Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Walking on Hell ❯ Choice ( Chapter 12 )

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

Chapter 8 - Choice

All of Yohji's lovers ended up dead.

Except Aya.

Until now.

The wire sang.

* * * * * * *

Aya sat in the briefing room and stared at Asami's journal. The last treasure of her life. The room was thick with silence; Yohji leaning in Aya's old place against the wall, Sena waiting patiently on the sofa, Ken's impatience palpable and growing by the minute.

Rex stood by the blank plasma screen. No Persia.

"Fuck it, we've been here since this morning." Ken's impatience had clearly got the better of him. "When is something going to happen?"

"Persia will talk to us in a moment," said Rex, calmly. "Please wait."

"I've been fucking waiting," said Ken. "Another person who didn't need to die has died." He ignored Rex's protest, rising to his feet as if he were about to leave. "It's about time we knew what was going on around here. If you guys ever figure out what to do, call me. Until then, I'm out of here."

The door behind him opened.

It was Omi.

He'd changed, in the years since Aya last saw him in person. A little taller, more serious. Calmer, maybe.

"Sit down, Siberian," said Omi, with a tone of command that the old Omi would never have used, especially on Ken.

"To see you here, face to face - I'm disappointed in you, Persia." Ken's voice was sardonic, but there was a hint of a smile for Omi on his lips.

Yohji's eyes darted once to Omi, before settling back on the wall opposite.

There was a moment of silence, before Omi began.

"I've chosen not to live as Omi Tsukiyono, but as Mamorou Takatori."

Aya remembered an abandoned apartment, a night not unlike this, and Omi's huge eyes looking up at him as Aya cut him free. You are not Mamorou Takatori. You are-

Aya focused on Asami's journal, and kept himself perfectly still.

"I walk a different path from the rest of you," Omi was saying. "For the rest of our lives, we will never meet again. Pain and mourning... I walk that path alone."

Oh, really, Omi?

"For this... to kill Omi Tsukiyono within me, I announce a mission!"

A Takatori, after all.

"This isn't an official mission from Persia. It's from a weak, crybaby flower-seller who can't do anything by himself. Omi Tsukiyono's final mission. If that's okay, then listen to me. If it's not, then leave now. As long as I live I will never let the Takatori family come after you. I promise."

Aya waited. He half expected Yohji to leave. But he didn't. Neither did Sena.

Omi's eyes locked with Ken's.

"Hey, I don't want to be the only bad guy here," said Ken with a shrug.

A smile lit Omi's face briefly. "Thank you. My final mission is the destruction of Eszett's artificial human production system, the palace of Sheol, and the elimination of Masato Shimojima and Mayumi Tsujii! White Hunters of Darkness... expose these dark creatures!"

Aya got to his feet. He'd made his decision, long ago. He couldn't be Ran again. But he could make the world better. He could carry his grief on strong shoulders, and cling to the shreds of hope he had for some kind of a future. This was his place.

Sena rose to his feet too, and then Ken threw an arm around Omi's shoulder, and Omi's true smile showed, and for a moment, it felt familiar.

Yohji stood against the wall, unmoving.

* * * * * * *

Aya's fingers deftly tied his freshly braided hair as he looked around his room, knowing that it might be for the last time. There had been one mission too many that he hadn't been able to come home from for him expect otherwise. It didn't matter; there was nothing here. A few books, the trappings of his life as teacher. He'd miss those, a little. But not enough.

And on his bed, one corner stained with blood, Asami's journal.

A familiar voice cut through his thoughts.

"Your hair's beautiful like that. You know, I wish I hadn't cut mine, when I see yours..."

Yohji lounged in the doorway, a half consumed bottle of wine in one hand, wearing only his jeans, and that ridiculous cowboy hat perched on the back of his head.

"Mind if I come in?"

"If you like."

Yohji slunk into the room, and waved the bottle. "Got glasses?"

"Not before a mission, Yohji."

Yohji flinched at the tone of Aya's voice; he shrugged and set the bottle down on the desk. "You're no fun."

"Yohji-"

"It's just a distraction, you know. It improves my focus."

Aya doubted that, very much.

Yohji sighed, his old, long-suffering sigh, but his face was dark. "Give me a reason, Aya."

"What?"

"Tell me why I should do as Persia says. Come on, you're doing the bidding of a fucking Takatori, you must have thought it through. Why?"

"I can't answer that for you. You have to work it out for yourself, Yohji. You heard what Omi said. If you want to get out, this is your chance."

Yohji gave a bitter little laugh. "Only, I don't do so well without Weiss, do I? Botan or Ken or someone always has to come rescue me from some mess of my own making."

"Yohji-"

"Aya."

They looked at one another.

"You should be getting ready."

"I'm tired, Aya. Every day hurts just a little bit more than the one before. Every kill gets harder. The only thing that... the only..."

"Don't," said Aya, barely a murmur. "Yohji..."

Then Yohji was crossing the room, his gaze fixed on Aya as if he were walking a tightrope. As soon as he was within reach he fell into Aya's arms; their lips met, warm and soft, and tongues, and tears, and Aya fell back on the bed, fingers stroking brittle blond hair, dispensing comfort.

Maybe this way, he could save Yohji. He knew there was nothing he could say. He had only a thin understanding of what was going on in Yohji's head. But maybe this way...

He bucked his hips upwards, grinding his stiffening sex against Yohji's, making them both groan. Fire grew in his belly and Aya ceased to think, his passion so intense that already he'd forgotten why he was doing this. There was a tangling of tongues and fumbling of buttons, a scramble to the nightstand for condom and lube, and not soon enough, Yohji was sitting astride him, slathering them wet with shaking hands before he sank down on Aya's cock. So fast it must have hurt, but Yohji didn't flinch. Just took Aya inside and held him there, surrounded him with tight, slick heat. Aya looked up and swallowed hard at the beauty of Yohji's face: eyes closed, lips damp and slightly parted, neck arched gracefully backwards.

Aya swiped his tongue over his own dry lips, and told himself he'd remember that face forever. Stored it away in the catalogue of memories that would soon be all he had.

No. He wouldn't let it happen. He had to reach Yohji, somehow.

Yohji began to move, and Aya let him. Forced his own body still, rested his hands on Yohji's bony hips and watched him fuck. Cock leaking, muscles flexing, eyes squinching shut with painful pleasure. Chest heaving, panting, moaning softly.

Wet white arced to paint Aya's chest, and Aya's body shuddered its completion in response. Release, relief; shared pleasure.

Not enough.

Yohji hunched over him, his shoulders shaking. Tears splashed down to mix with cooling semen.

"Yohji..." Aya held his ravaged body close, and kissed his hair.

"I... can't..." Yohji's tear-stained face nuzzled into Aya's neck with a little sob. "If it hadn't been for Asuka... if... you and..."

Aya's eyes slid shut; he swallowed hard.

"Don't..."

"...but.. could we, Aya? Could we... ever..."

Not a serious question, more a wistful thought. But Aya answered it anyway.

"She's still there, isn't she?"

Yohji froze.

"You see?" Aya's hand fell from Yohji's close-cropped hair. "I can't exist alongside all those guilty memories, Yohji. There isn't room."

As simple as that then, in the end.

Yohji pulled away, and Aya let him go. Watched him fumble for his jeans and pull them on, watched as he rubbed the back of a hand over his eyes, and sniffed. Cleared his throat.

"I'll see you downstairs, then."

Aya nodded.

Aya watched him leave.

He got up from the bed, cleaned himself and dressed in mission clothes. He crossed to the mirror, katana in his hand, and looked at his reflection for a long time.

Aya raised his sword, and sliced, and his hair fell as a rope across the diary that still lay on his bed.

He left them both behind.

* * * * * * *

Aya led them to the Palace of Sheol and the massacre they knew was waiting for them. Omi's presence nagged at him, too familiar, too much missed. Ken was hyper, on the edge of bloodlust, nervy as hell. Sena carried himself with a bitter calm and determination that belied his years. And Yohji... Yohji was hardly there at all. He wouldn't look Aya in the eye; his steps faltered here and there. When they fought he was slow, and Aya had to save his ass more than once; he noticed Ken covering for him too.

Hardly like old times, then.

This time, when the last enemy pointed a gun at Aya's head, it wasn't Yohji who saved him.

It was Nagi.

Nagi. And Omi called him Nagi-kun, as if he were a friend.

It wasn't right. Ken wasn't too sure about that, either. But it didn't rattle him, and Omi seemed sure, and Aya couldn't deny that he owed him his life, so he let it go. He watched Ken turn towards the mouth of this particular part of Eszett's hell with Sena in tow, and caught sight of Yohji out of the corner of his eye.

"Is everybody okay?" Aya said, absolutely certain that they weren't.

"Yes," said Yohji. From far, far away.

"Let's go." He turned to go, took two steps before he heard the wire. He didn't try to dodge.

Aya stood perfectly still, with Yohji's metal cord around his throat, and forced himself to breathe.

"What are you doing?" His voice sounded calm, controlled, as if it belonged to someone else. He heard Omi gasp.

"Don't move." The wire creaked as Yohji tightened it. A warning. "I can't let you go on. Listen to me."

Omi's voice piped up with innocent alarm. "What's wrong with you, Yohji-kun? Aya-"

Don't sound so surprised, Takatori. You made him this way. You. Did. This.

Aya forced himself to stand still. "You understand, if we fight, it won't be a tie," he told Yohji. "You or me. One of us will die."

Can you kill me, Yohji?

"Hey, come on!" Ken's voice, soothing. "You're just tired, Right Yohji? Coming back from Europe must have been hard. Y'know, when all this is all over, we could take a break and-"

The wire tightened again. Slicing into his flesh now, enough to leave a mark. No blood. Yet.

"He's serious?!" Ken sounded genuinely alarmed. As if he'd expected this to be a joke.

None of them understood Yohji. Not like he did.

"I want a new life," came Yohji's voice. "I'll leave Weiß, forget everything, and become a new person. I will be reborn."

"With Eszett's cursed power?" Aya fought to keep his voice level, and his head perfectly still.

"There's no greater curse than the one I'm suffering right now."

Asuka's curse? Or the one that brings you crawling back to my bed when the pain gets too much to bear?

Anger and bitterness tightened Aya's chest. For all those nights they'd held each other in the dark; at the thought that Yohji would so easily give them up, as if he'd never bothered to care. "And you think you can run away? If you screw with your head and forget everything, you think that's the end of it? You'll be happy lying to yourself?"

"What's wrong with it?" The pitch of Yohji's voice rose, the sound of it tearing at Aya's heart. The pain so raw and exposed, as tangible as the shake of Yohji's hand vibrating down the wire. "Are you telling me that it's wrong to deceive yourself? Tell me, Aya, why do we have to continue this misery? I don't even know what I'm fighting for anymore! I don't want to fight! I don't want to kill. I don't want to betray or be betrayed! I don't want to suffer any more! I can't-"

Aya struggled to keep still, feeling black and empty inside.

Omi filled the silence with a whisper. "Yohji-kun..." He almost sounded guilty.

"Is this where you want to be?" Yohji yelled. "Is this what you wanted to become? Answer me! Say something, Aya! Aya!"

Aya turned to face him, the wire so tight he dared not breathe. He raised his sword.

"So," said Yohji, his voice softer but no less desperate. "It comes to this."

Aya struggled for breath and searched Yohji's eyes for the truth, and all at once they shared a moment far stronger, more intimate, more binding even than the wire. It took this one, glorious, terrible moment for them to confess it, but standing there in the dark, bound by death and promise, they finally shared the truth.

And it wasn't enough.