A soft wind, a cool touch. God’s hands stirring the spirits of the earth, of the sky. Of human nature. Echoes distant, echoes flying, flying, falling upon ears striving to pierce the blanket of nothingness. Recalling, over and again, the sound of a last soft breath, the final exhalation bearing with it one shimmering soul, from a failing body, fading eyes. The remembrance of words – painful. Pain that he willingly endured, clung too, lest this pungent memory melt away, taking a part of his desperate reality with it. Embracing the ache in his chest, lest it ever disappear. A dream – never. Pain this real could only exist in nightmares, in only one nightmare – his life.

“Ai shitteru... Aya.”

A hand ghosting across his face, a smile sweetly ghosting across those cold lips.

“I’ve always loved you...”

Mist escaped with his breath in the frosted air, escaping with his heartbeat, soul. A last image of pain, followed by blessed contentment. A gasp, a whisper, a last breath.

“Sayounara.”

“I’m losing, so slowly... Everything always drifts away. My family, my sister. My innocence, my conscience. You. You were the one thing that could have redeemed me. Without you, I am lost...”

~ You’ll never be lost. ~

Breath drawn sharply, eyes lifting up. The figure that gazed from the open window into the night, mournfully watching the empty pavement below where darkness flowed as a river for the street; where gentle winds rose, climbing to lightly swirl across his face, the softest touch, ethereal fingers in his hair; where his breath formed white mist that he perceived to be angels; raised shimmering eyes. From the night, from the darkness, into light.

“Who...”

His voice died on mournful lips. Before him hung a shimmering outline, a translucent visage of a grievous sin. Before piercing, disbelieving eyes a silhouette took shape, assuming the form, the deep gaze, the lovely innocence of a face, a figure, achingly familiar. An unaccountable burning threatened his violet eyes.

“Ken...” Voice: a lonely, broken whisper.

Falling back, taking halting, gliding steps away, as the apparition approached. Through the window, over the sill, into the realm beyond the glass.

“Konbon wa, Aya...” Such a sweet smile.

It was oh, so hard to make words escape his choked throat. “Is... is this real?” Hoarsely, tremulously.

“As real as it can ever again be for us.” He lifted one translucent hand, gazing with depthless, chocolate eyes that held the closest semblance of peace that Aya had ever borne witness too. Disconcerting, painful, the moonlight, the starlight, could be seen through his pale fingers.

Aya was captive, held by an intense, pure gaze as Ken raised a slender hand light to his face. A terrible apprehension overtook the redhead, a fear of not feeling the touch, a fear of the touch feeling too real.

But he did feel it. The slender, familiar fingers cupped his face, gently making contact with living, warm flesh. A tremor shot through his body, and violet eyes slid closed.

How can a feeling of such warmth be inspired by a touch so cold...?

“The same way I could love you,” Ken responded gently, voice carrying with a sort of echoing, wistful quality. Again, that small, sorrowful smile.

It somehow came as no surprise that he heard the anguished thought. The answer washed over him, around him, permeating his soul, leaving him shamed in the countenance of such passion, grace, purity.

“Ken,” he whispered, “I... I don’t know what to say...”

“You were never good with words.” His brown eyes shimmered.

Aya felt emotion well up within him. “If I had known... I’m so sorry,” he said brokenly.

“Don’t apologize, Aya. It wouldn’t change how I love you.”

Regret, pain, so much burning pain. A place within him shattering. “I never thought it would come to this,” he said huskily. “My world... broken, with your death, as I held you and your blood flowed through my fingers. Unconscious of the fact that I always... I always counted on you being... by my side.”

“I will always be there,” Ken whispered, and his eyes reflected the burning truth.

“Oh God,” Aya whispered, feeling the regret heighten within him. And the heavy burden of guilt.

“We can’t change what happened,” Ken continued, eyes imploring, as if he sensed Aya’s emotion, “there are some things you can’t avoid. I left a life of misery, Aya... It’s better now. I would give anything to be with you now, but... We have to wait.”

“I’ve spent my whole life waiting. I just can’t do that anymore...”

“You can, Aya,” Ken said, with a hint of firmness steeling his quiet, familiar voice. “And you will... Your sister needs you.”

Unable to find a response, or a protest – for within he knew that Ken was right – Aya remained silent, drinking in every detail of the insubstantial face that regarded him.

“So where does this leave us?” he finally asked, the bitterness unmasked in his voice. “Nowhere,” he continued, responding to himself.

“Please, Aya,” Ken appealed, “don’t be that way, don’t be bitter. You will become so cold once more with that bitterness, and I could never bear to see you that way.”

Aya drew a long, shuddering breath. “Anything for you, Ken,” he whispered. And he knew he meant it.

Ken, after returning his gaze for a long time, dropped his eyes. Uncertainty bloomed in his stance, threaded through his voice. “Aya,” he began, “there is one thing... something that I would ask before... before I go.”

Aya lifted a hand and gently tilted Ken’s chin up, almost able to ignore the chill of the translucent flesh for the warmth and reality of the eyes that met his once more.

“If... if things had gone differently, if I had survived after... after telling you, would... anything have changed?” Fear and apprehension reflected in his face.

Aya exhaled slowly. “Iie,” he whispered. Then again, more firmly, yet with a voice still tremulous, “No, Ken. It wouldn’t have changed. I know what you are asking... I don’t react like this out of... of pity. I’m so terrified of emotion that nothing has ever reflected on me before, but with your confession, it... My feelings in return, they... they are real. I think I’ve always felt the same, but never knew until...”

He trailed off, unable to say it. It would be too final. And Ken didn’t ask him too.

“Arigato, Aya,” he said quietly.

A frown tugged at Aya’s lips, and he was unsure what Ken was thanking him for. But he would never have a chance to ask, would never know. It was the one question he would always remember to ask the former teammate when they were reunited once more.

“I must go.”

Wanting to protest, to remain here with Ken a moment longer, a lifetime more, the assassin nodded. He knew, and it hurt, but all angels must fade from sight.

“I’ll never let you be lost,” Ken whispered, raising his hand to brush his fingers against Aya’s pale cheek once more. He leaned closer, and the mist of their breath mingled. Aya felt himself trembling. “Ai shitteru, Aya... I’ll always love you.”

His lips gently touched Aya’s; soft, sweet, cold with the spirit of clouds, warm with emotion. So completely perfect – this was heaven. Aya would have traded his life for it to go on for a moment longer.

But Ken drew gently back, his fingers lightly dancing away. The sad smile, the shining eyes – with a breath, a wind, they were gone. Aya beheld before him a figure that faded, a silhouette that drifted away like so much smoke, leaving only the image, the memory, secure within his mind.

He fell to his knees, unable to stand. The tears shimmered a sparkling trail down his face, but the kiss tasted more real than even the pricks of salty crystal. He knelt in despair, in supplication to no one, surrounded by nothing. Alone, he felt himself to be utterly alone.

A soft wind rose, echoing down the street of darkness with a whispered sound. Desperately, hauntingly, lovingly familiar. And he knew the eyes of an angel were upon him.