Aya left Youji to button up his convertible for the night, using the back door to the shop, easily finding his way in the dark to the wrought iron staircase that led up to their sleeping quarters. He ignored the glow of the TV and the questioning gazes Ken and Omi tossed his way as he drug himself up the stairs.

The door to the room he shared with Youji was ajar, the last vestiges of sunlight painting the confines a hazy yellow brown, what little warmth there had been in daylight fading away under a clear sky growing dark. The room was growing chilled and Aya wrapped his arms around his middle as he curled up in the chair under the window, the chair from which he watched the night pass when he couldn’t sleep, when the nightmares were too close to the surface. Where he sat on the nights that he didn’t wake Youji when he started gasping and thrashing, depriving the blonde of his own needed rest.

Aya sat and stared out the window, letting the cool air numb his body to match the numbness he felt within. He rested his head on drawn up knees, tilted his face to catch the breeze, the gentle wind stirring the longer pieces of red hair that fell over his eyes.

He felt hollow, empty. For years there had been a place within him that remained pure and white even as his soul became tainted with the blood of those he’d killed in the name of justice. His hope for Aya-chan, the love he held for her but wouldn’t let anyone else see, was what gave him hope that someday, he could be redeemed, that maybe he could think of himself as more than just a murderer. The light that her love cast within him had led Aya to foolishly believe that one day, he and Youji could break free from their masters and be able to live peacefully together, in the mountains or by the ocean.

But that light had gone out, and with it, all of Aya’s hopes for the future. Aya-chan had left him behind, and it was only a matter of time before Youji would as well. The blonde had signed his death warrant by uttering those words that Aya had never dreamed he would say. By telling Aya that he loved him, Youji had doomed himself, Aya knew that now. It seemed that truly, all those who admitted their love for him left him behind.

He heard the door open but didn’t turn as Youji softly made his way through the dark room. Steady hands came to rest on his shoulders, joining him in his study of the world beyond the window.

“I brought you something to eat,” Youji said softly, breaking the silence filling the room.

The stillness of the hands on his shoulders prompted a frown. No wonder Youji had looked so pale and drawn; the blonde tended to get grumpy and jittery if he didn’t eat regularly, something about his metabolism. Apparently neither of them had thought about it. Aya had been too wrapped up in his own thoughts, and Youji didn’t seem to have been inclined to leave his side through the day.

“Did you eat?” Aya’s voice was raspy, not having uttered anything more than monosyllabic grunts all day. He couldn’t bring himself to lift his head from his knees, not even after the soft kiss was placed on the crown of his head and warm hands squeezed his shoulders affectionately.

“Aa.”

Aya sensed that his lover wasn’t completely telling the truth as Youji rested his cheek on Aya’s head, folding himself over the back of the chair. But he wasn’t much in the mood to press the issue.

Youji doesn’t deserve this, Aya thought to himself. He doesn’t need to be saddled to me. He can find love somewhere else. I can’t let him give up his life for me, just because he thinks he loves me, Aya told himself. I’d rather he find love somewhere else, than die for me. I’m not worthy of that devotion. I take love and turn it into death. I am the true definition of a murderer.

They remained that way for a while, watching the sun dip beyond the horizon of the city skyline, the lights of the city at night replacing the stars that could never truly be seen within the city limits.

“Aya,” Youji said softly, moving around to fall on one knee in front of the redhead.

“Don’t call me that,” Aya whispered. Aya is dead. I can’t wear her name anymore.

Youji’s hand stopped in midair, on its way to covering one of Aya’s supportively. “What should I call you?” he asked softly. “Ran?”

“Ran is dead.”

“Aya,” Youji sighed.

”Don’t,” Aya hissed, “call me that.” He uncurled slightly, just enough to glare at Youji. “Aya is dead. I can’t honor her memory anymore by wearing her name. I’d just stain it with blood, just like everything else.”

Youji pulled back, red-rimmed eyes wide at the sudden outburst.

“I killed her,” Aya said flatly.

“No, you didn’t,” Youji said quickly. “Aya-”

In an instant Aya was on his feet swinging. Youji stood at the same instant, trying to back up. Aya’s first strike managed to catch Youji square in the cheek, his second catching the blonde’s lip. “Don’t call me that!” he yelled as he struck out.

Youji managed to find his feet, but he didn’t fight back or try to block any of Aya’s punches as the smaller man railed against him.

“She was all I had left! I killed her. She loved me, and now she’s gone!” The dam was burst and there was nothing holding Aya back anymore. All the emotion he’d bottled up for the previous twenty-four hours was pouring out in a fit of anger and rage.

“Everyone who’s ever loved me is dead!” Aya shouted, repeating the same things over and over as he continued to lash out at Youji, who stood and absorbed the blows, each punch growing weaker yet wilder as Aya let himself be consumed by his anger. “Everyone I’ve loved is dead. Gone. I’m alone.

“They all left me behind. I’m alone now, they’re all gone. It would be better if I’d never lived. No one would have died. I wouldn’t have been left behind. I won’t let it happen again. No, not going to be left again. “

“Aya-” Youji tried to break in, but Aya punched him once more in the chest, driving the breath from the taller man.

The redhead didn’t look back as he fled, Youji slumping to the floor gasping for breath behind him.

*~*~*

Aya heard feet tramping up the staircase in response to the loud voices and slammed doors. He slid to the floor, his back coming to rest against the door. Through the wall he could hear voices over his own harsh breathing and blood beating in his ears.

He hadn’t meant to physically hurt Youji, just push him away. Aya was trying to convince them both that he didn’t care anything at all for the blonde, protecting them both from future events that Aya could see all too clearly. If he didn’t get Youji away from him, Youji would be dead.

And I can’t let another person die for their supposed love for me.

Aya knew he didn’t serve to be loved. He was a bloodstained monster, killing for money. They day he had walked into the center at Sendai he had ceased to become worthy of love. Odd though that it was the love for his sister, the affection that he felt for Youji that kept him fighting, that kept him moving forward when he was so tired he just wanted to let the world fade away.

But he wanted, needed it, craved it. He hadn’t pushed Youji away because a part of him desperately wanted what he had found with the other man. Trust, companionship, warmth. It was love that made him a monster, and the monster drove away all those he loved.

Aya shivered, his back still against the door to his own bedroom, hardly slept in for six months. He was cold and alone, but he could manage the cold, if it meant Youji would live.

As Aya's breathing slowed he could hear more clearly the mix of voices in the adjacent room. Omi’s worried tone, Ken’s angry and Youji’s calming, reassuring. Youji’s tenor was muffled, probably speaking around a towel. Aya remembered splitting the blonde’s lip.

I probably re-blackened his eye as well.

Aya had seen the hurt look in Youji’s eyes when he said he had no one. It was the look the redhead had wanted and expected. He wanted to see that flash of hurt, wanted to make the other man hurt enough to go away, enough to chase him off forever.

“Aya?” the soft tap at his door stirred him. “Aya, are you okay?”

When he didn’t answer Omi tried again. “Aya, are you in there?

The swordsman still didn’t respond, hoping that the kid would take the hint and go away.

“Aya,” Omi started again. “Youji’ll be okay. He’s just bruised. We’re,” a deep breath from behind the door. “We're here if you need talk, but we’ll understand if you don’t.” Footsteps retreated back towards Youji’s room and Aya was left again with his thoughts.

He didn’t know who he was supposed to be anymore. Omi called him Aya because he didn’t know yet that he couldn’t be called that. Ran had died with his parents, at least most of him had. Pieces of him were still floating about in the assassin’s psyche, popping up at times, mostly when he didn’t expect it. Those moments tended to shock Youji too, since more often than not he was the trigger and receiver of Ran’s affections.

But now that Aya-chan was gone, what was left to fight for? Her name should be buried with her. Now that she was gone, Aya’s reason for killing was gone. He didn’t need the money for her care anymore, he didn’t need to kill. And he didn’t need that identity either.

But what else could he do? Twenty-two with few skills other than wielding a blade in the name of “justice,” and arranging flowers. Maybe he could open his own shop somewhere, with whatever money might be left over after taking care of Aya-chan's arrangements, but Kritiker would have to cut him loose first, and he didn’t see that happening any time soon. All too often they were reminded of what would happen if they quit or failed. Between Manx and Birman, they were never allowed to forget that they had masters, and their masters would not tolerate disobedience, and that’s how failure was seen.

So his hands would only become further stained with blood, with no justification for it anymore.

Aya-chan was dead and he was just a murderer.

Aya heard soft footfalls in the hallway again. One set was a little heavier than the other two, not quite balanced. Youji. The broken rhythm stopped in front of his door. Aya held his breath, waiting, not making a sound.

“Come on, Youji-kun,” Omi urged softly, his voice hardly muffled by the door. “He’ll be okay. You need to eat something.”

The disjointed steps faded away as they moved to the stairs, then down. Aya still hadn’t moved from his position against the door. It was cold on the floor, but he hadn’t dared move, lest one of his teammates hear. But with them downstairs, if he was quiet enough, he could find some warmer clothes and make it to the bed.

Slowly he climbed to his knees, pausing there before standing, swaying slightly at a rush of lightheadedness. He braced himself against the door until the room swam back into focus, then padded lightly across to his dresser. Most of his clothes had been moved into the room he shared with Youji, but since they slept naked most of the time, his sweats and pajamas had been overlooked.

Silently the redhead slipped into a dark gray pair of sweatpants and navy blue sweatshirt. He pulled on a pair of thick socks hiding in the back of his drawers, left over from some horrible mission out in the mountains somewhere. He hadn’t been able to keep warm then, either. Hadn’t had the benefit of shared body heat. He’d just doubled up his clothes and clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering together.

Dressed slightly warmer, Aya crawled into his bed, pulling the blankets around himself, curling into a small ball to preserve the pitiful amount of heat his body was producing. Had he been so outwardly cold in his emotions for so long that now even his body was turning to ice? He couldn’t even remember the last time he had been warm. He shivered again and curled up tighter. Youji would keep him warm.

But Youji was gone. He had gotten rid of the taller man, made him believe he was unwanted.

With that brief thought of success, Aya fell into a light doze.

He woke an indeterminable time later when his door creaked open and quiet uneven steps sounded across the floor. The bed dipped as someone settled in next to him, a light hand brushing hair out of his face as Aya continued to feign sleep.

Youji. Youji was there. Youji didn’t go away. Youji hadn’t been run off.

The bed shifted again as the taller man repositioned himself, stretching out, though not touching Aya in anyway.

I shouldn’t be surprised, Aya thought as he pulled the blankets tighter around him. Youji’s too stubborn to realize that he needs to let me go to save himself. The redhead wasn’t surprised at Youji’s appearance, though he had hoped that the blonde would chose to stay in his own bed. It wasn’t like Aya had managed to save anyone else in his life. His parents had been killed while he was out with his sister, Aya-chan had died despite the fact that he had sold his soul to be able to provide care for her in the hope that she would wake some day and absolve him of his sins. Why should Youji be any different?

As he slowly fell back asleep with the distressingly comfortable sound of Youji’s breathing beside him, Aya wondered how long it would before he had the blonde’s blood on his hands, and what color it would be. The bright arterial red of life, or the black blood of death and decay? Would some strange color stain his hands for letting this man die, this man who deserved more than to love someone so unworthy? A subliminal reminder that only he could see? Would it be green the color of his lover’s eyes, maybe? Or violet for his own, so he could see what it was that Youji smiled at every time their gaze locked? Would it be some strange color just so he would never forget that he was responsible for the blonde’s death, some garish color on his palms shouting ‘it was my fault’? Would he even be able to distinguish it from all the other bloodstains there?

Those thoughts haunted his dreams as Aya slumbered, unconsciously moving closer to the warm body in his bed.



Part 4 | Part 6


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