Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ It's too late to confess now... ❯ Ran ( Chapter 3 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

*****Part 3*****


If it had been any other night, he would have been home long before, but every time he tried to go back to the trailer, his feet kept leading him away, until at last, he had no place left to go.

Fujimiya Ran silently opens the door to the makeshift flower shop he shares as a mobile apartment with his teammates, stepping inside to meet the darkness within. Omi's bookbag and Youji's jacket lie off to the side, and as far as he knows, Ken should still be there from this morning. Everyone is home.

So...why is it so dark? Why is it so hauntingly quiet and still?

Unlike his companions, Ran isn't exactly the sociable type, so he chooses not to call out, deciding instead to investigate personally. As a keen observer, he prides himself on having a certain sixth sense about atmosphere and pressure in a room. Signs that something isn't quite right. Reaching out with each and every one of his senses, the entire trailer is screaming at him that something is very, very wrong.

The first room he comes to is the living room, lit dimly by a solitary lamp. He can see the light even before he turns the corner to peek inside, but soft or not, it is far too much when he sees what it is helping to illuminate.

Strung up like some morbid marionette, Kudo Youji hangs in the center of the room, dripping blood from the razor sharp wires suspending his limbs and body, as well as the many wrapped around his neck. The blonde's face is a sickly shade of white, almost blue, and his once gleaming, emerald eyes, flecked with uncanny slivers of gold, lay half-open, staring blankly forward.

Ran immediately stiffens, his pulse beginning to race, though any outward traces of shock are barely perceptible. The worst possible discovery upon coming home has been realized, and he can't help blaming himself for not being there to prevent whatever caused this nightmare to awaken.

The others. He has to find the others.

Without another thought, Ran turns from the grisly scene in the living room, heading for the kitchen. Other than an empty sink, however, there is nothing out of the ordinary to be found. Meaning, if Ken and Omi are still in the trailer, the only place left for them to be is in their bedrooms.

Long legs carry Ran deeper inside, down the narrow hallway at the back. Omi's room is the first he reaches, and he takes note of how the door is slightly ajar, though no sound is coming from the other side. Stealing a painstaking breath for courage, he pushes the door open with a delicate touch of his hand.

The sight that meets his violet eyes is even more unbearable than the first. Little Omi, always looked on as a child, no matter how many years pass, lies practically gutted on his bed, gawking wide-eyed back at Ran, as if pleading for help that can no longer be given.

Those same intense, violet eyes clench shut as Ran steps away, tightening his fists to still the rage building in the pit of his stomach, and turning from the room to still the relentless grief collecting in his heart.

Someone, some wretched creature, has come into his home, and taken away his loved ones all over again. That cannot be forgiven. Especially, Heaven forbid, if there is a third corpse to be found.

Ran moves further down the hall, this time stopping in front of Ken's door, the one sporting a poster of the brunette's favorite soccer team. The picture is slashed, barely hanging in place, and deflating Ran's hopes for the blessing of a somewhat happy ending. Until he listens to his surroundings a bit more carefully, that is.

Like Omi's, the door has been left partially open, but this time there is more than mere silence greeting his approach. There is the unmistakable sound of breathing. A treasured peculiarity of Ran's is that he has always been able to decipher a person's identity based on the sound of their breath - the faint whisper that isn't even a voice - as long as he knows them well enough.

And the hopeful red-head can honestly say he knows Hidaka Ken better than anyone.

"Thank God. Finding the others like that...I thought...are you all right, Ken?" Ran begins, slipping fearlessly inside his friend's room. Ken is facing away from the door, sitting slouched on his bed with his hands in his lap, hiding them from view. "What happened? Were we attacked? Who did this?"

Ken gives no answer at first, doesn't even acknowledge Ran's existence in his room, but continues staring at the wall in front of him, his breathing labored and irregular, as if he had only recently stopped crying.

Relief, echoed by a deep remorse, saturates every syllable of Ken's words when he finally does speak, tilting his head towards the door, though his eyes seem unable to rest on anything but empty space.

"You can't figure it out on your own...?" he whispers, half laughing, half choking on the sound of his own voice. "You saw what was left of them, and you still don't know?"

"Ken, what are you talking about?" Ran counters, stepping right up to the bed and staring down at his friend from above, though finding no threat in the sight of freshly cleaned claws encasing the brunette's trembling hands. "Were you gone? Is that it? Tell me. I don't care if you disobeyed orders, Ken, just tell me what happened. Who did this to them?"

Turning fully to face the red-head at his back, Ken's turquoise eyes at last meet the narrowed gaze of his teammate, and for the first time, Ran's sharp senses begin picking up on what they had so stubbornly been trying to brush aside.

Ken is what's wrong. Not the early deaths of two good friends. Not the stench of blood and fear, thick in every breath he takes. Not even the darkness weaving through every fiber of the trailer.

It's Ken.

"Who did this to them...?" the brunette repeats back, his gaze unfocusing for a moment, before abruptly returning to Ran's stricken face. "I did..."

Time and memory become nothing at the sound of those tragic words - formless and fathomless - hanging deceptively still, until at last the image of swiftly moving claws disturbs the peaceful picture.

Ken attacks, but his desperate lunge falls surprisingly short. Perhaps Ran somehow saw it coming, backing away just enough to stay out of harm's reach. Either way, Ken lands roughly on the floor, giving the awakened red-head the incentive and chance for escape.

Past events so often repeat themselves, mainly because people have a tendency to react in similar ways to similar situations, despite our many differences. In the heat of the moment, Ran means to take hold of his weapon and defend himself, just as Youji had dashed into the living room to recover his misplaced wire.

The swift red-head sprints for his bedroom, barely losing a step in the darkness. Ensnared within this time of great need, he moves with necessity, and necessity alone. He must have his katana in his hands, whether he intends to use it or not.

Leaving his cherished sword in his room had not been folly, it had been habit. What Ran longs to release himself from during the day is forever the unfortunate truth of what he does at night. The only opportunity for such peace comes in stepping out into the world unarmed, facing it as he once did when life was innocent and he was innocent with it.

Ran stands in the middle of his room now, at an utter loss, without any solution or possibilities left. His katana is not where it should be. It isn't in the closet, under the bed, behind the door, or even wrapped neatly against the wall. He has no weapon to use as a crutch, even if he never planned to rely on that crutch in the first place.

"Looking for this, Aya?" taunts a voice from behind, tensing every tendon in the cornered assassin's body. "I figured you'd go for it. You must have guessed that's what Youji did when he realized what was gonna happen. Heh. Didn't work out too well for him, either."

"I don't believe this. I refuse to believe you could do this!" Ran growls through clenched teeth, turning to face Ken at the door, who is proudly holding a gleaming katana in one hand, while his gloves still cover them both.

"Believe it. You musta seen this coming. Why else would you cage me in for the day? To give me some time to think about what I did? Cut the shit, Aya, I know what I did!!"

A sharp intake of air from somewhere unknown, unseen, but Ran doesn't even flinch. Not at the rising anger in Ken's tone, not at the weapons threatening his very life, not even at the cold, nearly remorseless chill of his friend's ocean eyes.

"You've said it again and again." rants on Ken's bitter accusations, with more venom and indignancy than he had shown with either of the others. "We're nothing but murderers. Don't tell me you're gonna deny it now. I know you won't. It isn't in you. You know exactly what you are...just like I do. Omi was fooling himself, believing in a future that never existed. And Youji? He was half dead already, holding on to some fucking lie that Weiss is more than what we are, like we're supposed to mean something to each other!"

Moving further inside the room, the adamant brunette's steps are steady and deliberately slow-paced. And yet, within every harsh word, every unearthly glance, Ran returns Ken's advances with bold resolve, equally unchangeable.

"We're the same, Aya." Ken speaks again, suddenly softer, almost thoughtful. "Only you...you shut yourself down to keep your sanity. Shut everyone out to save yourself. I'm not strong enough for that, I guess, but I know you can't last much longer, either. Sooner or later, it'll start getting to you, becoming more than you can handle, more than you can suppress. That's why I have to do this. That's why this has to end with us."

Ken raises the katana above his head, staring straight through this final prey, this final friend, because to see him, to truly see him, would hesitate the blow.

CHING.

Metal strikes, meeting not the lily white skin it expected, but the pressure of another blade. Turquoise eyes stare wide into the violet irises so close to his own as the two assassins hold locked in mirrored strength. Ran has pulled a dagger, impressive for a knife, but still no katana. Not by far. Nevertheless, against Ken's lack of skill with a sword, the match is once again an even one.

"Did you think I would go so willingly?" the red-head questions, expressing no emotion, though his eyes easily give him away. If Ken was only able to look into them long enough, he would see the truth, the pain of what he is causing. "If you want this to end, then I will hold you to those words. This *will* end with us."

Releasing the tension of locked blades, Ran propels Ken backwards, nearly tossing the younger man off his feet. Ken's recovery is far faster than anticipated, however, and before Ran can slip out of reach, the enraged brunette charges forward, lifting Ran from the ground, and pinning against the far wall.

The opportunity for a clean kill is once again in Ken's possession, but at that crucial moment he makes the fatal error of looking up into his friend's face - his dear friend's pale, anguished face - and every last barrier he is clinging to breaks. This is one of the few times, one of the sorrowfully few times, the stoic red-head before him is proving unable to hold back his emotions.

There are tears in Ran's eyes, torment written over every feature, and disappointment - yes, disappointment - taking the place of any shreds of fear.

In that brief moment of uncertainty, Ran forces Ken away, shoving the brunette to the side, and giving himself a clear shot at the door. If he can get out of the trailer, regroup his thoughts somehow, he might just stand a chance, even with such a meager weapon as his only defense.

Once again, however, he has underestimated Ken's determination to end this, no matter how much it hurts to finish what has been started.

Slashing brutally at Ran's back, Ken strikes, sending his teammate forcefully to the floor, and leaving ribbons of blood as a vivid reminder of what must be done. Although Ran cries out from the intense and unexpected pain granted him, he somehow manages to roll to the side as his assailant stabs into the floor. Sadly, though, when he gets back to his feet, the wounded red-head realizes that his dagger has been lost, and there is no where to turn when Ken strikes for the final time.

A moment passes that never came, and Ran is looking intensely back at Ken, gazing into blazing eyes like the sea during a summer storm, and noticing that the blade - his own katana - has been plunged into his chest.

Funny. He hadn't even felt the blow.

The blow, this final blow, could be the very end Ken has been seeking. Or it could be something else. The feelings stirring within the frozen victor, parallel to his frozen victim, isn't at all what Ken expected.

This is not the end. Not yet...


*****A/N*****


Ok, I lied, it's gonna be 6 parts. Also, maybe you weren't as shocked by what happened as you were thinking you would be, cause the surprise I'm thinking of has been moved to the next part. It just ended up being stretched out more than I expected.

Sorry again for taking so long, but school has begun, I have tryouts for the Fall Musical, and it's been difficult to find time to work. I will finish this, and soon, so please keep reading and REVIEWING!!

Ja ne!