He's touching me.

I open my eyes and blink. No, It's only the brick wall I'm leaning against in the alleyway. Cold and hard and rough. It's not him. My stomach flip flops until I slip my hand inside my trenchcoat, and grip something. Cold metal. Katana hilt. I feel better.

It isn't him. He won't touch me again.

Even though, when I'm out at night alone...

I can still hear him, whispers brushing my ears. Feel him, fingers brushing my hair.

My breath catches in my throat until I realize where I am, and start walking again, leaving the dark alleyway behind. As I step out, I swear I can feel his arms around me.

But I know they aren't there.

I ignore the growing lump in my chest, and keep walking.

I dig my hands into black leather pockets. I'm cold. The night isn't cold, but I am. As cold as I've ever been.

I don't know why I feel like this. Am I sorry for what I did? I still can't answer that. But it was my decision and it was final and that was that. Am I supposed to feel guilty for giving him an ultimatum? Should I feel bad for forcing him to choose like that?

Well, I don't.

And I won't.

Even though sometimes, I miss him. Just a little.

Like crazy, all the rest.

"Don't touch me."

Yohji stepped back, feeling the ice of an 'Aya Fujimiya Shi-Ne Glare' focused on him. He swallowed hard and resisted the urge to grab him by the shoulder again.

"So that's it?" Yohji had to fight to keep his voice cool.

"That's it." Aya didn't turn to look at him when he spoke.

"That's it." Yohji echoed, his voice distant.

Aya was leaving. Leaving Weiß.

Leaving him.

And he wasn't even looking back.

"You can't just walk away like this." Yohji's voice was strained.

Aya almost laughed. "Listen to yourself, Kudou."

"That's DIFFERENT, Aya!" Yohji yelled back, finally raising his voice. "The ones I walk away from are expecting it. Are ready for it. Not like this, that you're pulling with me."

It was the middle of the night, and they were both standing outside, in front of the Koneko. Aya was on his way out. He was leaving, because he found better pay somewhere else as a Freelance assassin, away from the fingers of Kritiker. More care for his sister.

Yohji took a low blow. "She might never wake up, Aya. Then where will you be, after throwing away everything else?"
Aya finally turned, violet eyes glittering. He came close enough for Yohji to touch, and didn't protest this time when the man did. He was close enough and compliant enough for Yohji to lean in close, press in to kiss him once more. Aya stood still, waiting.

Before Yohji's lips touched his, he locked eyes with the man.

"It's over. Everything is over."

Yohji looked like a bullet had been put through his heart. He stumbled backward, and a grunt of something that sounded like surprise and pain escaped his lips.

"You..." he sputtered.

"You reap what you sow, Kudou." Aya turned and walked away.

In desperation, Yohji lunged, grabbing Aya's shoulder. Without hesitation, Aya backhanded Yohji, and elbowed him in the stomach. The blonde went down on one knee, coughing, and rubbing an injured cheekbone.

"Over is over, Yohji. You had your chance."

Yohji spit a mouthful of blood from a swollen lip on the pavement. "What, you'll treat me like trash because I won't leave Weiß? What the fuck kind of a chance is that? 'Leave or I'm done with you?' What the FUCK, Aya?"

Aya looked down at Yohji. "My new job might pit me against you one day. And don't think I can't kill you if I had to."

Yohji stood back up. "You'd kill me for that vegetable you call a sister. Looks like you've got your priorities straight. Fuck you, Aya."

Yohji finally turned to let Aya leave, go wherever the hell he was going, but turned back at the last moment.

"Aya?" His voice was little more than a whisper.

Aya didn't turn, but stopped in his tracks for a split second.

"Did it ever mean anything?"

Aya was walking again as he responded.

"Nothing."

I had to burn every bridge. Even that one. I have to be able to do my job.

I can't see him any more. Even if I could, I've ruined it for us. It was the truth that I might have to fight him one day. Killing is a risky business. You don't always know who your next opponent will be.

And if my next one is him, I don't have a choice. I'll have to fight.

Aya, you cold fucking bastard.

God, I know I'm trash, but you're even worse. I don't lead people on and break their hearts. At least... not on purpose.

How can you go from "I love you" to "I'll kill you" in a matter of days?

How do you become the object of the one you love's contempt and hatred so quickly? How can you look him in the eye when he tells you he'll kill you if he has to?

I don't know, but I did it.

He said he would kill me if he had to.

Little does he know...

He killed me that night. I thought I was already dead, but he killed every last bit of humanity in me, crushed every last piece of my heart that had recovered from everything I'd been through in my worthless, jaded life.

I don't know if that's what he was aiming for, but that's what he got. Not that I can tell him, I'll probably never see him again. And if I do, we'll be on less than friendly terms.

Why can't I just get over him, like every other lay in my life. That's all he is now, a figure in the past.

I didn't love him enough to drop everything else for him. And he didn't love me enough to stay. So what's the point of crying over broken promises, like so much spilt milk? I'll smoke in the rain instead. I can pretend the wet spots on my cheeks are from raindrops, and not from tears.

Come, or goodbye. My choice. Why did it have to be MY choice? Why couldn't I make him choose? Stay or goodbye?
Because I'd finally found a person I didn't want to say goodbye to.

"Nothing". He walks away.

Not a care in the world, not a bridge left unburnt.

Exactly how I used to be. Funny, how things hurt so much more when you see them turn on yourself.

"Aya." It's a choked whisper, not even loud enough for him to hear.

I turn and sprint back into the house, lock myself in my room, and stand with my back to the door, panting. My heart is going to burst. It hurts so much that I just wish it would get it over with and be done.

I try to convince myself it's a dream, and that I'll wake up beside him again, and everything will be alright. That I'll have his arms around me and I can whisper soft things to him, and make love to him, and things won't have changed.

But I can't.

I can't.

No matter how hard I try, that night clings in my memory.

Does he ever feel sorry? Does he ever wish he'd done things differently?

I do. I wish one thing had happened differently. Only one thing out of that entire night, I wish I could change.

I wish he had said goodbye.

What am I doing?

Lying here in a cold bed, without him. Without him to hold close, without him to share warmth. One word repeating itself over and over in my mind.

"Nothing."

Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

God.

You'd think I would learn.

You'd think I would have been prepared for it. You'd think I would have expected it. After all, I've done it to so many women.

Payback's a bitch.

Then again, it shouldn't bother me so much. Nothing else I've ever done has mattered. Nothing has meant anything. Why should I have expected this to? Why should it have meant something for him this time?

Because I actually cared, this time.

Without even realizing it, my hand crept up to my shoulder, fingertips brushing over the designs imprinted in the black ink.

I won't learn.

I'll keep making the same mistakes, and I'll never learn.

I'll cry my tears in the dark, put on a smile in the light, and be everything that I've worked so hard to pretend I am.

I've cried my last tear for him. At least, that's what I'm telling myself. I can still lie so easily.

The lies don't hurt anymore.

What am I doing?

Standing out here underneath his window, like a ghost in the night. A crimson shadow, blood against the darkness.

I broke every bridge. Crushed every link. Cut every tie.

So what's keeping me here?

His window is dark.

He's probably gotten over me. He wasn't one to keep lovers very long. I can almost see through the wall, see him lying in bed with whomever he'd picked out this night, touching them like he touched me.

For a fleeting moment, I can feel his hands.

It's not him. Not him. It's the wind. A cold, biting wind that rustles my coat, plays with my hair, and whips softly by, leaving no traces in its wake.

My eyes are stinging, but it's just the wind. Nothing more.

I'm not crying.

Ran Fujimiya doesn't cry anymore.

Ran Fujimiya cried on the day his sister left him. Aya Fujimiya cried on the last day he smiled.

Warmth spills down my cheeks, but I don't feel it. It's not his warmth, and that's all that matters.

Why did I do it?

I threw him away. I threw him away before he could throw me away.

Kamisama…

That's why I left. Not for my sister. Not for her, for once. I left… because I didn't want him to get tired of me. I didn't want to be the one walked away from.

I wanted to be the one to walk away. I refused to let him hurt me. I refused to let him tell me it was over. No one was ever going to hurt me again. Be the one who hurts, not the one hurting.

I only realized too late that he would never have hurt me.

Kamisama… kamisama, kamisama, kamisama.

I look up once more.

Are you answering me? It's snowing. Softly. Soundlessly.

My cheeks are damp, but it's only from the snow.

I'm not crying.

Ran Fujimiya doesn't cry anymore.

I'm crying. I can't lie to myself anymore.

Ran Fujimiya cried on the night he realized the love he'd lost.