image of Neu come into my mind.
“If I have to, I will.”
It sounds so simple said like that. He reaches out and takes my hand, grasping it tight.
“When do you leave?”
I pull the ticket out, glancing at the itinerary.
“Next week, apparently they wanted to give us time to prepare.”
He doesn’t respond, instead, he drops my hand and collects the papers off the bed, shoving them back into his folder. I sit down in the emptied space, just looking at him.
“When do you start at Koua?”
“In a week.”
Kritiker is very good at timing things. I wrap my arm around his waist, pulling him close. For once he doesn’t put up a fight.
“At least we’ll have that time.”
He doesn’t respond again. I look down at him, forcing my lips into a teasing smile.
“And you know, you’ll probably be so caught up in traumatizing whatever poor kids you have to teach that you won’t even notice I’m gone.”
I laugh as he elbows me in the ribs, glaring.
“I’m sure you’ll be a great teacher.”
“Hn”
He settles back against me, closing his eyes.
“I’ll be back. This shouldn’t take more than a couple weeks.”
He glances up at me, a small smirk spreading over his face
“What makes you think I want you to come back?”
Laughing to myself, I run a finger under my eye, pretending to wipe away a tear.
“I’m hurt. You know you can’t live without my amazing presence.”
His smile widens
“I don’t know, I might enjoy the quiet. Not to mention the sleep.”
I poke him in the side
“Oh come on, you know you don’t need sleep.”
“No, I’ve become dependent on coffee because I like feeling jittery in the morning”
I laugh and tumble him back onto the bed, smiling down at him. He’s grinning widely, an expression I doubt anyone but me has seen since he became ‘Aya’.
“Jittery….hm, is that what they call it now?”
He reaches up to hit me in the arm, I grab the hand and press it to my lips.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Releasing the hand, I fake a solemn look.
“I don’t know.”
This time the hit lands and I laugh, pushing the hand aside and leaning down to capture his mouth. My hands run down his side, lingering at his softly curved waist, at the line of bare skin where his shirt ends. His rise up and clasp behind my neck, holding my head down as his tongue darts inside my mouth, pulling me deeper into the kiss. His eyes are still closed when I lean back, his lips wide in a loose contented smile. I reach down and begin stripping his shirt off, smiling as he reaches up to tug at mine. Finally, both garments are on the floor, and I don’t remember what color either is, preferring to stare at the bare expanse of gleaming white skin beneath me. Wrapping my fingers in his hair, I tilt his head back, fastening my teeth on his throat. He gasps as I bite down lightly, sucking at the small circle of skin. I graze my teeth away from it and down his neck, circling my tongue around his clavicles. I smile momentarily at the purple bruise prominent above his adam’s apple. He’s sure to bitch about that later, but that doesn’t matter. I can remember this whenever I look at it. Pressing my mouth back onto his skin, I trail my hand down to his waistband, trying to unthread the belt from his pants. His hand snakes down to help me, and I shift off of him as we pull the belt from its loops with a resounding snap. I lean back down and settle my lips around one of his nipples, eliciting a sharp moan. My hand slides down his smooth chest back to the pants, running the other hand down his spine until he arches his back, gasping again. His hands groping over mine we work his pants off, followed by boxers onto the floor. He hisses slightly as I release the pink nub of skin from my mouth and roll back on my knees. Then he smiles, hands flying up to undo my jeans and work them off. We save thirty seconds because I didn’t feel like underwear this morning. He rises up to his knees as well and wraps his arms around my waist, catching my mouth in a kiss. His tongue probes hard between my lips. His mouth presses down almost bruisingly on mine as he wraps his hand around my tumescent cock and the world narrows down to those fingers and the teeth biting into my lip. The blood drains from my skull in a shattering rush, my back arching over his arm. I gasp, pulling his head back in for another kiss as I dig my fingers into his ass, holding him close as I break it off again, lowering him back down onto the bed, trailing my lips down his stomach. I dip my tongue into his navel, causing him to arch up again, panting as he comes back down. Smiling, I slip my hand between his legs, running my fingers over the soft expanse of skin there. He moans, his hips bucking upward as I take the tip of him in my mouth, running my tongue down in slow languid circles down the shaft. I press my lips tight around the head, darting my tongue up into the little slit. I can feel his hand fly down, pulling at my hair, pushing my head down around him. He pants wildly, I can imagine his eyes are squeezed shut, his head thrown back at the feel of it. I run my tongue around him, wrapping it around him as I take him in slowly, fumbling with my free hand for the nightstand. He bucks up as I move the other hand up, wrapping it around his balls. I feel a cool tube pressed against my fingers. He hisses through his teeth
“Take it!”
Even covered by his heavy breathing the words carry an urgency about them. I release him, my jaw going slack as I pull up onto my knees. He is beautiful, stretched out on the bed, his legs splayed open and his face flushed, a gleaming smile wide on his lips. His eyes are wide open, shining with heat and need. His hair is spread in long sweaty bunches around his head, fanned out like a bloody halo. I pry the tube open, squeezing the cold liquid over my fingers. Pulling his legs apart farther I slip one finger between them, circling the small hole. He gasps, his body going tense, stiffening as I press in, running my finger up through him. It amazed me the first time that he would let anyone touch him so close, so intimately. That he was capable of such abandon. I can almost hear him gritting his teeth together. Running my finger in circles I find the small nub I’m looking for and press against it. He arches up, his hands flying up to dig slim fingers into my arm. His breath escapes him in a low hiss. I add another finger, twisting the two together, brushing them against his prostate as I scissor them, stretching him. He whimpers as I pull them out. You would never think Aya would make such a sound, its so beautiful when he does. As I spread the lube over myself I look down at him again. He looks so young like this, everything thrown away except for the moment. It’s the only time I’m really certain he’s looking at me. Positioning myself between his thighs I catch him in a kiss again, let all of my doubt release itself in this, letting it dissipate for the moment in favor of these hands pressed into my back, these hips pressing up against mine, the rush of his breath into my mouth. Wrapping a hand around myself I push in, closing my eyes as I am consumed by that narrow, slick heat. I edge in slowly, taking in the wonder of it as his nails dig into my back, his legs lock around my waist, leaving him completely open for me to fall into, so I can lose myself in his reaches.
This is the only thing I still hold in reverence because the awe of being inside him, the awe of him completely unguarded, free and shuddering around me has never faded.
He is a better world that the one we will wake up to later.
His eyes fly open, his fingers pressing deeper into my skin.
“Oh god. Yohji, move!”
Stunned, I watch the urgency in his face, the frenzy of his open eyes, the purple consuming itself with every gasp of his breath.
“Damn it! Do something!”
He punctuates the demand by biting at my lips. I pull up, pressing my hands down on either side of his head and pull back out, slamming in again as hard as I can. His eyes press shut as he chokes out a moan. Pulling him up suddenly, I wrap my arms around him, holding him tight. I press in again and again, reveling in the low sound of his moaning, the sharp jerk of his hips every time I hit him right. I move faster, the heat rising in my groin. His hands clamp tighter around me, returning the embrace. Pressing my head into his neck I whisper, the words coming out shakily, rushed with the movement
“Open your eyes Aya”
They fly open again. I can see the moment coiling in them as I move faster, fucking him with abandon. There has never been anything more beautiful than his eyes at this moment. His hair flies up, sticking to his forehead in long strands.
His eyes widen as he tenses, going completely still as he comes with a long sigh, convulsing in short bursts. His eyes roll back into his head as I thrust in again and come wildly, feeling as if I’d penetrated his very core, pressing in as deep as possible as his breath roared, surging around me as I collapse, gasping, on his chest.
“I love you.”
It’s a whisper, passed between the two of us. I’m not sure who said it, smiling as I kiss him again and roll to the side, falling asleep with the afternoon sun spread over both of us.
_____________________

When I wake up again it is dark. Aya’s skin gleams in the thin light from the window that hugs his hips and threads itself through his hair. He always looks so calm when he’s asleep, so serene. Nothing I could do or say would pay a proper tribute to his beauty. Brushing some of the hair off his forehead, I press a kiss to his temple.
Carefully I lift my feet to the floor and climb out of bed, tiptoeing across the floor to the bathroom. I shut the door quietly before I flick the light on, wincing at the bright fluorescent light attacking my eyes. Stars flash before my vision, my head aching at the brightness. Once it passes I pull the drawer open, digging through all bandages and creams of our medical kit before I find what I’m looking for.
The scissors gleam silver under the lights, reflecting back in the mirror. The circles under my eyes are slighter, less noticeable now that I’ve actually slept for more than a couple of hours. My hair is tangled and hangs loose around my shoulders. I pull a strand of it over my eyes, taking in the soft golden color of it. Aya likes to bury his hands in my hair, smiles at the way it falls over his face when I lean over him.
Lifting the scissors I cut it, letting it fall to the floor. I pull another strand up, cutting close to the skull. My hair has never been shorter than my chin since grade school.
When I’m done, the sink and counter are littered with hair. I run my hands over it, feeling the soft lifeless mass. Looking into the mirror I am almost unrecognizable. Good. I run my hand over the thick short hair, feel the short dense fringe on my forehead.
I want this to be different. I want to be able to move forward without the same dreams haunting me.
I’m not simple enough to believe cutting my hair can change anything. I’d like to, maybe the belief in this could convince me something had changed, or will.
I want to mark my moving forward somehow. I want to give Aya everything, finally give up my guilt for him, or what I can of it. Its our guilt that keeps us distant.
Looking in the mirror I don’t see the same man that watched Asuka die. A stranger grins sleepily back at me, a bruise revealed on the side of his throat.
I guess that’s one benefit of the long hair gone.
I turn, staring at my side, taking in the long marks down my back, the tattoo like a dark smear on my shoulder.
When you gonna learn?
This won’t change anything.