Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Glowing ❯ Foreshadowing ( Chapter 7 )

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

finishing, I lay the canvas back against the wall, dropping the charcoal into a box on the table.
“Well?”
“Hm?”
Her eyes flutter open and closed, sleepy in the fading light.
“What do you think?”
Rising from the stool, she studies it, waving her hands about the sides of the picture as if she’s afraid to actually touch it.
“It’s…….it’s…..well, it’s absolutely amazing.”
I look at it myself. I even have to admit, it’s practically a photographic likeness. No wonder she’s smiling now.
“Thank you.”
Inclining my head towards her, I try to figure whether I can leave. Fuck it.
Striding over to my desk, I throw my coat over my shoulder and turn out the door. She can stand and stare as long as she wants. I’m done wasting time here today.
Three hours and I learned nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing.
Except that Mayumi has three brothers. And likes dogs. When she was a kid she had one named Darwin. And that she never wanted to teach, she wanted her own lab. Things didn’t work out quite as planned.
Small facts and fractures of her anecdotes whorl in my mind as I step out into the parking lot. It’s still pretty warm for this time of year, so I just toss the coat in the back of the Seven and jump in.
Her favorite color is blue. When the hell did I start thinking of her as ‘Mayumi’?
Before turning the keys in the ignition, I pull out a cigarette, taking a long deep drag. Fuck this. I flick on the radio, taking in a loud stream of abominable techno.
There we go. Numbing, my mind reduced to a dull roar.
I can’t remember the last time I listened to music I really like.
Old rock c.d.s left in my mother’s room. The Beatles. Bob Dylan. Janis Joplin. All sorts of psychedelic ramblings with lyrics that meant something. Or did a long time ago.
Only problem with those songs is that you remember them, and they make you think. Too much really.
After only a couple minutes I pull up to the new apartment, taking the stairs two at a time. Damn I’m hungry. Suddenly, it seems like an eternity since I’ve eaten.
Throwing the door open, I am instantly attacked by the sounds of an English sports game. The kitchen is piled with pizza boxes, rifling around I find a few that must have been picked up tonight. So far, no one but Aya’s bothered to cook since we moved here.
After downing a couple slices, I run my hands under the faucet and head down the hall. Aya hates the smell of greasy food. Sighing, I wave to Ken as I pass the living room, where he’s sprawled on the couch surrounded by enough junk food to feed both of the teams he’s watching and a good number of their fans.
He waves back limply, transfixed by the flickering screen.
There doesn’t seem to be any sign of Sena in the apartment. Eh, good. He’s probably out doing something stupid. God, if there’s anyone who’s good at shoving their nose where it doesn’t belong….
Doesn’t matter. I’m glad the little fuck’s not here. He’s too fascinated by Aya in my opinion. The bastard’s never seemed to like me anyways. I’m sick of his silent glares.
I open the door to our room quietly, in case Aya’s reading or something.
Empty.
The room looks completely undisturbed. Glancing at my watch I blankly register that it’s about 8 o clock.
Where the hell is he?
Rushing back down the hall I burst into the living room.
“Ken, has Aya been home?”
“What?”
We have to practically scream over the t.v.
“Aya! Has he been home?”
“No.”
That’s strange. Aya’s usually back by now, holed up in our room grading papers or reading or engaged in some other painfully solitary activity.
“Well, has he called or anything?”
“Nope.”
“Don’t you think that’s weird?”
Ken shrugs
“It’s Aya. Who the fuck knows.”
Even so, I wonder at the sick feeling in my stomach.
Going back into the kitchen, I dig my phone out of my pocket, dialing his cell number in as quickly as possible.
It rings. And rings.
And goes to voicemail.
I end the call. Wherever he is, the phone’s probably off. Or in his car. Or he’s simply ignoring it.
Or its dead. He only seems to charge it about once every year or so. Damned thing is never plugged in.
Well, shit.
I grab my keys and run back out the door.
Aya, if you’re just somewhere getting dinner or sitting in your classroom I’m going to fucking kill you.
My heart leaps into my throat.
He’s disappeared often enough that jerking my car back on the road is automatic, glancing around parking lots for his Porsche mechanical, secondary.
I find myself swerving back towards the school, skirting along the highway around the campus and into the town.
I pull into a diner when I see a sleek white car that almost looks like his and curse, punching the dash, when it turns out to be host to a pair of teens.
Fuck.
Blindly, I scream along the road, searching every ditch, every parking lot for a sign of him.
Fuck, what if he got in an accident? Panicked, I swerve around until I reach the hospital, parking haphazardly and rushing into the E.R.
I bump into a nurse almost immediately.
“Hey, ma’am, sorry about that but have you seen a tall skinny guy with a long red braid in here?”
She looks puzzled.
“No….but you should check with the front desk to see if he’s been admitted or anything.”
Not even bothering to thank her I run over to the desk, pushing past a line of sick patients. They can fucking wait.
I grip the edge of the desk panting, staring frantically at the middle aged woman sitting behind it.
“Hi. Sorry. I’m looking for somebody.”
“Name.”
Suddenly I am gripped with a steely hatred of this woman, writing it all off so perfunctorily, so hollowly.
“Fujimiya, Aya. Or Fujimiya, Ran. Check both.”
She gives me a quizzical look.
“Nope. No one.”
“Well, alright. He might have come in unconscious. I don’t know.”
My voice cracks. I must sound insane.
“Description then.”
“Alright, he’s tall, about 6’1”, and pretty thin, with long dark red hair pulled back in a braid. His eyes are violet.”
She rifles through some records.
“I’m sorry sir, but there’s no one of that description currently admitted to the hospital. But you can leave your information and we’ll contact you if he comes in…”Her voice trails over me, a dull empty grating sound. I walk off, leaving the desk and line behind. Several people glare after me. Let them. Their gazes are nothing compared to Aya’s.
I don’t know what I’ll do if he’s hurt somewhere.
“Yohji?”
What the hell? I whip around glaring at whoever called out to me.
“What!”
Sena flinches a little as I turn to him.
“Sena, what are you doing here?”
“I’m uh, visiting a friend.”
He shifts about uncomfortably, obviously lying. Right now I don’t really care enough to call him on it.
“Whatever. Have you seen Aya?”
“Aya?- Why is everything okay?”
He sounds honestly worried, a strange look coming over his face.
“I don’t know. I got home and he wasn’t there and won’t answer his phone, and I’ve looked all over but I can’t find his car.”
“Then why are you here?”
Now I feel a little foolish.
“I was afraid he got in an accident or something.”
“Oh.”
He pauses.
“Well, I haven’t seen him, Yohji-kun. Have you tried tracking the tracer on his car?”
Huh? That technological shit never made much sense to me.
“No time.”
“Well, while you look I’ll go home and do that. I’ll call you when I know, alright Yohji?”
“Fine.”
He darts away.
I sink into a chair in the waiting room. It’s incredibly hard, digging into my spine.
Ruing the no smoking signs, I bury my head in my hands, waiting for the call. I can’t imagine what else I can really do.
Finally it rings.
“Yohji.”
His voice is a whisper.
“Oh god, Aya, where are you?”
“I’m at the hospital.”
The fuck?
“What do you mean? Where? You’re not hurt are you?”
His voice is soft, raspy almost, choked up as if he’d been asleep, or crying.
“I’m fine Yohji.”
“Then where are you?”Shit, I still can’t get that desperate tinge out of my voice.
“Second floor.”
With that he hangs up. I let the phone drop back into my pocket, not bothering to flip it closed, and run to the elevator. It smells like carbolic acid when I step inside, tense and biting my lips.
When the door finally opens after what feels like a hopeless eternity, I rush out, pushing past a set of nurses and a man in a wheelchair. Ignoring their curses, I glance up and down the hall, running down into the darker end.
Finally, I see him, a small stiff form huddled against the wall, his head buried in his arms. Kneeling down I rest my hand on his back, rubbing in slow circles until he looks up at me. He doesn’t seem surprised that I’m there already, his face a cold pale mask in the moonlight. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I ignore it, pulling him up by his wrist and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
When we get out to the parking lot I still don’t see his car.
Silently, I drag him over to mine, settling him into the passenger’s seat.
I don’t ask him anything as I start the car, letting him stare off into nothingness.
One guess what Aya’s thinking about.
Sighing I back out, streaking into the night until finally, we pull up to the apartment.
_______________________

Sena is waiting at the door as we walk in.
“Yohji-kun, why didn’t you answer your phone?”
He trails off as Aya steps into the apartment.
“Aya-kun! Are you alright?”
Aya doesn’t answer, pushing past both of us into the bedroom, leaving the door hanging open behind him.
I take the excuse to push past Sena as well, leaving him standing stunned in the kitchen.
When I go in, Aya is sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at some spot on the wall.
He doesn’t look at me as I sit down next to him.
“What’s wrong?”
My voice slips out quietly.
“Nothing.”
“Then why did you call?”
I sound almost angry, a tight strain on my voice as I speak.
“I didn’t feel as if I could drive.”
“Where the hell is your car anyways?”
He’s silent for a moment, apparently considering this, trying to remember.
“Koua.”
At least its safe. I’ll just drive him in the morning.
I make one last stab at getting him to open up.
“Look, Aya, you know whatever’s wrong you can tell me-”
“I’m fine, Yohji.”
He has a tight hard look on his face as he rises from the bed, striding quickly over to the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him.
He can never say a damned thing can he?
Close lipped bastard.
I hear the shower start up, water pelting against the floor.
Michelle’s face in the rain. I shake my head trying to forget, sitting still silent on the end of the bed as Aya dresses and rebraids his hair, silently slipping into bed without looking at me.
When his breath slows, I stand up, grab a bottle of wine from a small cabinet and settle myself on the windowsill, staring out into the long empty night.
_______________________

His eyes are ringed with dark circles, his hair a golden flush across his pallid forehead. He reeks of wine. A bottle rests by the window, a few remaining drops clinging to the glass bottom.
Dammit Yohji.
Sparing a glance at the clock I bolt out of bed, throwing the covers to the floor as I do.
“Wake up.”
My voice comes out tight. Yohji flinches awake, rubbing his temples.
“Ahh…..what time is it?”
“Seven. We have an hour until we have to be at Koua. Why was the alarm off?”
“My head……….”
I’ll get no sense out of him. Instead of trying to pry a response from his hung-over brain, I go over to the closet, pulling out clothes for both of us and tossing his on the bed next to where he‘s hunched over. Quickly, I pull my own clothes on and leave the room. Soon, I am boiling water for tea, taking in the hot inviting smell.
I hate hospitals. Half my life has been lost to them, and another half in what’s been shortened for their sake.
Pouring the tea into two cups, I wonder suddenly, a sharp pang across my mind, what Aya would have done in my place.
Would she have just waited it out? Or would she have managed to do that which I’ve never even tried?
Yohji tells me I’m suicidal. It’s never even dawned on me.
I don’t deserve such an easy out, not now so soaked in blood. I’m shocked my clothes aren’t saturated red by association.
Thankfully, no images flash behind my eyes and I can sit, quickly swallowing my tea.
After a few minutes Yohji stumbles into the kitchen, sunglasses already perched on his nose.
I can’t help myself.
“You know its not wise to be hungover on a mission.”
Last time he did was the first mission after Neu. Never again.
He just shrugs, throwing himself down next to me.
“Coffee?”
“I made tea.”
Grimacing he fills his cup, chugging it down quickly and going for another.
I’m waiting for him to ask me something, anything to fill this void.
A month ago and he would have been pawing at me for an explanation until I caved, baring my reasons, my preoccupations before his waiting eyes.
Instead, he just pulls his keys off their hook, handing them to me.
“You drive. I’m probably shouldn’t”
Silently I take them, rolling the cool metal between my fingers.
In the same silence we drive off, heading to Koua quickly and separating wordlessly at the door, rushing off to our separate days, separate classes.
I trudge down the hall. Asami calls out to me.
“Good morning Fujimiya-sensei!”
I don’t respond, staring straight ahead. The white walls are only a little farther spaced than the ones in the hospital. Students in blue uniforms are a moving sea from wall to wall. I force myself through them, through the door of the classroom and behind my desk, willing the room to fill itself with students I know will not come for another hour so I will not have to think anything.
________________________

I can see his head through the open door of the teacher’s lounge as I pass, wading my way through a tide of smiling students, all relieved with the end of the day broken through their quick gait, their smiling faces like an eerie and disconcerting sun. I don‘t like this mass joy. It seems senseless, forced somehow. A strange look takes over his face as he sees me, and he comes out, nodding a curt goodbye to that Asami woman.
I smile, a slow cool smirk. A meaningless look. Aya stares expectantly at me, waiting for something, anything. I’m not sure.
“You need to be more careful. For the mission.”
His voice is low. If anyone passed by, I’m sure they would have no idea he’d even spoken.
“Why bother? Let Sena deal with it, he cares so fucking much.”
Aya’s face hardens.“We are Weiss.”
“And what is Weiss for? Dammit Aya, whose mission is this? Fuck, I’m tired of being led around blind.”
He says nothing.
“What the hell are we here for? Tell me Aya!”
“You know why we’re here Yohji.”
His voice is low, deep. An unshakable force before me.
“Then there is no reason for me to continue.”
A sort of gauze drops from my eyes, something revealed in bleak absolutes.
I do not have to stay. Who the hell is there to stop me?
Aya’s back receding, his hands clutching the straps of bags, his room stripped bare.
If he can leave, there is no reason I can’t. I’d rather be black than mired in this terrible whiteness.
“If you so wish.”
He closes his eyes behind thin lenses, waiting for me to leave. The way he stands is a reproach, there’s an unspeakable finality in the way he holds his arms, his head, the position of his legs. We both know, have always known, that for one of us to leave Weiss means the end of this. it’s the worst sort of betrayal, an accusation of the other’s ideals, of their purpose, their fundamental means of existence.
I know Aya can never leave Weiss again.
Perversely I want him to convince me to stay, to ask it, to beg me for it. He stares at me, his eyes pale critical pools of ice.
I feel a cold shock of terror at the thought of leaving. Of constantly looking over my shoulder for him. Somehow, I’m sure he’d be the one sent to find me, to drag me back at the end of his blade or not at all. Of Mamoru’s dead voice when I’m found, drilling a last sound into my brain before the final shot.
He’d use a silencer. I can imagine him trying to surprise me.
Aya doesn’t ask. I hate him for it. The feeling seeps out in cold brittle accusations.
“Can’t for wait it, huh?”
“What?”
He furrows his brow, confused.“For a shot at pulling good old Mamoru into your bed. They do say negotiations make strange bed partners.”
His face crumbles for a brief moment, then hardens again. It’s a strange urge; I’m waiting for him to hit me.
“Or is this just another sort of revenge?”
The name snaps through his eyes. ‘Takatori’. A brutal glare twisted over his features. His hands twitch at his sides.
“Shi-ne.”
The word hisses out. It’s not so much a threat as a resignation. I can tell by the set of his jaw that he’s restraining himself. That he won’t let himself scream whatever is building behind those eyes.
Instead he turns to leave, storming off, quickly.
I shoot my voice out after him.
“I’m not going to go anywhere.”
It’s strange, weighing honest and settling in a soft smile on my face. I don’t understand it. He pauses, wrenching a pang of…..what? Self-loathing? Anger? Resentment? I don’t care….through my chest.
“Good.”
With one quiet word he walks off, not sparing me anything but the tense set of his shoulders. It hurts that he might have let me just leave. Somehow I can’t picture anything but Aya stopping me, him slamming doors in front of me, pinning me down screaming, his words an angry blur as he demands for me to stay. I would have pictured anything but this silence. Suddenly, I dread talking to him later.
Leaning against the wall I close my eyes, cursing my mouth, my wine soaked brain, Weiss, Omi, Aya, his sister, fuck all everyone.
I hear high heels clicking as someone steps out into the hall, pausing to look at me. Flicking my gaze up I see Tsujii, a thoughtful look on her face.
“Kudou-sensei?”
Why the hell did she have to walk out here? I throw words out quickly, randomly, at an impulse that turns traitorously, sickeningly in my mind.
“In thanks for you being my model, how would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”
She looks taken aback, a slow smile forming on her lips.
“I’ll think about it.”
Rifling through my pockets I find a spare matchbook and hand it to her. It’s from the place Aya and I went a few nights ago.
“I’ll be waiting here.”
Leaving her there staring at the square of cardboard I walk off, striding slowly down the hall to the parking lot.
I really don’t want to go home tonight.
______________________

Ken sits silently across from me at the table, his brow furrowing every so often as he flips through a copy of some sports magazine. From the way he keeps glancing up at the clock, its clear he’s not focusing on it any more than I am on the papers I’m grading.
“Hitler’s Blitzkrieg in Poland is the result of an increasing tension among the Allies that allowed him to flout the Paris Accords.”
I swear I’ve read that sentence at least ten times.
“The American government paid so little attention to the Holocaust primarily because their economic in the war was an economic one, not to be hindered by ethical pursuits or social concerns outside their borders.”
Flipping through papers I sigh, vaguely, not even certain what the hell the assignment was supposed to be anymore.
“The only reason that the American internment camps were limited to the confinement of the Japanese is that citizens of German descent were by then far more deeply entrenched in American economics and society while the Japanese, even if those arrested were largely legal immigrants or US born citizens, were still physically and culturally registered as separate.”
Making a quick note commending the concise and accurate observation, I find myself pleased to fall back into work, the easy repetition lifting a weight from my mind.
“Then there is no reason for me to continue.”
His face tight, impassive with the words. My jaw clenching at their heavy sound, restraining the scream in my throat, the impulse to slam him back into the wall and knock the idiocy straight out of his skull.
A sharp wave of nausea hits me, fingers clamping involuntarily around the red pen, at the realization that I’m just waiting to see if he returns. That I will wait here regardless.
“I’m not going to go anywhere.”
The strange desperate tinge to his voice. I hate to remember what it bears reflection on.
His hands wrapped around the cool bottle, an old photo balanced on his bare knee. Only the silhouette is visible from where I stood in the doorway, but the features burnt into my mind from its months of smiling reproach, its accusations of transience on both our parts, of helpless stupefaction in the nearest opening.
“You don’t get it Aya. I’ve got to help her remember.”A whisper muffled by the hair draped over his face.
“It’s the only thing I can do.”
Shortly after the picture disappeared from its customary place next to his watch and sunglasses on the dresser. I don’t know where it vanished to.
Swigs of alcohol, a smell that burns even across the room, stinging my nostrils as I draw closer and knock the picture away, down to the floor and out of sight. He stared up at me, lost, a sick miserable expression etched into resigned features. And took another swallow, looking at me intently, blindly, until I turned away, vanishing through the door. The two of us have always been good at foreshadowing.
My unwilling reverie is interrupted by the click of the door opening somewhere behind me. Noiselessly, he comes over and settles into the chair besides me, staring vaguely ahead, blankly in the direction of the stove.
I am saved from the necessity of having to speak to him by the sound of the phone ringing distantly. Ken bolts up, running to catch it before it hits voicemail, a function we haven’t yet figured out for the new apartment.
After a moment he yells across the apartment.
“Yohji! Aya! Rex is on the phone in the mission room. Come on!”
Silently we pull ourselves up from the table and without looking at each other make our way there.
Once we are settled, Ken gives Rex the indication to start.
“I’m sure by now you are all familiar with the ghost stories floating around Koua. Given the coincidental location, and the amount of wariness surrounding the primary location associated with the stories, we would like Weiss to investigate, see if there is any significance to the place that would cause such an appearance or if possible what the appearance is and if it bears any relevance to the mission.”
Ken supplies an answer necessary for this sort of communication. Idly, I find myself wondering why Rex didn’t appear in person.
“Tonight?”
“As soon as possible. That will be all.”
The connection clicks off as soon as the words register.
Ken whips around, fixing me with a strange stare.
“Don’t you find it suspicious? It’s the spot Kyo was killed at.”
He looks at me imploringly. I wonder how close the two of them really were. I never paid too much attention to the younger man, finding him to be merely convenient.
Yohji’s voice breaks in before I can even think to respond.
“If it’s only an investigation we won’t need too many people.”
Lazy bastard.
“Not only that, but I promised a date tonight.”
I send a glare at him. He hardly registers it, meeting my eyes briefly in the same hauntingly empty look I glimpsed earlier today. His words echo in shades, resounding through my ears.
“I’m not going to go anywhere!”
“You’re just so fucking untouchable.”
“Or is this just another sort of revenge?”
“I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”
“It’s the only thing I can do.”
“It’s all just part of the job.”
He smirks at Ken as he turns to leave the room.
“Well, tell me if you find anything.”
My ears are ringing as he disappears. Ken yells futilely after his receding back.
“Hey Yohji!”
It’s bitingly hard to keep the bitter taint from my voice as I speak.
“Just let him do what he wants.”
He will regardless, drowning himself in everything he can exploit to avoid what he can by simply ignoring it.
“I’ll go investigate.”
Another day of tailing Sena has made it clear we won’t see him around the apartment too much for awhile. One of many thoughts I cut off.
Ken’s voice hitches a little, nervously, as he speaks, resting a careful hand on my shoulder.
“But, it is okay Aya?”
My heart constricts at the awkward sympathy.
Vaguely confused at the display of concern, I ignore his question, instead answering something else.
“Persia said for me to refrain from working on the mission, he didn’t prohibit it.”
Ken tightens his jaw, shooting me an annoyed look. It all amounts to the same, but that’s not what he means. Sighing, I shrug his hand off.
“It doesn’t matter.”
I ignore his pitying look as I leave the room as well, distracted with irritation at Ken’s presumption to know what’s wrong with me.
I wonder what it indicates that I fully realize I volunteered to help Ken tonight just for the sake of distraction. I’m fairly certain that means it won’t work, as I’ve already seen through the impulse. Self-analysis is essentially futile, at least if you want to spare yourself anything.
Yohji is half buried in the closet when I step into our room, perching silently on the windowsill to watch him rifle through clothes. I feel a vague sense of dread as he turns around, biting my tongue for a lack of words. He pauses, clutching a green shirt in one hand, his chest bare and gleaming in the late light.
His voice is unnervingly devoid of inflection.
“You know, you’re not as quiet as you think.”
I shrug, not willing to say anything, not willing to acknowledge what he threatened earlier. Such a thing is in a way unforgivable, both for its threat of finality and its harsh reminder of my weighing hypocrisy, my continual retreat from anything and everything I have the slightest chance at.
Well, I’m not running now, somehow vitalized by the sense of foreshadowing, of a sort of reversed familiarity with the situation.
“Who?”
His answer is too fast, glossing over any emotion possibly latent in the response.
“Tsujii.”
I’ve told him about my suspicions as far as she’s concerned. It doesn’t explain the sick feeling in my stomach.
“Don’t you have a mission to get ready for?”
He turns away again, pulling a vast assortment of tops from their hangers and dropping them in a pile on the bed.
I watch the play of lithe muscles beneath his skin as he moves, a gliding slick movement. His body always has the sensation of being wet, liquid. It’s what makes it shine even at night.
Suddenly, I jerk myself off the sill, striding over to him quickly, a searing confusion coming over me traced with jealousy.
I’m so tired of all these hollow women. Yohji can either stop with them or leave me alone.
It honestly hurts knowing I can’t make good on such a threat anymore. Fool.
In a quick rush of adrenaline fuelled desperation I grab Yohji by the neck, pulling his head down so he’s staring directly into my eyes, unable to twist away.
“Open your eyes Aya.”
The ritual question. Can you break a promise that you were made, is such an agreement mutual? I’m not sure.
Saying nothing I let him collect me into his arms, pressing me to his chest in an awkwardly choking embrace. We rock slowly together for a moment before he pulls away, his eyes cast down to the floor.
“I’ve got to get ready.”
Grabbing a shirt at random he makes his way over to the bathroom and slams the door, leaving me to pull on my mission gear and disappear back into the room next door, where Ken is bursting with useless theories.
_________________

“Put it back the way it was, we’ll come back later.”
“Yeah. Guess we’ll have to.”
Ken shoves the cement block back into place with a resigned sigh. He’s clearly itching for some blood to pay for the loss of a team mate. Silently, we make our way back into the woods where Ken’s bike is parked, the two of us having ridden the damned thing because it’s hidden more easily than the Porsche.
I doubt I am going to be walking right when I get off this thing again. I curse under my breath as Ken darts back through the forest and onto the highway, leaning us over at a forty-five degree angle as he does so.
Vaguely, I wonder where Yohji is, again ignoring the sick feeling in my throat, the raw nauseous anxiety that overwhelms me.
Strangely Ken opts to go through town, taking a comparatively long and unnecessary route home.
“Figure its better just in case.”
The words fly out through gritted teeth. I can’t deny the logic there. Best thing to do is if they follow us, to shake them off in town. Glancing around me I notice some features that I hadn’t seen on my few trips down here. A restaurant, a few bookstores that appear promising, a small park. We appear to be in the downtown section.
From the corner of my eye I catch something white, blurring down to a wide hood and slick wheels.
Without another thought I hiss in Ken’s ear.
“Stop!”
“What?”
“Stop the damned bike!”
Confused, Ken pulls the bike over to a curb. I jump off, my hand flying unconsciously to the hilt of my katana. I swallow at the feelings of comfort that come from wrapping my fingers around the smooth hilt, pressing the weight against my hip so I’m aware of the impact my every movement has on it.
Aware of Ken shouting after me I run down the street, stopping in front of a white car with the hood pulled irresponsibly down, the red seats scattered with lighters and an assortment of half-empty cigarette packs. Looking around, I find that it’s the restaurant that Yohji and I went to only a few days ago.
Clutching at my sword I stare up at the elaborate building, feeling slight disgust at its decadent over-design, its trite imitation of wildly better buildings. My eyes settle on the center window. The view it gives frames three tables. Two are seated with older looking couples, likely married people out celebrating some mundane occurrence. The third, and farthest table was occupied by a single man, his head turned away as he stared at the dining room. Moving closer, unconsciously making my movements quick, undetectable, his features became clearer. The black blazer I saw rushing out of the apartment, the tousled and still too short hair.
When he shifts his gaze to the window all doubt leaves me.
Yohji scans the parking lot, presumably checking on his precious Seven. I stand still, not bothering to move into the shadow of the wall despite the fact that my white leather coat makes me stick out nearly as much as the streetlight. Unsure whether he glimpses me or not, I watch blankly, gripping the sword tighter, as his head jerks back in the other direction, a smile gracing his features as an overdressed and mismatched ascot sporting Tsujii settles across from him.
I do not move, mindlessly staring up at the glare on the window. He does not look outside again.
_______________

Maybe I should go downstairs and put the top up on the car. I glance at it, my eyes darting back and forth between the window and the dining room. Idly, I glance down at my watch.
Only half an hour late.
Good, if she doesn’t come, I won’t have to put up with her bitching.
Aya will probably be upset if I can’t even try to confirm whether Tsujii’s involved with the elusive headmaster or not. I pause, staring still out the window. I really don’t need to think about that now.
Granted, acknowledging the thought as undesirable makes it essentially undeniable. You’re essentially forced to confront the damned thing. Sometimes I wonder if the entire driving force behind the human brain is meant to illuminate suffering as underlying everything, in short, unavoidable. If so, I’m going to start reading up on Buddhism.
Furtively, I look back at the car. It’s not as if I’m worried about someone taking anything out of it- all that’s in it is some packs of cigarettes and half the owner’s manuel- and the damned thing is a bitch to hotwire. Really, this sort of easy paranoia just gives me something to do until I can reasonably leave.
When I glance back at the dining room she’s being led over here. Fun, one of those ‘fashionably late’ types. This should be suitably agonizing.
“Did I trouble you by making you choose what to wear?”
She looks puzzled. I grace her with a quick sweep up and down. The blue dress would actually be pretty sexy- a huge improvement over the loose blouses she wears at school- if not fucked by the pink scarf wrapped around her neck that clashes of all things, with her hair.
“Huh? I didn’t think you’d actually be waiting for me.”
That might explain the lateness better than the outfit.
“I’ve sworn to keep my promise to women.”
I’ve already lied to a multitude of them. Why not again?
“A lesson from the past?”
Well no shit. I make too many promises.
“I’m not going to go anywhere.”
Not so much a promise as a sentence.
“Good”
He whispers when he’s trying to hold himself back from something.
Aya in my arms, silent, looking away with his eyes clenched tight against it.
“Open your eyes Aya.”
A question. I’ve never known what answer I expect from it. And they open, today, yesterday, a year ago.
When they open it’s the most beautiful thing, because you know it can’t last, you know it implies their closing later.
“Can’t wait for it huh?”
Throwing my own accusation on those eyelids, fists, mouth shaking in anger.
I used to think Aya was all impulse and no hesitation. Now, I think he has too much patience for his own good.
But what’s something so small as ‘good’ between the two of us.
“I don’t like talking about the past, I’d rather talk about you.”
Because no, please, I haven’t heard enough empty anecdotes already. Once more, she looks puzzled, which makes me wonder if the reason she’s stuck teaching rather than working in a lab isn’t quite misogyny.
“I understand. “
Her voice comes out as an attempt to mask that confusion. I wonder how much time Aya’s actually spent with this woman. If its even this much, he must think she’s a wonderful actor. That or he’s paying as little attention as I am.
“What do you want to know?”
I may as well get it over with. Maybe then I can leave.
“So what’s the deal with the principal?”
“What do you mean?”
“Where is she? I mean, I’ve never seen her. Hell, I was hired by letter. No interview even.”
Something flashes in her eyes. Strangely, I am reminded of Michelle. A sick feeling comes over me and I look back outside, ripping my gaze away from her.
The electric twilight is almost a breath of fresh air. The car is still fine. A quick movement by the building catches my eye. That’s a little odd. Trying to focus on it, figure out what made it, I barely manage to force a laugh at the half-joke Tsujii made just now.
I can tell by the tone of her voice that we aren’t going to say any more about the headmistress. Well, at least that’s something to tell Aya.
An intense awkwardness settles over the table between us. Tsujii chews her lip. I’ve long since forgotten the food, focusing my interest on a series of rather interesting vintages.
Through the haze of my wine-soaked brain I see her again like she was in the setting sun, beautiful, something to be touched, or captured. Her eyes shine with a faint purple uncertainty. I am thrown back a week before this, Aya across the table fingering the stem of his wine glass, our voices mingling for the sake of sound to fill this space between us.
Silently, I gesture our waiter over, glancing at the bill and handing him a stack of twenties.
Mayumi stands up to leave, I follow, the two of us walking slowly over to the stairs, weaving between tables. She pauses at the bottom of the stairs, before the door to the parking lot, looking up at me between her parted bangs.
“Good night, Yohji.”
I incline my head towards her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. She blushes and a pull her in, a vaguely automatic quality to the whole movement. Our lips meet with a strange energy, a sudden need to feel skin as I tilt her chin up, feel her hands running down my back.
We part, moving back, and she smiles at me. Its strangely intoxicating, a chilling stretch of lips that shouldn’t belong to the woman I spent the evening with.
“I should go.”
Without breaking the smile, Mayumi turns to leave. I wait until I see her car pull away to exit, pulling a cigarette from a jacket pocket. The first drag proves how drunk I am, making me lightheaded, stumbling through the door. The taste of wine is heavy on my tongue still. I’m betting I should have eaten more than I did to balance out the alcohol.
Squinting through the darkened parking lot, I hardly notice as I bump into someone, their form hardly moving.
Looking up, I see a swirl of heavy violet and blinding white as the streetlight hit’s the contours of Aya’s jacket. The dull gleam of metal as Aya grips the hilt of his sword.
I’m willing to bet I should be a little more surprised to see him here.
“Hey.”
My voice is low, somewhat guttural with the wine residue.
“Give me your keys.”
Curt, his voice is a soft bark. I hand them over, grinning slightly. He wrinkles his nose.
I have the feeling I’m staring too much somehow.
In a fluid motion, Aya lowers himself into the driver’s seat, turning the key in the ignition. I follow him, albeit with far less grace, and we pull away. Vaguely I register that we’re going the long way back to the apartment.
“What did you learn?”
Again his voice is hard, flat. It dawns on me that these are the first words we’ve really said to each other since this afternoon. My accusations ring through my skull again, somewhat distorted.
“Or is this just another sort of revenge?”
I am such an ass. His hands tighten on the steering wheel, waiting for an answer. All I can remember is a series of useless facts, more mundane information, such as the fact that she grew up in Yokohama, not Tokyo and that she has a secondary degree in genetics.
“Yohji!”
His angry voice breaks through my haze, I vaguely remember something I meant to tell him.
“She didn’t really give away anything. But she, she avoided talking about the headmistress. Changed the subject.”
I pause to take a drag. The top’s down, so he shouldn’t bitch. He shoots a glare at me anyways.
“D’you think that’s suspicious?”
“I don’t know.”
I think Aya doesn’t want to be a part of this mission any more than I do.
He stares ahead, at the road. I can tell by the set of his shoulders that he’s waiting for me to say something.
He can’t handle fucking anything, can he?
“If you think I’m going to apologize you’re wrong.”
His voice lowers, becoming deadly quiet, and inflectionless icy wave of sound.
“What would you have to apologize for? I was under the impression that it was ‘all for the job’”
Great. Now we’re going to dance around the issue until one of us just gives in. it’s the same old bit. Damn wonder he’s not tired of it yet.
I don’t say anything. What can you say to that?
His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. I can almost hear him gritting his teeth as he speeds up the car, apparently anxious to get home.
He jumps out of the car immediately after we pull in. Thoughtlessly, I reach for his wrist and miss, my hand dropping hard on the seat. Aya pauses, looking at me with disgust.
“You shouldn’t be drunk on a mission.”
His tone implies ‘again’. I shrug, leering at him, filled with a sudden resentment that is strangely, and horribly, familiar. It feels slick, like a coat of pus over my skin.
“Maybe you should give it a try sometime, Ayan. Might do you some good, get you to loosen up.”
“If loosening up means potentially fucking over the mission twice in one day, I’m sure its something I can do without.”
He sounds so smug, condescending. Without bothering to open the door I jump out of the car, grabbing him by the shoulders.
“When are you going to realize that this shit doesn’t save anyone?”
Not even ourselves. I wonder blankly where the thought came from, loosening my hold. The haze of wine around my vision leaves me unprepared for Aya’s punch, knocking me onto the hood of the car.
He hisses slowly, carefully
“When are you going to realize that you can’t escape this!”
He leans on me, a thick weight on my stomach, his hands framing my skull. His eyes are dark, almost black pools, seething with an almost incalculable rage. Even with his face contorted so, he is still beautiful.
Reaching my hand up to his cheek, all anger fades. His eyes narrow as he slaps it away, pushing off of me and running towards the stairs.
Fuck.
“Aya! Wait!”
I lean back on the hood.
“Stop leaving!”
Drunk, I take in the cool of the metal and watch him recede again, and so many times before.
___________________

I smoke a cigarette while I count the minutes as they pass on my watch. I’ve got to go in sometime.
It’s been half an hour, he’ll have cooled down by now, right?
No. An odd smile forms on my face. He won’t have cooled down. In fact, from experience, he’s probably even more pissed because I didn’t follow him upstairs.
Right now, I don’t really care.
“When are you going to realize you can’t escape this!”
I thought I had.
Sighing, I drop the butt on the ground by the car, and pull myself to my feet. I feel a little less lightheaded, a little more lucid. Hope that means I won’t have such a hangover tomorrow.
I trudge upstairs, noting that the apartment is dark when I open the door, the only light coming from the digital clock mounted on the stove. I don’t bother to check the time again. It’s burnt in my mind already.
12:03.
Feeling with my hands, I manage to guide myself down the hall to where I’m standing outside our door, fingering the band of my watch.
12:05
I grip the cold doorknob, turning it carefully. I don’t want to wake Aya up if he’s asleep.
Somehow, I doubt he will be.
12:06
I push the door open, blinking stupidly as light floods my eyes. Spots dance in bright colors before me. I think they’re called phosphedes. They always reminded me of bugs. I rub my eyes slowly, trying to adjust to the bright electric light of the room. Aya is sitting cross-legged on the bed, his katana on his lap. He rubs a cloth up and down the shaft of the blade, so hard I’d swear he was going to break it.
He doesn’t look up. I go over to sit next to him, smiling as he glances at me from his periphery, pretending not to acknowledge my presence. Finally he sets the blade down and looks at me, a long sad look. His eyes burn.
He looks like a child almost, biting his lip and holding himself carefully, nervously, away from me. I wonder if he’s remembering what happened in the hall at Koua the other day.
We sit in silence for a long while, Aya staring blankly at me, neither of us moving or willing to break the silence.
Abruptly, his whisper breaks through.
“You found another one.”
I can almost hear him cursing himself mentally, a long run of accusations our tongues have shared.
“No.”
The word is uneven, somehow extended when I say it. An objection more than a denial.
Suddenly it dawns on me that he must have seen me in the doorway there with Tsujii.
Well fuck.
“This isn’t Germany.”
Such a reassurance, I’m sure.
“Promise me.”
He mumbles, clearly uncomfortable with how vulnerable this leaves him.
“What?”
His white back turned away, still with anger. Has it only been a few hours since then?
“Good.”
A whisper I don’t hear.
“I’m not going to go anywhere.”
He frowns, clearly doubting me.
“I promise!”
A harsh yell ripped from my throat. Unseeing I grab him, locking my fingers in red strands escaped from his braid and stare into his eyes.
“Is that what you want Aya? Is that what you’ve been waiting for?”
Now if I can’t leave, all that’s left is for him to go.
“I’ve sworn to keep my promises to women.”
More beautiful, Aya tenses between my arms, not answering. I shouldn’t promise, promises are what left me so impossible, so far from redemption. Finally breaking, he shoves my arms away and stands in front of me, an uncertain hesitation plain in his face, in the clenching and unclenching of his hands. His eyes locked onto mine, we both know that those words are binding.
“Aya-”
I don’t know what I even meant to say. He relaxes both hands. It has the effect of dropping them.
“Be quiet.”
His voice is hard, steely. I move to get up, to go get something to eat, or shower, anything to break the tension, the rending ire of the moment.
Before I can get to the door he stops me, pushing me back into the wall with an angry yell. It’s almost animal, an anguished exhalation. From the look in his eye, I’m not even sure he’s aware of it.
I won’t tell him.
He stares into my eyes, I have the distinct feeling of being naked, of having my deepest parts rifled through and examined meticulously. Without pausing, without changing his expression, he presses his lips to mine, biting furiously, hungrily, a bruise that extends down to my neck, across my cheek in a blizzard of teeth and tongue, hungry lips bleeding a strange violent desperation. Or simply rage, which amount to the same.
I feel my arms moving around him, holding him close, exposed skin at his collar burning on mine. Passively, automatically, I let him devour me. I just have to keep filling myself with something. Taking his eyes again, there is nothing I can judge, just the ruins of my promise already.
Blind, I let myself be led back to the bed, dropping our clothes as we move.
_____________

He tastes like wine, his nails digging long gashes down my back as I yank him over to the bed. The clothes come off swiftly, shaken off by our practiced fingers. Catching his lip in my teeth I bit down, lapping at the blood as it spills through the cut, reveling in the faint gasp of pain pushed between those soft open lips. I can not stop, running my hands over him, pushing me, all that I am, into him with these touches. For one moment, I can almost believe that this will burn all traces of the others from him, that I will be able to write myself into his skin.
“I promise!”
Tense at the words, they fly back at me in the scent of smoke embedded in his skin, tangled in his hair, in the sweat just beginning to bead down his sides, the mouth and muscles that pull me in, and by extension free. What I do now will not exist fully later, but neither does anything exist more fully than now. Pressing him against the edge of the bed, I can feel the sheets hit my own calves, wrapping our ankle together.
I flick a hand around and brush my fingers over a pale nipple, teasing and twisting until I hear him gasp. Lowering my head, I take it in my teeth, biting hard.
Promise me.
I roll it harshly, sharply, hardly noticing as his hands bury themselves in my hair, yanking at the braid in an attempt to pull me off.
“Oh, god, stop. Please. Stop.”
His voice is a harsh painful moan
“Stop!”
I let him jerk my head up, pressing my lips back to his. His clenches my bottom lip in his teeth, biting hard. Our lips slide in the play of wet blood.
Except where his hands move, where his lips rest and writhe, I feel numb.
I press my hands against his chest and send him sprawling, back onto the bed. My vision flashes double. Yohji half-leaning, an angry sad look on his face, his thighs pressed into the grill of his car. Him naked, skin flushed and bruised, swollen lips giving a different life to his face staring, smiling, enraptured, confused. His eyes spark with rage and desire, a warped hopeless marked in green.
Staring down at him, I life my hands behind my head, unraveling the braid until my hair is a long pool of red strands clinging to my back, my neck. Yohji lifts one hands to touch it.
A long time his eyes flicker, an eternity of anger, of seething resentment I can’t read. Worry coiled in the pupils, shining black and accusatory.
In my mind I echo his promise. Does it count if you’ve broken it already?
Watching him against the sheet, I know I won’t leave. Or pretend to know. Assurances mean nothing through a haze of desire.
I throw myself down on the bed, trapping his legs between mine, taking his lips again harsh, strange. Forcing my mark on him. His hands run down my ribs, linger on my hips. One darts between and I gasp, tearing our lips apart. He laughs, a low rolling sound, that runs smug, condescending over me. Incensed I dig my nails into his scalp, take his neck in my teeth biting again until he pulls me off, staring strange as he holds my chin up, still.
_____________________

His jaw shakes between my fingers, clenched tight, angry. His eyes flash darkly, his hands slapping against my shoulders, trying to push me back.
Glaring, I dig my fingers into him and he writhes, flailing above me, hissing at the pain of sudden intrusion.
The idiot refuses to protest, to ask me to stop. Fine. I press in farther, circling around the small nub whose heat I can almost feel. Each time I skirt near it he jumps, pressing back, trying to force contact.
“M-more!”
He gasps it out. I don’t think either of us know quite what he means.
I retract my fingers, sliding them out slow. He looks down at me, flushed, hair tangled around his arms, brushing my stomach as he leans back. His eyes are raw holes in his head, abysses, stars fixed and drawing on mine, a gaze I keep as I search blindly for the container, smiling vaguely as I hit the cool plastic, dragging it over and wrenching it open. Without another word, I scoop out some, rubbing it over my cock. Ignoring the strange jarring feeling of the cold liquid, I reach behind and wrench him open, pushing myself into him with a grunt.
His eyes go wide as I do, shaking all over. They look on fire, a pale purple haze, a fog trapped in his gaze that parts as I hit him right and he tenses, digging long fingers into the sheets, jerking forward over me, our lips parallel. His eyes seem naked, exposed more than his body now. A line of fear trails out from them, a sad lost innocence I’d never ascribe to them but now. He leans down, resting on my chest as I pump slowly in and out of him, flickering between his body and mind, lost in images, falls of hair, light lost and distorted where it hits his cheekbone, his clavicles. Rolling his head around he buries his face in my neck, licking along my jaw and pressing kisses over the bruises. Suddenly he jerks back, bolting straight up and pressing down hard on me. Blinded by the agonizing feel of it, the groaning pain jarring through my nerves, setting them aflame, swollen almost. I grab his hips, slamming them down again, harder and harder, watching his eyes go lighter and lighter, washed out almost by my penetration, foretelling the bleaching fluid that will emerge later and bless up clean and baptized for our next wave of hell. What good is so much white with all this fury?
________________________________

Yohji’s fingers hit hard, hot lengths of skin over my hips pulling me back, I tense at every brush of skin, every touch on my oversensitized body. A shuddering writhe of sweaty forms, plunging up and down inside with blistering heat. I feel as though I will split in two over his knees, caught up in the leaking fuelling pain that sparks this rush, this fury of speed, slick red dripping from our lips, down our thighs, I reach back to trail my fingers over the slight trickle, the dying mark on Yohji’s cock as he pulls out, only to shove back in. I close my eyes against the pain, the overwhelming pleasure of this strange upheaval between us. Musk rises from our hips, an obsessive perfume, a riot smell shocked through me, leaving me drunk, lost for fury, this frenzy of shaking injury as I press back, trying to be closer, inside him until the next time we emerge, lost to the sound of slapping hips bruised by wary fingers, low moans, breath hissing back and forth over the air crackling between us, sorry to be a gap we cannot breach or lose this feeling. My hair tickles over our thighs, a silky shock that pricks me skin up.
His fingers clench tighter.
“Open your eyes!”
Always. My eyes fly open, quick, irrevocably. Shaken with the yell, the force, the harsh desperation in that voice I arch back and yell back, spattering everything. Leaving it all to white.
_________________________________

He arches back and screams, the same animal yell grasping at my body, clamping down around me in shuddering waves that leave me shaking, certain of bruises, and I press down one last time and the world narrows down to heat, and the smell of salt and flesh, skin flushed red and rough against me, and eyes, eyes so brutal, so raw they could rival the sun for wounding heat.
When I return the world is a low dark mass of fluid forms, reshaping themselves before my eyes.
Aya drops limp next to me, a dead weight on the sheets, laying in the mess of our rut, strangely, not hurrying to clean himself off, remove all traces. I brush my hand down his cheekbones, taking in the soft skin, the jutting bone. His eyes are half close- heavy with sleep. I wrap my arms around him, pulling him close, tight. Automatic.
Beautiful.
__________________________________

A fterwards I don’t want to move again, no movement can match that reverie. I glance up at Yohji, smiling loose, content, stretched out through my heavy limbs. I can smell our release mingled together, over me, over him. I don’t want to wash it off. Yohji wraps me tight in his arms, a dizzying warmth after what we experienced.
“I’m not going to go anywhere.”
The words echo in his touch, his careful glances. His still silent lips.
I tense, sudden, ridden with a blank and abrupt frustration, an inexplicable urge to run, to shove him over.
I jerk back, resting on my knees and looks down at him.
“Aya-”
His voice is a soft protest. He pulls himself up next to me, trapping me again in an embrace.
“It’s alright.”
He runs his hand down my back.
His words echo again, unsettling for their sincerity. Threatening something I cannot read.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
An odd doubt settled over my mind.
“I promise!”
I shove him off me, a third sprawling. He lands splayed, seething on the floor, looking surprised.
I rise and turn to go, fleeing as fast as I can, pausing only to grab a bathrobe. I run with this inexplicable dread for the door, not looking behind.
_________________________

After what feels like an eternity, Aya’s slow walk takes him out the door, a long watery motion until it clicks. The fuck?
For one moment after it was perfect, unbelievable.
I’m never promising anything again, it only defines what the person may do to you without retribution.
I miss his heat in my arms.
Stunned, I crawl back into bed, clutching the sheets to me and breathing in the smell. Lying there still, awake, in the growing dark.
__________________________

Huddled in the bathrobes I lean back against the wall, beating my head against it.
No.
The sick feeling in my stomach churns, a strange light nausea.
What terror was that? I feel myself pushed from the room all over again.
That sudden rush, that need to escape. I cannot measure the fear that gripped me.
I don’t understand.
It’s a sickening thought in and of itself. I don’t understand.
Distantly, I hear myself yawn and wonder what time it is.
Maybe its better if I don’t for once grip the reason for this.
I’m too exhausted to fuck with it now.
Feeling drained I rise, swaying a little on shaky legs as I make my way back down the hall and jerk the door open.
Smiling at the dark room, I shrug the bathrobe off. He’s asleep.
Good. Another whisper.
I pad quietly across the room, and slide into bed, pulling the covers from Yohji’s fingers so I can sleep.
He looks so peaceful in the moonlight.
I brush my hand down his neck. I wonder how its possible to miss someone lying next to you.
Smiling faintly, again inexplicably, I press my lips against his temple and settle between his arms, letting myself fade into exhaustion.
________________________

Hearing the alarm I slap my arm over, hitting the piece of shit on the first aim for once. Groaning, I roll over, trying to bury my head in the pillows.
Instead of a pillow, I hit skin. Opening my eyes I see Aya sitting up, watching me with an odd consideration on his face. He smiles softly as I pull myself reluctantly into a sitting position.
“Hi.”
He throws it out in a low careful voice, his eyes darting away momentarily as he says it. Unsure as how to respond I rest my hand on his knee, feeling strangely distant despite the physical contact.
Aya smiling widely, a rare laugh spilling from his parted lips as I grab him from behind, accidentally knocking the arrangement he was carrying to the floor. Forcing a scowl he made us clean it up, brushing our hands together as often as possible.
Aya’s still impassive face as he bites his lip, half pulling his hand out of mine as we walk down the street, his eartails and bangs hanging down to obscure his face.
Aya licking chocolate off his fingers and pretending to be upset when I take over for him. The sheets were stained for days as I recall.
A host of memories floods across my eyes, of skin and affection and rare smiles which viewed all at once lose none of that rarity, that special and wonderful quality.
When I look back at him he’s still smiling, the expression tinged with sadness. Slowly, he lifts my hand to his face, turning it over and pressing a kiss on the open palm.
Without another word he pulls himself off the bed and gets dressed, resorting to a thin black turtleneck after he glances in the mirror, an annoyed look taking over his features. Sparing a look at the clock, I figure I may as well follow suit and step over to the closet, our shoulders brushing as I dig for something with a high collar, finally settling on a blue turtleneck. Aya’s waiting for me after I pull it own, that same hesitant look on his face. His hair is still tumbled down around his shoulders, a loose fall of crimson shining in the early light.
“I’m gonna go. I have some things I need to get done early.”
My voice breaks out, sending a crack through the moment. He inclines his head, the smile dropping completely, shattered on the floor in front of me.
Without another word I leave, fingering my car keys and leaving Aya to braid his hair.
_______________________

“I had a great time last night.”
My head throbs as she speaks. I force a smile, I’m certain she can feel how artificial it is.
“I as well. Want to do it again?”
She smiles, a genuine curving up of her lips. Glad to see someone is happy this morning.
“How about Friday?”
I nod.
“That sounds fine.”
Glancing around, I start to wonder why Aya’s not here yet, and jump when Tsujii settles her hand over mine.
“I look forward to it.”
She smiles up at me, her eyes half-lidded in a way that’s almost attractive. I flick my eyes over when I hear the door open. Aya steps in and heads over to a mailbox, ignoring Asami as she rushes over to him exclaiming that he looks tired. Tsujii’s voice is a rattle in my ear. When she sees I’m not paying attention she pouts and just pulls me closer, settling my arm around her waist lightly.
Aya’s eyes narrow, a virulent stare even from across the room. Tsujii pulls my attention back to her
“Are you alright Kudou-sensei?”
So fucking formal, its pretentious really.
“I’m fine, Tsujii-sensei. Just a little tired. I didn’t get my caffeine this morning.”
She laughs.
When I look away from her Aya’s gone. Giving some quick and useless excuse I pull away from her, rushing out into the hall.
I can see him near the foot of the stairs. I run after him.
“Aya!”
He glances around the empty hall and then hisses at me.
“Leave me alone!”
Shit.
“Dammit, Aya, it’s just for the mission. She’s not-”
“Asuka.”
There’s an almost maniacal tinge to his voice, a disturbing sound of almost laughter, like strangulation without a source. The word is hateful, spat out as if its something sickening.
The implication is clear. Neither is he.
I feel my eyes narrow in return. Whenever there is anything wrong he always blames it on that. It’s always because he’s a substitute.
He is right so much of the time, but when he’s wrong, he is so wrong that it’s scary.
“I promised you.”
It’s a feeble attempt to keep him here standing before me. He turns to walk up the stairs. I follow silently, waiting for him to snap at me again.
“Rex called this morning.”
Explains why he showed up late. I am suddenly possessed with an intense resentment of Tsujii.
“What did she want?”
“We’re to investigate that gazebo again tonight. With the whole team.”
Clear enough. I’ll go.
“What does she think is there?”
“She’s not sure. She guesses that it’s got something to do with S-class, or something similar. That would explain the appearances.”
He doesn’t look at me, walking briskly so I have to almost jog to keep up.
“You plan on taking Sena too?”
Little bastard might come in handy.
“If it is Z-class we don’t know what kind of fight it will be. That you should know better than anyone.”
I feel sick, trapped between wanting to laugh at the obviousness of his spite and wanting to shake him.
Michelle’s brown eyes gleaming with a mad hatred, her hands flying in blurs of pale flesh and biting pain. I can feel it again almost, the haze of existence reduced to one dull ache and rain of blows.
Easy.
“So what about Ken?”
He was seriously spooked by what happened in Germany.
“He agreed.”
Well isn’t that simple then.
“So when are we going?”
“Tonight.”
With that single word he walks faster, leaving me standing alone as the hallways began to fill with students.
___________________

I couldn’t catch more than a glimpse of him until I got back to the apartment tonight. A bit of braid trailing through a door, a black blur as he descends the stairs, not sparing a look behind him.
When I go in Aya is already fully suited for the mission, waiting at the kitchen table.
“Go get dressed.”
His words click together smoothly, demandingly in the cold clear voice of Abyssinian.
What a perfect mask for this sudden withdrawal of his. Hesitation flickers over his eyes as I walk back into the bedroom.
I can feel them on me even as I close the door.
____________________

“Aya, we have to talk about this.”
“Not now.”
My voice snaps out, cool, even. This forced impassiveness, this forced control over my emotions is freeing. If I’m careful, I don’t even have to think.
I turn my attention to the intricacies of driving, trying to remember the exact location where we’re supposed to leave the car and walk the rest of the way to meet Ken and Sena at the gazebo.
“Well, we have to talk about something.”
He’s nervous. I can tell by the way his voice wavers, by the way he keeps reaching for his cigarettes and then looking at me guiltily.
“You’re upset.”
“Hn.”
Nice you noticed.
“What do you want me to do to fix it?”
I spare him a disgusted look, then return to ignoring him for the road.
I’m tired of being so damned gullible. I’m sick of reassurances that are blasted to pieces every time there’s something new to distract him.
“I promised you.”
Fuck promises.
“Promise me you won’t let anything happen to you.”
A wide white smile, a direct contrast to the low serious voice. A girl’s long braids tossed about in the wind.
“Ran-”
She drags the word out, a tinkling show of fake annoyance, then turns around and smiles, grabbing me in a hug that’s too tight. I don’t care.
“I promise, but you have to promise me the same or its no fair.”
She drops her arms and jumps back, the same bright smile on her face.
“You worry too much.”
She runs off, her skirt flapping in the wind as I chase after her.
I couldn’t catch her then…….the night turned somehow red with smoke and her screams.
My hands clench around the steering wheel. Have to promise her the same.
Too damned late. I’m sorry Aya-chan.
A bitter cold wraps itself around my heart, crushing it close into the shape of her smile.
Too late.
___________________

Ken and Sena leap down the tunnel as soon as the dais is turned, raking their weapons out as they hit the floor.
Aya follows, a smear of white on the concrete. He walks slowly, stiffly, a blank expression seemingly carved into his face.
“Really, don’t get so excited now.”
Abyssinian glares at me, turning away at the sound of Ken’s voice.
“Hey, there’s no one here.”
Nope, not even corpses. Bet that’s a relief Kenken.
“Is today a day off?”
Sena’s voice shoots out, thin and annoying. God I’d like to hit that kid, just as a way to vent my frustrations. I don’t think Ken would try to stop me at least.
I discard the idea as I remember how much faster Aya is than me.
“Then aren’t we done here?”
Aya stares straight ahead, apparently considering some incredibly fascinating cement.
“First we need to find evidence of Z-class. Careful”
Well, good thing we have a clear idea what we’re looking for. You know, instead of memories of getting our- my- asses kicked.
We stroll down a corridor, Ken and Sena jumping ahead until we come to a door. I stare off until I hear it open and we all step inside to nothing.
“What is this?”
I’d be glad to enlighten you kid. It’s an empty fucking room. Some evidence.
No one bothers to answer him. Silently Aya turns to leave and we all follow, spurred into it by habit really. Aya always seems so damned confident you can’t help but think he knows what he’s doing.
Then you see him slip.
We hurry back up the tunnel, pausing only once we get back in the open air to move the dais back.
“Well that was a huge waste of time.”
I grin widely. Ken shrugs, herding Sena off towards his bike.
Letting the grin drop I follow Aya back to his car, this time not saying a word.
____________________

After two days of Aya communicating only by these long sad looks or alternating glares, and Tsujii’s prattling conversation is actually refreshing.
“You just have to know what’s really important.”
I nod, vaguely remembering that she was talking about a boyfriend she left because he interfered with her work.
Aya’s face flashes through my mind.
What’s really important Aya? I’d sure as hell like to know.
I smile at Tsujii, noting how well this white dress shows off her figure. You’d never guess at it under most of the things she wears.
“So what do you think of them?”
“Hm? I’m sorry I think I missed part of that. Wine’s going to my head.”
She laughs lightly, a clear clean sound.
“It’s alright. I meant Asami and Fujimiya-sensei. Don’t you think they’re getting a little close?”
I stop myself from smirking, remembering Aya’s reaction to that implication. I almost can’t believe that these people have him pegged as “mild-mannered” or “reasonable”.
“Somehow, I don’t think so.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t think she’s Ay- Fujimiya-sensei’s type.”
Aya’s horrified look as Omi begs him to take Sakura out on a date.
“No.”
“Come on Aya, it can’t hurt.”
Aya’s glowering stare from across the room.
“No.”
“Aya!”
“No.”
Finally Omi gave up and spent the night complaining about sullen redheads who hurt other people because they can’t let themselves be happy.
Stubborn bastard. The both of them, if you think about it.
Aya curled up on the bed reading, he stiffens as I touch his shoulder.
“I’m leaving.”
“Hn.”
You can call me if there’s an update on the mission.”
“Hn.”
Sullen fucking prick.
“Aya, you can’t just ignore me!”
He rolls over slowly, giving me the single emptiest look I’ve ever seen.
“To ignore you I’d have to be aware of what you’re doing. Do you need something?”
Exasperated I yank on his braid, he hits me on this shoulder.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. What would give you any other impression?”
Oh this is a fun game.
He does this with everything. Pretend it doesn’t affect him and it will go away. It can’t hurt him if he shuts it out first.
He seems to miss that its likely already hurt him if he’s trying to shut it out. But who the hell am I to judge?
Leaning in I capture his lips in mine, trying to get him lost in the sensation of our lips meeting, our tongues running through each other’s mouths. I’m panting when we pull away.
He merely returns to his book, waiting for me to leave.
“They seem pretty suited to each other.”
Tsujii’s words shake me out of it. I shrug.
“Who knows? Right now, that’s not what I’m interested in.”
She’s just polite enough to blush. Taking her hand, I follow her down to the car and we drive to her apartment downtown.
If he’s going to shut me out, I’m going to find someone that won’t ignore me.
It’s a strangely hollow assertion as I pull Tsujii to me, tugging at the zipper of her dress.
“I’m not going to go anywhere.”
As I lay her out naked on the bed, I have the strange sensation that I’m not anywhere at all.
___________________

It is past midnight when I pull up to the apartment. No doubt Tsujii will be disappointed when she wakes up to no more trace of me than a condom wrapper. I don’t really care. There is nothing of her to lose myself in.
I wonder numbly why I’m thinking of her at all if that’s true.
It’s an odd compulsion. Her face is heavy in my mind as I go up the stairs, opening the door quietly, half-expecting a seething Aya.
Empty.
Her eyes stare up at me from flushed cheeks. Her hair matted in a green pile as she moans, tossing her head back.
And those eyes still open, gaining nothing.
As silently as possible I feel my way down the hall and into our dark room. Aya is sprawled out on the bed, the lamp on next to him and a book balanced on his face. Smiling slightly, I pick it up and lay it on the nightstand, followed by his glasses. Can’t imagine those are too comfortable.
Flicking the lamp off, I marvel for what must be the thousandth time at his skin in the starlight. Shrugging my clothes off I slide into bed, pulling the blankets better over him and pressing a kiss to his temple.
I am such a bastard.
____________________

“In short, Weiss is to pull out from Koua. Immediately.”
The screen goes black, Mamoru’s distorted voice fading. Ken exhales, leaning his head back in thought. Yohji visibly relaxes, clearly relieved by the order.
“I refuse.”
Eyes settle on me from around the room. I continue, not really caring for their criticism.
“The Academy’s problems are not over. I cannot follow Persia’s order to retreat. Even if I have to do it alone, the investigation will continue.”
“Aya, what are you saying?”
Rex sounds honestly confused, unsure whether to mark this as a betrayal.
“I’ll investigate too.”
Sena chirps up, throwing his voice in and earning a glare from Ken.
“New recruits should shut up.”
I shoot a look at him, taking in the uncertain gleam in his eye. He’s thinking it too.
“Yeah. I’ll help.”
I nod my thanks.
“What’s wrong with you Aya? This isn’t like you.”
I don’t look at him.
“Aya!”
“If you are all in accordance, I’ll go inform Persia of your decision.”
Rex hurries out of the room, followed by Sena and Ken shuffling behind her.
As soon as they’re gone Yohji pulls me down onto the couch.
“What the hell is it Aya? First you avoid me for days, then you pull this.”
I wonder how good she was. I couldn’t avoid glaring at her today.
I just want to run, I stand to go but Yohji grabs my wrist, holding me there.
“No damn it. I’ve been chasing after you for days and now you’re going to answer me.”
Remarkable how petty I am.
“Promise me you’ll never let anything happen to you.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I promise”
Their voices catch and mingle in my throat. I’m sick of these insecurities rearing their head, knowing I’ll never forget, never blast clear these stains on my self.
I wonder how much worse it would be to forget.
“Aya.”
His voice is soft.
“I’ll help too.”
I can read the revulsion at that prospect in his eyes.
I nod and try to pull away so I can go bury myself in a book. Avoid those eyes in their hale of uncertainty playing back the most miserable of endings -both his and mine- over and over.
Instead he pulls me close, joining our mouths together. I grip him tightly, hungrily; certain that everything will be broken if we part, if this joining ends.
He relaxes into me, a smile forming against my lips.
I pull away at the feel of it, succeeding in breaking his grip.
“Aya?”My -her- name is a slap in the face.
He wanted an answer. It comes in a whisper.
“You shouldn’t have promised.”
Never ask for anything.
“Promise me that you won’t let anything happen to you.”
A face that doesn’t change, a mind unravaged by occurrences, unaffected, a weak smile formed by the loose muscles.
I leave, staring at the door for a long time after I close it, counting the knots in the wood.