Invictius

The radio was blaring Luna Sea’s 'True Blue'. It really was too loud but 
Yohji liked it that way. He said that there was no point listening to rock 
music unless it made you nearly deaf. Aya, on the other hand, thought he was 
crazy. He’d just give him one of those cold looks and turn the radio off. He 
didn’t listen to rock music. Ken knew that he preferred classical music and 
sometimes the pop Omi liked. Only because his imouto had loved Pop music 
too.

But Ken didn’t mind the volume though.  Luna Sea was one of his favorite 
rock bands and he loved 'True Blue'. He sang along loudly as he watered the 
chrysanthemums. No one was there to tell him to shut up so it didn’t matter. 
And it was almost closing time anyways. Then he could go up to his apartment 
to relax…and go crazy with boredom.

Tonight was going to be another quiet night. Persia had decided to give them 
the week off, which would have been great if he had anything to do. It 
didn’t seem fair. Yohji had yet another date, this time with a stunning 
brunette. Omi was off at a school dance and Aya, well he’d been gone away 
all week doing mysterious Aya things.

So it looked like another night alone watching soccer. Again.

"Well I guess things could be worse," he muttered putting away the watering 
can. But he was sick of it. Sick of being insanely optimistic and always 
happy. Sick of pretending that being alone was okay. The mask he wore a mask 
was wearing thin.

Sighing, he began to clean up the store for closing.

~*~*~*~*~

"Due to the coverage of the Miss Japan pageant, tonight’s soccer game will 
be cancelled. We now return back to the Tokyo Dome where it looks like Miss 
Kyoto is in the lead…"

Ken cursed floridly. His game was cancelled. The only pleasure he was 
planning to have tonight and it was cancelled. All because of some stupid 
pageant. He stared daggers at Miss Kyoto, debating whether or not the give 
the TV a good, swift kick.

"Ah what’s the point?" he grumbled, switching off the TV. It wouldn’t make 
any difference and he’d just end up with a sore foot anyways. Everyone was 
against him. It wasn’t fair. Damn Miss Kyoto!

He wandered into the kitchen, suddenly aware that he hadn’t eaten anything 
last night. Maybe he could cook something? Yes, that was an excellent plan. 
He could cook. How hard could it possibly be? People all over the place 
cooked without any impending disasters occurring. Hell even Yohji of all 
people cooked. Well, if they could do it, well then why couldn’t he?

"I really have no life," he mumbled, grabbing the unused 'Dazzle your guests 
with exquisite American Gourmet Cuisine' cookbook he’d bought on a whim from 
the top shelf. "Now then, what to make? Something challenging for sure.  I’m 
probably much too experienced to start off with something easy." He began to 
flip through the book, looking for the perfect challenge.

~*~*~*~*~

Aya’s eyes began to water as he came closer to Ken’s apartment door. Trails 
of black smoke were steeping out from beneath the closed door. He could hear 
Ken screaming. It smelled like burning flesh. Those Schwartz bastards. He 
would kill them if they hurt Ken.

He gave the door a good quick kick. It flew open and smoke poured out. Aya 
tightened his hold around his katana. He would make quick work out of 
Schwartz that was for sure.

Ken’s angry voice came from the kitchen. Aya wasted no time. He was there, 
through the smoke in two seconds. However, the horrific show of violence 
that he expected simply didn’t exist.

He blinked and blinked again.

Ken looked up from the oven and promptly paled. "Er…hello Aya." he choked 
out in a strangled voice. "What’s up?"

Aya stared. He had never, in all his days, seen a bigger mess. Even the 
restaurant where he used to work had a neater kitchen then this. The 
counters were literally caked with flour and eggs and vegetables and dirty 
dishes. Fish Bones littered the floor, along with more eggs, some butter and 
vegetable peelings. The tap was running at full speed causing the 
bubble-filled sink to overflow. On the stove sat a pan filled with some type 
of unidentifiable meat sitting in a gooey brownish-yellowish liquid. Next to 
it was a badly burnt cake. And hurling trails of smoke into the air was a 
pan containing a pile of black fish.

Ken was also a dump. His apron sported all colors and textures of mess. His 
cheeks were covered with what appeared to be a blend of flour and chocolate 
and…was that blood? Or just tomato paste? And what in God’s name was on his 
hands?

"So…um, what brings you, uh…h-here?" Ken stammered, nervously wiping his 
hands on his apron, which only proceeded to dirty his hands further.

"The sink is overflowing," he pointed out, trying not to smile at the look 
of ashamed horror on Ken’s face when he saw the mess of soapy froth spilling 
onto the floor.

"Oh crap!" He darted towards the sink and promptly slipped in the puddle of 
water. "Ahhhhhh!"

Aya grabbed his arm to keep him from falling flat on his dirty face. "You 
really are clumsy aren’t you?"

Ken flushed as he looked up into Aya’s eyes. "I was…um…bored okay?" he 
muttered defensively. "Bored and hungry. I don’t have anything interesting 
to do like you guys, you know."

Aya couldn’t help himself. With his other hand, he carefully brushed away 
some of the flour from Ken’s cheeks. He was suddenly very aware of how 
incredibly kawaii Ken looked at that moment. His fingers lingered on the 
softness of his cheek.

Ken hurriedly pulled away from him, rubbing vigorously at his cheek, as 
though his touch burned. "W-what are you do-doing?" he gasped, blushing beet 
red.

"You have flour and chocolate and something red on your face," he remarked, 
amused at the comic look of panic and embarrassment on Ken’s face. He 
gingerly stepped through the bubbles on the floor and turned off the tap. 
"You sure did manage to make one hell of a mess, Ken."

The younger boy said nothing as he frantically scrubbed at his soiled face 
with a dish towel.

"What exactly were you trying to cook anyways?"

He raked his hand through his dark hair and studied the floor. "Er…baked Red 
Snapper with fried lemon grass and mushrooms, stewed tomatoes and pork with 
a basil sauce, roasted beef in a honey-horseradish chicken broth glaze and a 
chocolate applesauce upside down nutmeg surprise rosewater cake."

Aya stared, bewildered. His mouth opened but no words came out. Finally he 
said, "What kind of a meal is that? Have you gone crazy? And what the hell 
is lemon grass and horseradish?"

"Well…it was in the cookbook," Ken replied, gesturing to the book that had 
fallen in what appeared to be the stewed tomatoes and pork with a basil 
sauce. "It’s American food."  He began to wring his hands as he stared 
apprehensively at the mess.

"McDonalds is American food."

"This is *challenging* American food," Ken contradicted . He caste a look of 
dismay around the filthy kitchen. "I guess it was too…er…challenging."

"So let me get this straight," Aya said slowly. "You made all this…food 
because you wanted something *challenging*?!"

He tugged at the neckline of his T-shirt, as if the garment was suffocating 
him. "Well…er…yeah. I figured that I needed to cook something exotic since I 
was probably too good to…um……" he trailed off, his face flaming.

"And so you went to the store, bought all these exotic things and ended up 
with this mess? All because you thought you were too *good* to make 
something normal?"

"Well, uh…I guess that’s one way of putting it," Ken replied, rubbing at the 
back of his head sheepishly.

It was too much. The dirty kitchen, the burnt food, the stinky smells, Ken 
*covered* in mess…it was just too much for Aya. He did something that he 
hadn’t done since before his imouto’s accident. He laughed. A lot.

Ken stared, agog. Aya was laughing! Laughing out loud like a normal person! 
Would wonders never cease? Aya laughing! He was holding onto the fridge, 
laughing his heart out. Ken was stunned. Could this be the cold, silent 
leader of Weiß? He felt faint.

The look of horror on Ken’s face sent Aya straight into another fit of 
laugher.

"Is this a dream?" he wondered, staring in shock at his leader. "Maybe the 
smells are making him go crazy."

~*~*~*~*~

Ken stared into the bright red liquid as he twirled the striped plastic 
straw between his fingers. The way Aya was staring at him was making him 
nervous. His eyes were so deep, so piercing. It was as though those violet 
orbs could see straight into his soul. Why was he looking at him like that? 
He wasn’t a bug under a microscope. Or was he still thinking about how much 
of a fool he was in the kitchen?

He could feel his cheeks flaming. He didn’t think that he’d stopped blushing 
since Aya had found him in the middle of that full blown cooking 
catastrophe. And then all that laughing…Ken wanted to die. It was so 
embarrassing. He’d always wanted to see Aya laugh but not at his expense. It 
just wasn’t fair. And then when Aya stopped laughing he had turned weird!

Yes, something had definitely affected the redhead. Was it the stench of 
lemon grass and horseradish? After the huge bout of laughter, he had 
suggested that they go eat at a restaurant since the meal was ruined. And he 
offered to pay! Plus all throughout the car ride to the restaurant as well 
as during the meal, he’d been staring at him silently with those hypnotizing 
purple eyes.

Ken didn’t know what was wrong with Aya but he was scared. The way he was 
staring at him made him nervous and confused all at once. It was just so 
strange since he’d never felt nervous or scared in Aya’s presence before. 
But to be quite fair, Aya had never looked at him the way he was tonight. 
And to make matters worse, he had absolutely *no* idea what to say to the 
older boy. Not that chatting with Aya was ever an easy feat in the first 
place but this awkward silence was driving him crazy.

He quickly seized his drink and drowned the sickly sweet red liquid. The 
drink contained a horribly low alcohol content but he didn’t drink much and 
the result was that this second drink was starting to make his head spin. He 
noticed that Aya was looking rather blurry. All he could see was his dark 
purple eyes.

Anxiously, he mashed the straw against the side of the empty glass. Aya was 
still staring at him from across the table. "Um, why are you looking at me 
like that?" he blurted out and hurriedly began an extensive study of the 
threads in the tablecloth when the older boy raised one eyebrow in silent 
question.

"Like what Ken?" Soft voice that was remarkably mild and void of that 
characteristic cold harshness. He said his name like a caress. Ken shivered.

"Like...uh..." he trailed off, confused. He had no idea how to answer that. 
He tugged at his bangs uncertainly and then did they only thing his muddled 
mind could think of. He changed the subject. "You’re still laughing at me 
aren’t you?!" he accused, his voice sounding higher pitched than normal.

"Do I look like I’m laughing?"

Ken studied him, twisting his sleeves over his hands all the while. "You’re 
not laughing," he finally stated after about two minutes of intense 
scrutiny. "But that doesn’t mean anything. You could be, you know, laughing 
on the *inside* or something. You can’t fool me. Um, can I have other drink? 
I’m still thirsty." he asked a passing waiter,  interrupting the 
philosophical argument he had been making on internal laughter.

"No problem sir," the waiter answered. He looked at Aya. "Anything for you?"

"No."

The waiter nodded politely and left.

"Now as I was saying..." Ken abruptly trailed off. A moment of silence 
passed as  he uneasily pulled at his bangs. Then he risked a baffled glance 
at Aya. "What was a saying again?"

Aya coughed but he still wasn’t able to stop his lips from quirking into a 
faint albeit noticeable smile.

"You’re laughing at m-me!" Ken sputtered, outraged. "I knew it!"

The waiter arrived at their table that moment, granting the redhead a 
reprieve from answering Ken’s accusation. He quietly placed a new drink in 
front of Ken and was gone as quickly as he’d come.

Ken wasted no time in taking a huge gulp. Aya was driving him mad with his 
all-knowing, all-observing silence and permeating stare. The alcohol was the 
only relief he would get from Aya and whatever games he was playing. Aya was 
just so weird! Ken wished he could read him. But since he couldn’t...well 
hopefully the drink would ease his uneasiness because at the moment (and 
every moment before that) Aya was making him damned uncomfortable.

He fiddled with his straw for a few seconds and then risked taking a quick 
peek at Aya. Immediately his face burst into a blush. He was *still* 
watching him! There was only one thing to do at a time like thing. He drank 
some more.

"I didn’t know you drank so much," Aya remarked quietly, with just a trace 
of hurt in his tone that Ken may have recognized...had his brain not been 
swimming in strange red cocktails.

"I...um...yeah. You know how it is. I don’t know. I suppose...er...you know 
what I mean?" he faltered, dazedly.

"No, I don’t know what you mean."

Frowning, he tilted his head to one side and chewed on that remark. He 
didn’t know what was going on. Why did Aya keep asking him questions that he 
couldn’t answer? Why did he keep saying such strange things and make him 
nervous by staring at him? Why had he never acted this way before? Why was 
the room moving and getting blurry? What was the meaning of life?

He grabbed his glass and promptly drained it. And that’s when it hit him. A 
huge rush to his head. There was *a lot* of alcohol in this round. His head 
cleared and then, suddenly he wasn’t nervous anymore. No indeed, the Gods of 
fate were giving him a break. He didn’t have to put up with Aya anymore! He 
could care less!!! Oh blessed, inebriated joy.

"I’m gonna drink az much az I wanna, ‘kay?" he announced, his words slurring 
from the rapid consumption of alcohol he’d just indulged in. "Y’ can’t tell 
me wha’ I hafta do!" He emphasized that assertion of his independence with a 
lavish jab of his index finger in Aya’s direction. "Y’ unnerstan’ wha’ I’m 
sayin’?"

Satisfied when the redhead nodded, he clumsily shoved his empty glass away 
from him. It took three attempts before he was able to stand. "I’m 
gonna...go to...gonna go...over there," he garbled, gesturing to the 
washroom. "An’ y’ better dun star’ laughin’ at me again, ‘kay?"

Another nod came from Aya.

"Good’ then," Ken muttered and headed off, ungracefully pushing his bangs 
from his eyes, his feet thumping loudly against the floor .

~*~*~*~*~

Aya watched his drunken teammate stumbled away. Was that the confident, 
cheerful soccer player he worked with? The very same boy who’d punched him 
in the face on their first meeting? This was a side of Ken that he’d never 
seen before, had never even guessed existed. If he hadn’t seen it for 
himself, he wouldn’t have believed it.

Ken blushing enough for eight schoolgirls. Ken drinking like a fish and 
slurring words. Ken stuttering and pulling at his hair and twisting his 
sleeves and staring at the floor. Ken *cooking*.

But the end result of all those nervous, seemingly out-of-character 
displays, was that Ken was too adorable for words. All he could think about 
was hugging him. Funny, but he’d never noticed how incredibly endearing Ken 
really was. It all had started at that first instant in his kitchen, seeing 
him covered in mess, face flushed. Since then, it had been a downward spiral 
to loosing control. In the end, he’d suggested dinner simply because he 
didn’t want to leave Ken’s side. But damned if he knew what to say, being as 
social etiquette was hardly his strong point, so he’d just ended up watching 
the younger boy. He knew that his silent scrutiny was unnerving but he 
couldn’t help himself, Ken was just too cute. Especially when nervous.

His mouth quirked upwards. His outrage had been so amusing, his 
forgetfulness charming. Even his drunken stumbling...he abruptly frowned. 
Ken wasn’t one to drink a lot. But tonight he was consuming alcohol at a 
rapid pace. Was it because of him? Did Ken dislike his company so much that 
he would drink to forget it? Ken was gentle person, he certainly wouldn’t 
have been able to refuse his dinner invitation. So he’d accepted and then 
drank?

"Am I really such bad company?" he wondered. Well it wasn’t as though he 
could help it. He was as he was and he did not include an introverted 
conversationalist. Hell, all things considered, he’d probably talked more to 
Ken today than he’d ever talked before. And the laughing...he’d simply been 
unable to help himself then. Ken had looked so funny. And the whole idea of 
him cooking gourmet American food because he’d wanted a challenge...Aya 
could feel himself start to smile again.

It had been so long since he’d smiled. So long that he’d even found reason. 
But Ken had brought that back to him. Or was it just that noticeable 
tightening of her hand around his at the hospital that had put him in a good 
mood? That his dearest imouto might wake up? That she would still recognize 
him? And that prospect opened him up to Ken and his bumbling ways? In the 
end it didn’t really matter. There was still hope. And his 
revenge...Takatori Reiji would die a thousand deaths when he’d finish with 
him.

His suddenly-turned-dark thoughts were interrupted by Ken who suddenly 
flounced into his sit across from him, rattling the table in the process.

"Pssst Aya," he whispered loudly. "I gotta tell you somthin’" He leaned 
closer to him and said in a conspiratorial tone of voice, "I t’ink I got a 
date." He waved his hand hugely towards the bar in what was supposed to be a 
subtle gesture. "That girl over there, she  asked me if I wanna go back to 
her hotel room. An’ she wuz gonna come too!"

Aya looked over at the dark haired girl sitting alone at the bar. She was 
watching them in a decidedly cliché manner, swinging one very bare leg while 
sucking on a cherry. She looked very sluty. He tried not to roll his eyes.

"Are you going to go back with her?"

He thought for a moment. "She looks a little bit like Yuriko." A dreamy 
expression appeared in his eyes. "I could be with her in Aussie right now. 
We’d have a pet koala bear and ride in the Outback every day. If I wassen in 
Weiß. Sometimes...I wish things were different."

He nodded, swallowing the lump that had suddenly appeared. So many regrets. 
"I do too Ken. How about we go home?"

He nodded, pulling at his bangs contemplating. Then he looked over at him, 
uncertainly. "Aya, can I, um, can I stay with you for a while?" His cheeks 
bloomed into a blush. "I have nothing to do at my apartment. You know, 
besides clean up that huge mess."

How could he say no? That earnest expression made Ken look even cuter. He 
nodded.

~*~*~*~*~

"I’ve never been inside your apartment before," Ken remarked looking around. 
"It’s really neat."

The older boy nodded as he took off his coat and hung it up.

He walked into the room feeling much better. The car ride home had sobered 
him up, a tiny bit. As least he wasn’t stuttering and stumbling about any 
longer. It was then that he noticed a small picture sitting on an end table 
next to the sofa. He picked it up and studied the young girl. "Is this your 
imouto?"

Had his wits not still been addled, he’d have noticed Aya narrowing his 
eyes. A curt nod.

"She doesn’t look much like you but she’s quite cute."

Aya’s voice dropped about eighty-eight degrees. "What did you say?"

Ken looked up and was greeted with a scowl. He hastily put the picture back. 
"Nothing! I...um...I don’t know anything! I think I drank too much..."

Aya said nothing but simply turned and walked into the kitchen.

Ken stood there feeling like a complete arse. Sometimes Aya was a very hard 
person to get along with. And sometimes he was really stupid for talking 
about Aya’s imouto. That obviously was not a smart thing to do.

He hurried after the redhead. "Gomen nasai Aya, I didn’t mean to be nosy." 
He rubbed at his eyes. "I’m not feeling too good, I don’t think."

"It’s okay," Aya replied in a voice that made it clear it was *not* okay.

"I had an imouto once too," he suddenly blurted out, surprising himself. 
He’d never actually spoken to anyone about his imouto. Perhaps it was the 
alcohol talking, or perhaps it was just Aya. He didn’t know.

The older boy turned away from the coffee he had started to make and looked 
at him. That same violet gaze was back, just as unnerving. "You have an 
imouto?"

"Had." His voice cracked. "I had one once." He swallowed thickly and 
continued determinedly. "Her name was Hyakurin. I loved her more than 
anything. I taught her to play soccer you know. She hated it but played 
anyways because she knew how much I loved it. She even joined a soccer team 
and complained everyday. She’d pretend to be sick so she could get out of 
the games."

He could still see her in his mind, that vivacious ten-year old. Complaining 
about soccer, begging him to help her sing. Her voice was like that of an 
angel. She’d wanted to be an opera singer and sing in Venice. So many dreams 
and goals she’d had. None of them accomplished. He sang sometimes, for her. 
Seven years had gone and still it hurt.

Aya’s voice was tight, reluctant. "What happened?"

He wouldn’t cry, not in front of Aya. Speak the words that had never been 
before spoken. Time had passed but the pain hadn’t. Might never. His voice 
was choked. "Brain Cancer. By the time they found the tumor, it was too 
late. She died holding my hand, smiling. I can still see her smile you know. 
Still hear her singing."

He barely registered Aya’s tentative touch on his shoulder. "Ken..."

"At least your imouto has a chance!" he cried, whirling around to face Aya. 
"At least you have your revenge, have someone to blame." Tears trailed down 
his face and he felt nothing. Felt too much. Just wanted to lash out, to 
free everything that had been bottled up inside for so long. "She never had 
a chance Aya! And...and who do I blame? Who can I possibly kill for 
revenge?"

Aya’s eyes were dark and bled with understanding. Only too well he knew. 
Thin arms that slightly trembled wound their way around him before he knew 
it. The redhead said nothing. He merely held him and listened to him and for 
that moment it was enough.

~*~*~*~*~

*I will be here if you should need me Ken.*

Those quiet words echoed in his mind. Aya had said them before he’d left, 
moments after he’d sat there and listened to him pour his heart out. And 
such a surprise that Aya should talk too, that he should speak of his fears 
and hatred to one as unworthy as he. Perhaps he’d forgotten that the quiet 
redhead was human too. Perhaps clarity was muddled. Perhaps words were not 
enough. Perhaps they were too much.

Everything he’d done for him, how could he possibly express gratitude? 
Things that weren’t Aya, but done anyways. The laughing, the restaurant, the 
talking. The sympathy. The hurt. The pain. The love.

A soft noise at the door roused him from his bed. Padded feet against the 
carpet, cold room. Folded slip of paper lay in front of his mail slot.

He picked it up and unfolded it.

~Dear Ken
Hope shines in liquid ribbons. It’s been so long since I last laughed, last 
found some semblance of comfort. I humbly thank you, if life should see a 
face. You have no idea, my reason has resurfaced. My imouto, Aya chan once 
gave me a poem. Something to inspire the soul, she said. I hold it now and 
simply hope. Truth rings in written words Ken and maybe you’ll feel the 
same.
Yours, Aya

Invictius
William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconqerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishment the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.

Was it the sickly sweet red cocktail that made him feel so much? This moment 
would last, spanning on inky swirls. Not alone any longer. It was enough, 
too much.