Here with me

<A.N.: I have the sinking suspicion that every songfic I write is going to be based on one of Dido's songs. They just lend themselves so perfectly to Weiss Kreuz. So, here we have a YoRan, angsty and sad, based on another of her wonderful songs. This is set just after Aya goes off to be a construction worker (I thought that was rather… random. I mean, he could be teaching swordplay or something. But no, he hauls concrete blocks around for a living.)

Disclaimers: Song belongs to Dido (in case you hadn't already gathered) Weiss Kreuz to, um, someone who isn't Dido, and isn't me, but is probably getting rather rich from the series. That's how you can tell it's not me.

Warnings: angst, sap >

I didn't hear you leave, I wonder how am I still here

Yohji stared at the note. Gone? He'd… expected that, on some level, but that didn't make it any more shocking. He wondered if he'd ever get used to people dropping out of his life like that.

I don't want to move a thing, it might change my memory

The room was still the same, almost. A picture was noticeably absent, the katana was obviously gone, but other than that it was unchanged. Yohji swallowed. Of course it was unchanged, there was nothing to change. Nothing to say a young man had spent so long living in this tiny apartment, nothing indicating either of his lives, nothing personal. The flat had no personality.

Oh I am what I am, I'll do what I want, but I can't hide

Yohji walked into the room and sat crossed-legged on the bed. He pulled his wire from his watch and stared at the beads of light that danced along it's edge. A long time ago he had accepted his life and his job, but he'd never stopped wondering If the others had. Omi seemed so hung up on the idea of justice. Ken was still reeling from the difference between his old life and this, and fought more out of gratitude to Persia than any kind of personal motivation. And Aya? Aya had taken his sister's name so that she might live through him, and then killed in it. Each night, when he looked into those violet eyes, he'd seen that the hypocrisy was killing him.

But he wouldn't be looking into those violet eyes any more.

I won't go, I won't sleep, I can't breathe, until you're resting here with me

I won't leave, I can't hide, I cannot be, until you're resting here with me

Yohji flopped back onto the bed. The futon released a gentle puff of dust that smelt, vaguely, of Aya. He rolled around, forcing sweet air out of the mattress and enveloping himself in the dusky aroma. It opened a wound deep inside him, a wound first created by Asuka but this new pain was hot and sharp and made it hard to breath.

Unbidden a tear escaped from between clenched eyelids, tracing a salty streak into his lips. He licked them, gasping for air as sobs started to wrack his lanky body. He curled on his side, arms wrapped tightly around his legs, trying to hold back the storm. He'd held back so much, what was one little crying fit?

He cried, tears soaking into the futon.

I don't want to call my friends, they might wake me from this dream

He'd considered speaking to Ken. Ken, of all people, would understand. He'd killed someone he loved, and he'd had someone he loved walk away. But he couldn't. Because if he spoke to Ken it would all suddenly become real. If he spoke to anyone, if he told them Aya was gone, it would be so solid, so tangible and so much harder to bear. Oh, he'd have to tell them sooner or later, but right now he just wanted to curl up and pretend that Aya was in the bathroom or getting a drink and would be back any second and that he hadn't left The Note.

And I can't leave this bed, risk forgetting all that's been

Yohji was a grown man. He wasn't scared that he'd forget Aya, or that moving on would invalidate what had been, but still the mere idea of moving terrified him. He pulled the sheets closer around him, Aya's scent growing ever more elusive, and closed his eyes and wished. He wished Takatori was alive, he wished Aya-chan was still in the Magic Bus Hospital, he wished Persia was alive, he wished Aya had never walked into their lives in the first place.

A dark part of himself, that he always tried to ignore but never quite managed to, wished that Aya-chan were dead. Aya would have stayed, if he had no reason to leave, no reason to live outside of Weiss. Aya would still be here, in Yohji's arms, silent and sad and desperate for companionship but scared by it. He'd even kept Yohji at arms length, figuratively if not literally.

There was a faint knock on the door. Yohji sat up sharply, sheets pooling around his waist, hands clutching them tightly to him.

"Aya? Aya-kun?"

Oh I am what I am, I'll do what I want, but I can't hide

It was Omi. The door opened and he stared at Yohji, who stared at him, puffy-eyed and vulnerable. "Yohji-kun?" Omi swallowed nervously, but plunged ahead. "Aya didn't turn up for his shift this morning." Omi stared at the rumpled sheets and dishelmed blond. He shifted from foot to foot. "Is he, um, almost…"

"He's gone," Yohji told him, staring blankly into the middle distance, straight through Omi to where The Note lay on the table by the door.

"Downstairs?" Yohji shook his head mutely. "Out?" Yohji just curled up tighter. Omi moved to sit next to him, Yohji pulled the sheets closer around him, not wanting Omi to touch them. They smelt more of Yohji than Aya now, but that was okay, since Yohji had spent almost as much time in the bed as the redhead had.

"Yohji, what's going on?" Omi asked.

"He... I… Aya's left." Yohji gave up. "Note. Over there," he waved vaguely.

Omi read it, twice, and shook his head. "-" He stared at Yohji, curled tightly in what had been Aya's sheets, nursing another broken heart. There was nothing he could say or do to ease the pain any sooner that it would naturally, so he left, closing the door quietly behind him.

I won't go, I won't sleep, I can't breathe, until you're resting here with me

I won't leave, I can't hide, I cannot be, until you're resting here with me

Yohji lay down again and cried until he couldn't breath, until he couldn't think, until he couldn't concentrate on anything other than the huge hole left by the man who had climbed out of their bed that morning and left only a note to say goodbye to his lover, still sleeping snugly in the rumpled bed.