The Song, Good Enough is sung by Sarah McLauchlan, a great Canadian artists. It is in italics and I don't own it.

Don't tell me I haven't been good to you
don't tell me I have never been there for you
don't tell me why
nothing is good enough

He looked into sad violet eyes, so full of hurt.
“What are you looking at me like that for?” he asked around his cigarette. “I’m just ending early something we both knew would end eventually. It wasn’t something special, you said so yourself.”

Those violet orbs hardened slightly, the hurt still there but the melancholy faded as anger took its place. “And of course, you would never care enough to look to see if I was lying, would you, Schuldig?” The man who spoke was surprised at how calm he sounded, not that it mattered. Not that any of this really mattered. The questioned man just shrugged, not caring how this turned out. Aya didn’t have his katana and Brad had finally admitted having feelings for him. He cared more about the second.

Two assassins were at a face-off in a dark empty park. One had more at stake than he dared admit aloud; the other had never had anything to begin with, having blackened his heart years ago. One was white, while the other was black but you couldn’t really tell the difference because in the midst of the night, everything had turned grey. No one saw the shorthaired one walk away, as the German foreigner was already long gone. Had he ever been there in the first place?

Aya was at the edge of the park when he paused, pulling the transmitter out from under the lapel of his jacket. He said four words before dropping the piece to the ground and crushing it with his boot heel.

“Enjoy the show, Kudou?”

He got in his car, starting it, driving in a seemingly random direction. He refused to look back. He scarcely looked ahead. He parked close to an apartment and walked to a different one. He walked with his head held high until he reached the bathroom of his spare flat. He wasn’t ready to face Weiss yet. Wasn’t ready to face Youji’s “I told you so's. He started the shower letting it warm up. He caught his reflection in the mirror – blood red hair, deathly pale skin, freakish eyes…he didn’t like what he saw.

So he destroyed the image – punching it with all his might.
And just for a moment there were a million near tears Fujimiya’s, a rare sight these days.

And then nothing.

He stepped into the shower, ignoring his bleeding hand and the heat of the water. The tears started to fall, and he hung his head and let them cone.

He was so incredibly stupid, he thought an hour and a half later, finally getting out of the now cold water. Inexplicably imbecilic to have believed a word of what the German had said. He had known that the man was a liar, had even heard about his multiple one nightstands in the bar where they had first met. But he had ignored the possibility of the man not caring. Why would he go through all the trouble of convincing an enemy if it was just for fun? The joy of the hunt? The challenge? Did it matter? Yes, yes it mattered because Schuldig not caring didn’t change Aya’s feelings. Aya had known the man’s track record and had still fallen for him. The only person who can decide who was to fall into love or not was fate, and she had always hated him.

He knew he had lost too much blood when he started to think about fate. He stepped over the glass carefully, not in the mood to dig shards out of his foot as well as his hand. The appendage was a starting to throb now, some of the numbness was fading away and he tried desperately to get it to come back. He needed it. He closed his eyes, and when they reopened, it was Abyssinian dealing with the world; Aya had retreated. The red-haired man grabbed the first aid kit, and commenced dealing with his hand. He flicked on the TV, creating background noise to deplete the silence of the apartment. Normally he preferred silence, craved and demanded it. Now…

…Anything to get the emptiness of the flat from overpowering him. Walking to the closet, he grabbed some jeans and a sweatshirt, pulling the garment over his head. Suddenly, he could smell, the German, the man’s cologne had become a permanent scent on all the clothes he left here.

He sighed and leaned against the wall behind him, needing something solid at his back at the moment. He wouldn’t cry, he had cried enough for himself, and besides no tears remained. He stood up and left the apartment, heading over to the hospital. He had never told his sister how far he had fallen, but now she needed to know the truth.

“Aya-chan, there’s something I should have told you…

Youji had actually made him angry enough to leave the apartment, slamming doors behind him and sincerely considering not coming back. The man had hit one too many buttons and Aya had had to hold himself back from making the man physically hurt like he was emotionally. But instead he’d left and ended up in some disgusting dive, drinking bad liquor and not giving a rat’s ass. The swordsman was seriously close to drunk when someone put their arm across his shoulders. He turned, about to glare when he saw who it was.

‘Great, personal tormentor number two.’ He thought as the other laughed.

“What’s wrong Katzchen? Youji being a bastard again?” Schuldig asked, in a mockingly sympathetic tone.

“Yes.” He answered, before he could think about it. Schuldig chuckled again and two beers were suddenly before them. Aya thought, without anger for once, that he should probably be trying to get away from the telepath. But he didn’t get up, and he didn’t lash out, he just sat there. And he didn’t know why. Maybe the telepath was messing with his mind. He couldn’t bring himself to care. So he drank the beverage before him, ignoring the other man until Schuldig nuzzled his ear. He squirmed away, rubbing the appendage and wrinkling his nose. It tickled. The flame-coloured man laughed again and turned Aya’s head so that they could look into the each other’s eyes. It was then that Aya was starting to realise just how many beers he had had. He also realised that he didn’t have the tolerance to alcohol Youji did. “You don’t have any tolerance at all, Katzchen,” the German mused.

He was about to make a comment to that, he really was, when someone on the other side elbowed him and he fell forward, ending up sprawled on Schuldig, faces millimetres apart. The green-eyed man closed the gap, nipping at Aya’s lip before kissing him. He slipped a hand into the violet-eyed man’s soft thick hair, deepening the kiss. And the only thing Aya could think of was how nice everything was. The rest of the bar started to laugh at the way events had turned out. They cheered leering, and started swapping stories about Schuldig’s other conquests. Aya found he didn’t care as Schuldig moved on to his neck. One did stick in his mind though, one with honey coloured hair and green eyes, who screamed straight but seemed perfectly willing to do it right on the bar stool with the German foreigner. It sounded suspiciously like Youji and he would have wondered about it if it weren’t for the fact that he was having definite trouble thinking at all. When the telepath suggested getting a room, the only thing he was thinking was that otherwise they might get caught and arrested for indecent exposure.

When he came back early morning, or late night depending on how you thought about it, Youji was waiting for him. He was sitting, staring into an empty cup, and looking extremely sober and unsatisfied. The blonde looked up upon hearing Aya come in.

“You slept with Schuldig.” He stated, as blunt as usual, not bothering with pleasantry.

He wondered vaguely how Youji knew. Had he gone to the same bar and heard stories like he had? Had he followed him when he had stormed out?

“So. Just because we fucked doesn’t mean I can’t kill him. Besides, what you care? Or are you just upset we screwed the same person?” Aya turned and walked away, ignoring the look of surprise on the other’s face at that last jibe.

“He’ll just end up breaking you, Aya.” The swordsman paused a moment at the whisper, turning his head slightly. Youji felt something that felt suspiciously like hope stir in chest.

But it died quickly as Aya continued on his way, saying, “There’s nothing left to break.”

Oh he’d been wrong about that, Aya thought as he squeezed his sister’s hand with his good one. At least it wasn’t his sword hand he had destroyed, he thought belatedly, realising how much shit he could have gotten into. He shrugged, finding he didn’t care anymore.

He looked at her face. There wasn’t any condemnation, wasn’t anything except a calmness that was frightening in its intensity. He wasn’t sure which one he would prefer more in this situation. He didn’t want to continue the tale, as sordid as it was. But he needed to; she deserved the truth.

That wasn’t the last time they were together, though Schuldig had to work harder the second time. Aya was walking down the street in no particular direction when an arm pulled him into an alley. The first thing he saw was unruly orange hair.

Schuldig. Besides that one night when he had been drunk, they had been nothing but enemies. He didn’t have a katana but he could still fight until the end. The telepath laughed.

“Why would I want to fight you Katzchen, when turning all that anger into passion is so much more fun?” he questioned. Aya growled at that, at being taunted over a moment of drunken weakness, despite what he told Youji. Memories, much clearer than his own came flying through his mind and he realised Schuldig was sending him his version of the events. He bit his lip to stifle a moan as the man sent a wave of pleasure to him and his eyes fluttered closed. When Aya opened them, Schuldig had pushed him into a wall, grinding their pelvises together. “I could make you…” he murmured against the pale man’s lips.

“Why don’t you then?” Aya asked, looking into smouldering jade eyes, as hard as the stone he was pushed up against. Amethyst slid down to look at lush lips as they stretched into a mocking grin. And the other called him the cat…

“It’s not as fun. Besides you already want me. And I always like a challenge, you’ve been one for a while.” Aya suddenly remembered all the times he had woken up panting, scarcely remembering a wisp of orange or a flash of green or sometimes nothing at all. He’d ignored it, focusing more of his energy on the headaches that normally came with those specific dreams. Besides, thinking of those dreams had always seemed to cause a reaction…he abruptly stopped thinking as he remember Schuldig could hear all his thoughts.

“That was you?”

“How many other telepaths do you know, kitten? And how many of them have green eyes and orange hair and speak with a German accent?” He leaned in to kiss the icy man but the other turned his head, so instead, Schuldig sucked on an earlobe. He felt Aya shiver and smiled slightly. “Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me this doesn’t feel good,” he said, backing up a bit.

Aya looked at him. “I don’t want it.”

Schuldig laughed against his skin, continuing to suck right beneath the ear lobe. “Liar. You have to mean it. There’s no lying to a telepath.”

“It’s just mutual attraction. It’s nothing special.”

“Oh, it’s something very special,” he purred, “You, me and a bed or a shower or just about anything is good. It was something special last time…it can be like that every time.” He smirked, dragging a hand down Aya’s chest to grab his belt buckle and pull on it slightly. “It isn’t as though you won’t get any satisfaction out of it.”

“…hn.” He said, wondering if he would regret this as he leaned up to kiss the telepath.

/you won’t. / He whispered in the man’s mind.

Another lie. He folded his arms onto the bed and leaned his head on them. They stilled smelled of the black assassin. He closed his eyes and tried to block everything out.

He woke up with a nurse shaking him; Aya had fallen asleep beside his sister. The nurse smiled, it wasn’t that unusual occurrence but normally he awoke himself at the dawn. Too much emotional stress, he thought. Yeah right…

She didn’t even notice his hand, bleeding through the bandage again. Neither did he.

Ken just stared at Aya as he walked into the store, at ten o’clock, when his shift had started with opening. He was also a tad surprised that he came in through the front door instead of from the bedrooms, meaning he wasn’t sick like they had supposed. Just a little bit…just a tiny bit... about as much as let’s say, an elephant running through the store…wearing a pink dress…and singing.

He took off his apron and went to hang it up; he had been covering for the man. It wasn’t as though Aya missed a shift often. He smiled at the man and got a nod in return. He was about to walk away when he heard Youji’s exclamation. “What the hell happened to your hand, Aya?”

He turned right back around and upon noticing the bandage and blood he grabbed the piece of cloth again, about to cover for both of them as the playboy patched up the hand.

“Aya?” he questioned when the man didn’t answer Youji’s question.

Violet eyes locked with emerald, as he shrugged, “I didn’t like the reflection.” Ken’s jaw dropped but Aya didn’t notice, too busy glaring at Youji’s suddenly pitying – and empathising – eyes. He sniffed and turned up the stairs, followed quickly by Youji. Ken just shook his head.

“I’m just going to grab the medical kit from the bathroom, k?” he said, steering Aya towards Youji’s bedroom despite the snarl. Aya didn’t even glance at him, just opened his door with a slight push of his hand and walked into the room. When the blonde returned the man was sitting on the bed, staring at his good hand tracing a pattern on the quilt, an unusual blank expression on his face. Youji sat beside him, working silently to stitch and re-bandage Aya’s hand.

It was Aya, surprisingly enough, who broke the silence. “Aren’t you going to say something?” he asked, expecting an I told you so; some all-knowing comment that would set him off like it did that first night…

“I think I’ve said enough.” Youji looked up, staring into Aya’s eyes. “haven’t I?” Aya glanced away first, not liking the perceptiveness in those emeralds. He studied the small pile of books beside an ashtray that sat on the windowsill until the other man was finished. He got up and was about to leave when Youji questioned, “Aya? …I’m sorry…for getting you angry that night. ” He said, echoing Aya’s thoughts. “And I’m sorry I was right about Schuldig and for bothering you about it and following you and …I’m just sorry. If I had just left it alone…”

Aya paused at the doorway, he unhurt hand, clenching the frame. “You didn’t make my decisions for me, Youji. I had thought that if nothing could make the pain stop, then nothing could make it worse. I was wrong. You were right Youji…so don’t apologise. It’s not worth it. I’m not worth it.” He went down to the shop, leaving Youji there, digesting the words and defeated tone until he stood, silently, and went downstairs, pausing at the bottom and watching Aya help an old lady across the store before shaking his head and continuing his walk.

They continued the shift; Aya deliberately ignoring Youji, Youji sneaking worried glances every few minutes. This whole ‘I’m not worth it’ and I didn’t like the reflection crap’ was troublesome, the blonde decided. More of that 'I'm just a murder shit' that Aya sprouted every once and a while. How he thought that the others deserved a normal life but he didn’t, Youji couldn’t understand. And of all the people to angst over; why Schuldig? Why him? Why some German bastard who screwed around with everyone and dropped them cruelly? Why did Aya have to fall in love with Schuldig, instead of…him?

And that was the gist of Youji’s anger. That Aya had fallen for someone else and he had fallen for the redhead. The only emotion he ever got from Aya was anger. But Youji knew, you just couldn’t help who you fell in love with.

God, he knew.

so just let me try
and I will be good to you
just let me try
and I will be there for you
I'll show you why
you're so much more than good enough...

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