Aya stood in front of the window, the string for the blinds held loosely in his fist. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the throbbing pain behind them. He hadn’t gotten more than two solid hours sleep the night before, settling for a light doze, Youji’s arms around his waist, holding him, but not succeeding in keeping the nightmares at bay. Aya had given up sleep after the first two vivid dreams had been jarred loose by Youji’s watchfulness, choosing instead to just find warm solace in the drowsy arms of his lover.

Memories plagued him throughout the night, awake, or in dreams. Memories of Aya-chan, awake and happy, images of endless days spent idle at her bedside before the hospital would release him, before he was caught up in his lust for revenge and drawn into Kritiker. He hadn’t been able to stop them from coming, but he could deal with them, with the solid warmth of Youji’s bare chest against his back.

Part of him cursed that weakness, that need for simple human contact. But he was too emotionally drained, too weak to give into that voice and pull away. Youji needed to hold on to me, Aya consoled himself, as much as I needed to be held.

The blonde was standing next to him, fidgeting quietly in his nervousness. Youji had tried to remain outside, but Aya had taken his hand, silently asking for his support. The redhead had felt the tension in his lover’s body. The doctor’s report hadn’t been easy for either of them to hear, but Youji seemed to be struggling to control himself in the semi-public hospital.

Youji’s hands trembled faintly as they came to rest on Aya’s slim shoulders. The smaller man leaned back slightly, reaffirming Youji’s presence, drawing from his strength. Aya sucked in a deep breath, his eyes fluttering open as he pulled on the cord, watching the blinds fold upwards, revealing a dark room with a stretcher draped in white.

Behind him, Youji drew in a shuddering breath and the hands on Aya’s shoulders tightened a little. Aya stared impassively as the pale thin form of his sister lying before him. Her purple-black hair was fanned out behind her, let out of the braids Aya himself plaited every time he came to visit. She was free of machines for the first time in years, and it was the first time since he’d heard the news that Aya really believed she was gone.

He felt his knees buckle, felt Youji’s hands drop from shoulders to hips to keep him upright, but his expression never changed. Aya’s pale hands covered Youji’s, clinging to him for all he was worth, as he continued to blankly stare at the lifeless body of Aya-chan, too thin, too pale, unmoving. Even in her coma there had been the gentle rise and fall of her chest to assure those who watched that there was still life in her body. Aya squeezed Youji’s hands, as full weight sunk in. That part of him that mocked him, made him believe that he was not deserving of the love the man behind him so freely gave out howled in mocking laughter at the desperate clutch. One hand slipped out from under his and the cord for the blinds was taken from him, and he watched the blinds fall, blocking that image from his sight once again.

It was true. Aya-chan was dead.

*~*~*

Youji lit up a cigarette as soon as they stepped away from the hospital doors, silently walking through the underground parking structure to where he had parked Super7. The blonde noticed his hands tremble as he brought his lighter to his face. He hadn’t eaten all day and the lack of sugar in his body was starting to make itself known. He inhaled deeply as he tucked the lighter back into his pocket, enjoying the first hit of nicotine since just after breakfast, almost eight hours earlier. It had taken most of the day for the paper work to be filled out and the blonde hadn’t stepped too far from Aya’s side the entire day.

Youji consoled himself with the knowledge that at least he could go that long without a cigarette, thanks to his relationship with Aya. But then, how much of his shaking hands could he blame on his metabolism?

He glanced back over his shoulder to make sure Aya was still with him. He was, wearing the same blank look that he’d sported for the entire day. The redhead had mechanically filled out every form, signed on every x without so much a trace of expression on his face. Youji was starting to worry; Aya hadn’t slept much or well the night before, keeping them both awake with nightmares. The familiar lines of pain and tension radiated from dull violet eyes. Other than his initial shock, Aya hadn’t shown any reaction to his sister’s death. Unlike Youji who had been hard pressed to keep the tears at bay when Aya opened the blinds to reveal Aya-chan’s body, draped with a white sheet.

Youji had almost lost the tenuous grasp on his emotions when the doctor had been explaining to them what had happened. Death was something that Youji was familiar with, but it was the death of strangers at his own hand, faceless nameless people that deserved to die, not sixteen year old girls with brothers that loved them and three other young men willing to step in and become her surrogate family. He’d pushed his glasses higher up on his nose to help hide the growing redness he felt in his eyes as he fought tears.

He couldn’t let himself break down, not there. Youji needed to be there for Aya. The man wasn’t showing it, but Youji knew that Aya had to be hurting and he was going to let go of the pain at some point. And so he had stood close to Aya, hands on his shoulders as they viewed Aya-chan’s body.

Though the girl would never know who he was, Youji grew attached to her in the short time he’d known her. He had hoped that she would accept him into her life, as another brother, or at least as her brother’s lover. Youji wanted them to be friends at least. He didn’t have any siblings, and the thought of inheriting a little sister warmed some of the colder places inside him. Youji had never seen her smile, but he knew that Aya loved her, and if only for that reason, Youji loved her as well.

Youji blinked back tears again as he climbed into the car, willing his hands to stop shaking as visions of the last time he had visited Aya-chan alone flashed across his sight. He’d gone to see her on her birthday, empty handed because he wasn’t sure what the appropriate flowers would be. He had all but begged her to wake up, pouring his heart out to her that her absence was tearing up Aya inside and that he loved Aya but would gladly step aside if she woke up and told him to.

But she hadn’t woken up, Youji was still there, and Aya was still slowly dying inside. Youji spared the redhead a glance as he wove through the city streets back towards the koneko. Aya was staring out the front window, unmoving. Youji was growing slightly scared by the lack of emotion Aya was displaying. While the swordsman wasn’t the most openly emotional of his housemates, Youji expected some kind of reaction. The man’s beloved sister had just died, and Youji suspected he appeared more shaken up than his lover.

Youji kept one eye on his partner and the other on the road as they cruised home in the fading evening light. When they got back to the shop, he would talk to the younger man, right after he found a large glass of juice, or something. His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he rounded the corner for their parking behind the building. He wasn’t going to be able to concentrate on speaking when he couldn’t even hold his hands still.

Aya let himself out of the car almost as soon as it came to a stop. Youji watched him go before sliding out and buttoning up his precious roadster for the night. It didn’t look like rain, but who knew what punks were roaming the streets at night.

The house was mostly dark when Youji finally walked through the back door. Light filtered down the hallway from the TV in the mission room. Youji met Omi’s gaze as he passed by the couch, the genki blonde pointing towards the stairs to indicate where Aya had gone. Youji nodded and continued into the kitchen.

He set out a carton of juice and the stuff for sandwiches, figuring Ken and Omi had already eaten and if they hadn’t they would be able to fend for themselves. As he turned to pull a glass from the cupboard, a stack of notes on the kitchen table caught his eye. He left the glass sitting next to the carton of juice and crossed to the table, hesitating over the neat pile.

They had closed the shop for the day, Omi hanging a sign on the grate that said simply ‘closed for family emergency’. The kid really thought of them all as family, and none of them were really in any frame of mind to cheerful mind the store. But the sign hadn’t kept the girls away, apparently.

They were sympathy notes, mostly hand written from what Youji could see without actually touching them. He used a fingertip to flip open the first one, reading the simple heartfelt message. The girls didn’t know anything about the four young men that ran the shop, other than they all tended to be sick quite frequently for men their ages. How else were the assassins supposed to keep some of the injuries, and therefore their covers, hidden?

The simple eloquent phrase printed inside with some of those sparkly stickers the teenage girls seemed to love so much brought all the pain he’d been burying to the fore of his consciousness. He had had to be strong for Aya for the last day and half, hadn’t had the time to let himself feel the pain of losing someone he was growing to love. All that pain was rushing back to him as he stared down at the pile of notes on the table.

Clumsily, he spun away from the table, rushing toward the bathroom at the top of the stairs. He didn’t care if Ken or Omi saw him crying; he was more worried that Aya would decide he needed to wander downstairs and see him not being the pillar of strength that he’d been all day.

He slid to the floor, back against the door, reaching out to flip the lock on his way down, finally able to let go of some of the emotion he’d been holding back all day. He cried silent tears for Aya-chan, life stolen away before she’d had a chance to reach her potential. For Aya, for losing his sister and thinking he had to hide his pain from everyone, even himself. And for Kudou Youji, because he felt confused and weak, and not at all sure that he was being all that he was needed to be. In only a day he felt Aya growing away from him, closing himself off, and Youji was afraid what would happen if he didn’t try to talk to Aya.

Youji pulled himself up using the sink, wiping away the last few tears as he turned on the taps to wash his face clean. He stared at himself in the mirror for a moment, jade green eyes rimmed with red, long pieces of honey blonde hair framing his face where they escaped from the tie he’d pulled them back with that morning. He looked tired, pale. But it wasn’t anything that some food and rest wouldn’t fix.

Tucking the loose ends of his hair behind his ears, Youji unlocked the door and padded silently downstairs back to the kitchen. Omi was standing at the counter, his back to the door. He nudged a full glass of juice in Youji’s direction when the taller blonde leaned his back up against the counter next to where Omi was assembling a sandwich.

“You okay?” Omi asked softly.

“No,” Youji answered honestly after a deep swallow of orange juice. He caught the look Omi tossed him and nodded at the silent request. Omi wanted to talk, or more likely, wanted to give Youji the chance to talk. And the oldest member of the household wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to talk with the youngest.

Omi handed over a plate with a sandwich. “How’s Aya-kun?”

“That’s what I’m about to go find out,” Youji answered. He reached out and ruffled Omi’s hair playfully. “Thanks, chibi.” He took the plate and headed up the stairs to find Aya.



Part 3 | Part 5


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