It’s Raining

It’s raining.

I don’t know why I’ve realized this minimal thing, but I do. I notice everything about it; from the way the raindrops streak in zigzags to the way the wind rattles the shutters of the house. The clouds are gathering in a dark mass, threatening the horizon. And it draws me in; fascinating me and making me ache for something. What that something is, I don’t know.

And then, suddenly, his shadow is cast over me. I turn, wide-eyed and nervous, searching for the cause of the shadow. As if the day isn’t gray and dark enough without shadows being cast! And then…I find his eyes in the darkness.

Pure violet glowing from the depths of the dark hallway. A soft shimmer of red as he casually brushes strands of hair away from his eyes. Despite his calm and collect manner, I can see the shaking of his hand as he slowly brings his hand away from his face to rest by his side. How cute. How pathetically ironic. Big tough and strong Aya is shaking at the storm. Or is he? Those violet orbs are so intense as they focus on my face, learning the curves of my lips, examining the outline of my jaw…what is he trying to do? Reduce me to a sniveling mass of tears? Because he can do that. And he knows it.

He knows he can do anything to me.

And that I’ll accept any scraps of attention he throws at me like a Goddamned starving *dog*! Because…he’s Aya. My Aya. And he can do anything to me. He can hurt me, he can love me; he can hate me, he can remain indifferent to me. And I’ll play the role of the eager, over-zealous little follower to perfection, snapping up every crumb of affection, every taste of attention. Because he’s Aya. And he can do that to me.

He crosses the room, moving quietly, pausing by a floor lamp and reaching to turn it on. Then, he withdraws his hand without turning the light on and clasps it with his other. I wish he would turn the light on. It’s so dark…so cold…I shiver unintentionally and his eyes darken a bit as he, finally, speaks. “Are you cold?”

I shake my head, forcing a smile on my dry lips. Of course I’m not. If it worries him, makes that concerned look darken his eyes and that knot to appear in his forehead, then of course I’m not cold. Oh God, how I disgust myself then. Just listening to my own thoughts makes me want to vomit; they’re so sickening pleasing and desperate. It’s everything for Aya. Nothing for me. I’ve never had anything to begin with.

“Are you sure?” Would nothing remove that concerned look in his eyes, the worrisome wrinkle in his forehead? Since when does Mr. Tough-Guy care anyway? He’s never shown remorse for the lives we take, never cared when one of us fell ill or was injured. It’s always been ‘complete the mission first’. Then maybe he’d cast a casual glance towards the problem. So why does he look so concerned now?

< STOP IT! > The thought rips through my mind, leaving me trembling; wringing my hands, looking for all the world like the pathetic little nothing I feel like. I bite my tongue, trying to keep the words that reverberate throughout me. < STOP IT! JUST STOP IT! I know you don’t care so just STOP IT! >

I’m so caught up in my miserable thoughts; I don’t even hear him get up and cross the room until he’s standing beside me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I whisper, closing my eyes and turning away. < Don’t let him see. Whatever God there is, don’t let him see! >

His hands reach up and cup my face, turning it towards him. His hands are cool and dry, surprisingly gentle and tender for an assassin. A murderer. I close my eyes tighter and bite down on my tongue once more to keep from crying out. This time I bite hard enough to draw blood and the salty liquid fills my mouth along with a disgusting taste of bile and unshed tears. He speaks, his tone gravelly and still…almost surprised. “Are you…” he pauses and drifts his thumb slowly along the edge of my eye. “Are you crying?”

I shake my head. “No!” I spit the word at him, raging inside as he traces the path of the single tear that has managed to fall.

“You are.” So simple. So painful. And so beautiful. Just like him. < Just like him… >

“No!” I cry out again, the taste of bitter blood still stinging my mouth, adding venom to my words. “I don’t cry! I’m not like that!” And with that, I shove him away, turning away from him and embracing myself, trying to calm down.

“Please…”

My hold on myself slowly relaxes and I turn, my eyes widening with astonishment. Aya never says please. I slowly turn back around and gaze at him, my mouth opened slightly. He seems to take this as an encouragement as he whispers, “Please…don’t turn away from me.”

I press lips tightly together and shake my head in the slightest bit, signaling the negative. < No. You know I won’t. Because you can do that to me. >

He steps closer, closing the distance between us and gently frames my face with his hands. My breathing picks up, my heart pounds and my pulse is racing. Damn him. He knows what he does to me. And he keeps doing it. His lips are close, so unbearably close, hovering a mere inch above mine… “Aya?” I creak out his name, my eyes fluttering shut. < Don’t let him turn away now. Don’t let him walk away…again. >

“Shhh,” he shushes me softly and hovers above my lips for another instant until finally, he brushes his lips against mine before pressing against them harder with bruising force.

I cry out into the kiss, even as I frantically return it, anchoring my arms around his neck and trembling, my knees weakening at the force. I’ve envisioned this for weeks, months, maybe even years. I’ve lost all track of time and the only thing I see and taste, hear and feel is Aya. My Aya.

His hands are trembling as they move down my body, caressing and setting my flesh afire. And suddenly, something happens. He’s not my Aya any longer. He’s a brutal, powerful stranger, ravaging my body, casting aside my feeble pleas of protest.

“Please…don’t…Aya…I’m…not ready!” I cry out, beating my hands against his chest futilely. They’re like a butterfly’s fragile wings pounding on the thick, solid glass of a window. I scream. It hurts so much despite his kisses and comforting words. I don’t want it; I don’t like it. I just want it to be over.

And it is. He’s dropping me gently back onto the window seat and I’m pushing away from him, curling into a small ball, tears staining my cheeks. He stops and gently, too gently brushes away strands of hair from my eyes. I blink. He brushes his lips against my forehead. I recoil slightly. He sighs and whispers, “Please…try and understand.”

I think I nod. I don’t know what to do anymore. The only thing I recognize is the hollow sound of Aya’s footsteps as he exits the room and moves down the hallway. I hear the front door creaking open, hear the other two come in, their arms full of groceries and their voices full of laughter. They escaped a group of flirtatious girls by pretending to throw eggs at them. Hardy-har-har. Life’s just a bundle of laughs, isn’t it?

I stare out the window.

It’s raining.

Or is it?

Maybe those are tears trickling down my face rather than raindrops on my reflection in the window.

::End::

So whatcha think? I’ve never written a yaoi WK before…hmph. Anyways, I’m not sure who’s POV this is in, you get to decide that for yourself. ^_^ Please tell me what you think or else I’ll never write another Weiss fic again! Bwahaha!