If I close my eyes and think of every nuance of your face, every
facet of your eyes, the exact texture of your skin, the
particular softness of your lips, the silkiness of your hair; if I
sculpt your image with my imagination, when I open my eyes,
you will not be there. Fantasy is not reality, and that is all
you’ll ever be for me, a fantasy. So very far out of reach. I wish
I had a better imagination, even in my dreams I cannot make
you love me.

Youji hated this bed, absolutely loathed it.  The very rectangle was the bane of his existence.  For one, it was really, really uncomfortable. The hardwood floor looked like a fucking fluffy white cloud from his position on the concrete slab, stretched out with his hands folded behind his head.  It could have been better.  He wouldn’t have made a single word of complaint if he had someone beside him.  But he was alone on the bare mattress, and with the exception of the bed, he was alone in the room.  No one would give a flying fuck if he smoked in here anymore so he lit up, taking a shuddery breathe to calm his nerves.

Kritiker had been fast, he had to admit, but then again he had always known that.  Still, one had to be impressed at how quickly they had packed Aya’s belongings and shipped them to destinations unknown.  He wondered when they had started.  As soon as he woke up from the anaesthetic? No, that wouldn’t have given them enough time to deal with the bookcases and desk or to garb the last bit of Aya’s laundry from downstairs or his favourite towel from the linen closet.  While he was still he surgery maybe.  Probably, Youji decided, blowing smoke rings up at the off-white ceiling.  Something, he supposed, had occurred in the midst of the operation to force Kritiker to make the decision that their best team was better off without Kritiker’s best assassin as a leader.  He had no doubt that it had been Kritiker’s choice and not Aya’s.  The empty room had only proved it.  The swordsman was not so capable an assassin to be able to become invisible in a crowd while wounded and wearing a hospital gown.  Manx had appeared more regretful than surprised when the phone had wrung at the nurses’ station to inform them that Aya had run off after punching a man in the face and stealing his clothes.  She could have been an actress though, as Omi at least, was convinced and was trying to convince them that Manx hadn’t known about it, even if Kritiker had. 

Youji had just raised an eyebrow at the other blonde when they reached Seven and noticed that though a certain leather jacket and katana was missing, while everything else remained untouched. They had driven home, hoping that they might catch Aya picking up some stuff by chance or something.  Anything.  Youji had stormed upstairs and thrown open the door only to be greeted with this.  This absolute emptiness that remained even while he inhabited the room.  So he had sat down on the bed as the other two came in, Ken frowning angrily at his apparent lack of distress.  They had walked around the few bare rooms, looking for a clue to Aya's whereabouts, his state of mind while Youji watched from his position on the bed.  Eventually he flopped down, spreading out along the mattress.  Not long after that they left him, Omi muttering something about Aya 'coming back like always'.  So here he was, sitting in a so very empty room, ruining the last little smell of Aya captured in the mattress with cigarette smoke. He sat back up, crushing the end of the cigarette into the wall beside the bed before standing up.  He walked out of the room, only pausing once he reached the doorframe.  Where would he go now? He could hear Omi puttering in the kitchen and god only knew where Ken was, maybe out looking for the elusive redhead.  Youji could do that, he could start looking for him.  He just couldn't do that now though; he needed a few hours for the emotions surrounding him to fade enough that he could start thinking rationally.  So he walked into his room and grabbed a bottle of vodka and a pack of smokes before turning back to where he had come from. 

He walked through the bedroom to what had been a sacred room in Aya's eyes.  Aya had put it after the bedroom so that if someone broke in, that precious room would be protected with his life. Almost the entirety of the walls had been covered in wooden bookshelves which had been filled as much as humanly possible.  There had been a sofa in the centre of the room standing over a plush rug, a coffee table before it with some coasters to protect the wood from tea stains.  Now it was empty.  Empty, empty, empty.  The word resounded in his mind.  He wasn't headed to where the couch had been though; he was heading to the window.  Not long after Aya had joined them he had built a small window seat in this room.  The man had later confided in Youji that it gave a beautiful view of the sun rising.  Youji curled up on the cushioned seat and stared down at Tokyo in all her glory.  The sun was about a quarter of the way up in the sky and as he drank and smoked, he had to agree that it was an awe-inspiring sight.  He watched it for a while and if anyone had come in and noticed the tears in his eyes he could have blame it on the brightness of the glowing sun.

Aya stared at the bottle of sake and manila folder left by Birman.  He sat down in a chair that wasn't his and dumped the contents of the sealed envelope on an unfamiliar table.  He walked throughout the apartment first, noting the small amount of furniture that had been his before this.  There was more room in this place than the last, but then what did he expect when the old one didn't have a kitchen or such.  They had known who he was when he walked into the lobby downstairs, smiled at him as they had handed him the security card for Arishima Hideo.  Aya looked down at the papers and cards sprawled along the table.  One page fell and he noted with curiosity that it was the only one with handwriting on it, something against protocol due to the fact that it could be traced.  Birman then, Manx had already said her good-bye and Persia, if for some reason felt the need to say anything to him, would have followed all the rules his precious self had created. He picked it up for the floor, looking at the neat script for a moment before actually reading it.  It talked about various things, she apologized for things that she had not caused, talked about how horrible his old bed had been and that she had bought a new one for him as well as other furniture.  She spoke of how she would miss him and made no apologies for the breech in protocol except for the excuse that if he could do it, why couldn’t she?  He was asked to get rid of the letter as soon as he read it, as well as his identification as Aya Fujimiya if he had any.  But there were a few lines that continued to draw his eye even after he had finished reading the entire letter.

Do you hate him, Aya? Youji, I mean.  I hope you don’t.  You’ve lived off hate for so long, but in this case, with what is happening now and how close you were to him; I don’t think it would be a good idea.  Besides, we both know he would have never smoked again if he had known this would happen.  Hell, he probably would have tried to make them banned from Tokyo. You always inspired his chivalrous instincts.   Maybe it’s better that you moved, in a way, because you won’t have to see each other, be reminded…I hope you can forgive him for his part to play in this.  You two were too close to let this destroy your friendship…

Friendship, eh?  Aya threw that papers down on the table and got up, and walked out to his new balcony.  He rested his arms on the railing, his hands dangling four stories above the ground.  That’s all they had ever been, despite Aya himself sometimes wishing …otherwise.  And Kritiker had known that, of course they had, because Kritiker made a point to know everything when it came to Weiss.  Friendship.  The word pissed him off, but then a lot of things were at the moment.  The pity that he’d seen in Manx’s eyes; that had been in between _every_ line of Birman’s letter. The fact that he had to accept the charity of Persia of all people and that he was scarcely able to stand at the moment galled him.  The very idea that he had cancer made him ready to rip into something, but he didn’t even have the strength to do it.  That Birman thought it was necessary to get involved in something that had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with him and Youji.  That it had been Youji, who he trusted most, that had sentenced him to this, had very well killed him upset Aya, but what upset him more was the fact that he _couldn’t_ hate him.  He needed something to hate at the moment, so he could ignore the fear and pain, but he just couldn’t.

“Youji, you son of a bitch,” he hissed to the sky, blinking back tears.  The last bits of colour besides blue would be leaving it soon, but it was still pretty.  He had liked it better from his window seat at the Koneko.

Youji groaned as woke up, keeping his eyes closed to prevent the light from hurting his sensitive eyes.  Holy shit did his head fucking _hurt_.  He stretched, trying to sprawl out on his bed, and promptly fell.  He hit the floor and the amount of pain he was in doubled and then doubled again as a bottle that had held alcohol at one point hit him between the shoulder blades and his head smacked against the ground.  He forced himself onto his hands and knees, the room spinning as it showed how much it hated this occupant compared to the last one.  Why the hell was he in an empty room? Empty room…empty room…something was coming… empty…empty…AYA!  As if Aya himself had willed it, the remembrance of the man’s name brought back all that had occurred lately.  He managed to make it to the bathroom, some perverse idea that one just didn’t toss your cookies on Aya’s floor.  Or what had been Aya’s floor.  He sat there for a while, missing the feeling of pale fingers holding his hair back, a cup of something that had always made it better, even if Youji had never been able to figure out was in the horrid tasting thing.  He sighed and forced himself up after ensuring that he wasn’t going to be sick anymore.  Youji splashed some cool water on his face before he walked carefully back to the other room, still a little off-kilter.  He picked up the cursed bottle and the pack of cigarettes.  Nothing left in either. He glanced up at the sky, wincing at the brightness of the light, early afternoon he supposed.  The day after Aya had left; what a lovely day this was going to be.  Maybe it was a good thing it was halfway over. Bottle and packaging in hand, he walked into his own room, ready to make himself look close to somewhere decent. 

Omi was sitting in the kitchen when Youji came down, showered and dressed.  He looked like the little kid he really was, lost and alone, wondering why everything around him was falling apart.

“Omi,” Youji said, sitting down across from him, not beside him.  The boy looked up with his big sad blue eyes and Youji sighed.  Aya could have at least said good-bye. He pushed the thought aside, because the fact that Aya _hadn’t_ said goodbye meant, hopefully, that he hadn’t needed to because he would back.  Yeah and Omi was a Takatori…oh wait. 

“Where’s Ken?” Youji asked; to get his mind off the weird thoughts it was producing.

“Out for a run, I decided to close the store for a day or two,” Omi responded, sounding …older despite how young he might look.  Youji knew the kid could only be beaten down some many times, betrayed so many times before something broke that hadn’t already broken.  Something that couldn’t be fixed by his pseudo family, especially after Aya had once again reminded them all that it wasn’t quite a family for everybody.

“Omi,” Youji said again with something.  Something that was boiling to the surface, which he had been pushing down ever since he had first been told by Manx that Aya had left the hospital.  He kept pushing it down and it kept coming back up and he was seriously starting to be concerned about how long he could continue like this before he either imploded or hurt someone.  And if he did hurt someone it damn well better not be Omi.  Or Ken.  Or anyone else but some stupid dark beasts.  Maybe a mission would be good.  Except for the fact that they didn’t work as effectively without their fucking leader.  Damn.

“Youji?” Omi asked, sounding anxious.  Oops, he had said that last word aloud.  Youji was pretty sure that someone was calling the men in white coats to come for him soon.  Oh well, at least the walls were padded and the food was free.

“I want you to find him,” Youji stated firmly, now that he had Omi’s attention.  Omi looked at him in consideration for a moment and then turned his cerulean gaze towards the table.

“Kritiker has asked that we stay out of it,” he parroted, sounding guilty and upset.

“We’re listening to Kritiker now? When the hell did that happen?” he asked, angry.  Angry because he had expected Omi to be fully behind him when it came to this.  Because he had thought that Omi would want his family back.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Youji-kun,” he said miserably and the older man regretted the snappish tone he had used.  Still, he was about to ask, ‘why not’ when the back door closed with a slam.  Omi rushed towards it, Youji not far behind. 

“Quite right, Omi,” Manx said from behind Birman while the other woman asked if one of them could contact Ken.  Omi walked off to call the brunette while Youji leaved against the wall, not inviting them in.

“Should have known…” he muttered.

“Known what?” Birman asked curiously as she walked farther into the house uninvited, heading towards the mission room.  Manx followed her.

“That it wasn’t Aya,” he clarified, “Only women could make so much noise over something so simple.”  He sneered at their backs, fed up with their mind games and evasive answers.

“Youji-kun?” Omi asked, coming back into the room.  Youji sighed and smiled at him before walking with him downstairs.

“So what can you tell us? Anything?” Youji asked, slightly bitter, as he flopped down onto the couch while Omi sat down at his computer chair. 

“We’d like to wait until Ken appears,” Manx said infuriatingly.  Youji grinned at them obnoxiously and pulled his sunglasses out from where they were hanging at his neck and slipped them on his face.  He tilted his back against the couch and pretended to sleep.

“Would you like something to drink?” Omi offered, trying to play host while he fidgeted.  Manx declined but Birman requested a glass of water and he jumped up, grateful for something to do.  He was just handing her the water when Ken ran through the house like a chicken without a head, ending up gasping at the bottom of the stairs.

“What happened? Is anything wrong? Did you find Aya? Is he okay? Why did he leave?” he fired questions at the two women at a speed which would make any reporter proud, panting all the while.

“Breathe Ken-ken,” Youji drawled, grinning at him like a proud older brother. 

“Why don’t you sit down, Ken?” Birman offered, obviously a little shocked at how he had just spoken to her, “Here, have my water.”   She handed him her glass as he sat down beside Youji, still hyper alert and wanting to know what was going on.  He rested the glass against his knee, holding it there but not drinking.  Youji watched, as the slight trembling of his knee set the water trembling so that there was a small ring of water on his jeans.

“We don’t know, Ken-ken,” Youji said, and it was a sign of how frantically Ken had gotten here if he had ignored the fact that Youji had used his detested nickname twice.  “We were waiting for _you_,” he continued, dying for a cigarette.

Birman and Manx shared a look and Birman stepped forward ever so slightly.  “We’re here to talk about Aya.  It seems, that Aya does not want to be found, by anyone” she clarified.  “We had been unable to find him.  But about an hour ago he contacted us.  The phone call was untraceable and though no ‘Fujimiya’s has left the country and his sister remains where she is, he could be anywhere in the world. He has left Weiss and Kritiker.  He gave an explanation but asked that it remain in strict confidence.  We are allowing him that privacy.” She shrugged somewhat helplessly and glanced between them before looking at Manx. 

“He sounded well-” she continued, but Omi started speaking almost as soon as she paused.

“Did he say anything about us, ask you to tell us something? Anything he wanted us to know, maybe?” he asked; anguish loud in his normally cheerful voice.

Youji was glad for his sunglasses and his hair; no one could see anything with allies like them.

Birman once again looked at Manx and this time, it was the redhead that stepped forward.  “He said,” she said before swallowing slightly and restarting, “he said to tell you, ‘good-bye.”

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