Waking Onto Latern's Bright

DISCLAIMER: Weiß is property of Koyasu Takehito and Sony Japan and other really 
important people that aren’t me. Keiko chan however belongs to me so nya! :P 

WARNING: This story contains shonen ai and lots of angst. It's a Ken/Aya fic with a 
touch of YoKen and is heavy on the sap. No lemon or even lime but maybe some 
stimulated flavor towards the end? Or is that just wishful thinking? You  tell me. Oh and
I've been told on the Weiß Fanfic ML that the first few paragraphs are confusing so
essentially all you need to know is that Ken keeps the poem Aya wrote. Got it? So having
said that...onwards to glory ye men of the high seas! *waves a flag* 

~~~~~~~~~~~~


'Blackened rushes fill the night 

Howling hopes as good as light 

Seeing illusion’s empty sight 

Waking onto lantern’s bright.' 


Tightly closed letters packed onto the crumpled list, boldly marked in black ink over the
faded blue of last week’s floral arrangements. The writing was small and nearly illegible,
revealing nothing about its marker. Even the words were faintly surreal, saying nothing
on the surface but forcing the reader to delve beneath the rhyme and discover what such a
reticent being could see. The paper crumpled slightly as those enigmatic lines were
pondered upon. A tear of ribbon uncoiling and the spray of water lightly hummed in the
backdrop. A frown. 

Chimes jingled above the glass door; ceased the examination of the black scribble and
meaningless meanings. Dark hair fell into dark eyes as a glance reached up at the
newcomer. Stony violet look that said nothing, raking dispassionately over the
sun-splashed shop. Muffled strides over to those tattered, black aprons. Ends fraying,
smudge of dirt on the pockets. Pale hands deftly began a bougainvillea arrangement.
Lush fuchsia petals, vivacious against wan skin and that black apron. The back of his
hand impatiently pushed back falling locks as he shuffled towards the redhead. 

"Hey Aya? You wrote this?" 

Hooded plum eyes met his, than waved briefly over the creased scrap of paper. Slight tilt
of red hair as his attention plunged back to the flowers. That boy never said much, never
wanted anything from anyone. Only pieces of poetry splashed over written lists. Black
strokes seemingly empty with rhyme. Concealed thoughts burning in stoic isolation.
Tired voice lost in the shiny wake. Only this. For now... 

"It’s really good. What’s it mean?" 

Snip of the scissors as the flowers splashed onto the counter. Dying leaves were brushed
aside, falling onto the dirty linoleum floor. Omi’s cheerful laughs and Yohji’s throaty
chuckles wafted from the other side of the room. The smell of lilies and roses and
gardenias. Laughter outside and cars racing up the busy roads. Sunlight that wove around
the glass buildings and into the net of the city. Wind twisting through the trees, crying
like a bitter paradox. 

"Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything." 

"But it’s gotta mean something." 

Silence, as was expected. Still snipping, still working. And nothing did matter for his
redhaired teammate. Only the motions. Retreated onto scraps of broken paper. Killer’s
misery dying by the night. Fervent reprisal, the only true thing. Sometimes he just wanted
to touch him. 

"Could I have it?" 

That darkly violet gaze grabbed him, eyes narrowing. A flash of emotion glimmered
briefly, something dimly stark and latently pristine and than it was gone. The moment
hung limply. Thin hands guided the bright flowers into a slim vase, amidst a stock of
delicate ferns. White carnations were purposefully added for a splash of color. His voice
was sullen. 

"Do what you want." 



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mops were a sad thing, Ken thought reflectively as he scrutinized the said appliance
industriously. Tall and rangy with furly locks that were constantly being plunged into
pails of watery, foamy cleaner. Then you dragged the thing out and flung it across the
floor, rubbing it hard to clean the stained floor. What was the point? After one swipe of
the floor, the water got dirty. The whole thing was cleaned with grimy water. And the
poor mop was still dunked into the frothy mess. Oh it started out okay. Clean mop, fresh
water and lemony-smelling cleaner. Lots of bubbles and a sanitary bucket. But
somewhere along the way, it was the floor that won and the mop who lost. Who cleaned
the mop? After a quick rinse, the poor thing was just shoved aside to dry, until the next
time when it was forced again and again into mucky, filthy water. He really couldn’t have
conceived of a more depressing existing, well except for being the ground. Which, in
retrospect, was pretty bad too. At least the floor got mopped and swept. But the ground
was just a nothing. People trampled all over it, stomped on it in anger, spat on it, littered
on it, the list went on and on. It was also quite the dreary existence. 

Ken decided that he was the mop, not the ground. People didn’t step all over him; it was
his job to kill those who tried to. No, he was certainly a mop. Continuously being
plunged straight into polluted and corrupt waters. Stepping onto the floor with pure,
unsullied hands and ending up polluted and bloody while the world supposedly sparkled.
A quick rinse had stopped being effective long ago. There were so many floors to clean
and he didn’t know how to remove the stains from his hands. Like a mop, he’d given in
to his fate. Complaining was of no use but that didn’t make his hands any less
contaminated. 

"You’re gonna tear that thing straight to pieces." 

Ken blinked in surprise and peered across the dark closet at his companion. The older
boy was surrounded in a haze of smoke, the glowing cigarette clamped firmly between
his lips. He sat sprawled on the floor with an artless grace that Ken could only envy.
There was something decidedly catlike about the blond. His silver shades gleamed in the
darkness. 

"Huh?" 

Yohji gestured to the mop that lay on his lap with long, elegant fingers. "The mop.
You’re shredding it with your claw. Some janitor is gonna be pissed." 

Strands of the mop lay in his lap, torn. He hadn’t even realized that he’d unsheathed his
claw and had been unconsciously ripping the mop. Resheathing his weapon, he brushed
away the shredded pieces but was unable to push the mop away. His fingers wove in
between the lemony fibers, his thoughts unfinished and in quiet disarray. 

The older boy chuckled as he blew clouds of smoke towards the ceiling, making the
disgusting habit look utterly lofty. "Ditch the mop Kenken and let me find you someone
real." 

"Do you ever feel like a mop?" 

A foolishly candid question that surprised even him. The words gushed out of his mouth,
startling him, so long as he’d just thought them. His gaze swung to his shoe, feigning
great interest in the scruff marks and dried mud, so as to appear unconcerned. He waited
for other boy to jeer and ridicule his question. But perhaps he’d underestimated the
sensitivity of his teammate for Yohji did neither. 

A simple tone, not mocking, not jeering. "Why don’t you ask Aya?" 

Ken frowned, turning to look at the other boy. "Aya? What’s he got to do with this?" 

Flash of white teeth in the darkness. "He’s more the philosophical type, don’t you think?" 

He shrugged uncomfortably, not wishing to talk about the silent redhead, and resumed his
avid shoe-scrutiny. "I wouldn’t know." 

"Ken." 

"Yeah?" 

"When are you gonna tell him?" 

"Tell who what?" 

"Tell Aya that you love him." 

The mop slid off his lap and onto the floor with a sudden *thunk* that echoed
unnaturally in the black closet. There seemed to be a serious deficiency of air entering his
lungs. His vision doubled and tripled. The silence screamed in great gulps into his ears,
drowning out reason. He was aware of nothing as he desperately commanded his voice to
work. Only a meager croak exited his lips. 

"What?!" 

The faintest touch of a smile tinted Yohji’s throaty voice. "When are you going to tell
Aya that you love him?" 

Another minute passed as his throat convulsively worked but without sound. Finally Ken
managed a reply, albeit stuttering and jumbled. "I don’t...I’m not...in the least...with, um,
Aya...I’m not...I’d never...oh God, how can you...SHUT UP YOHJI!” He was so stunned,
so horribly mortified in his loss of clarity that he could only lash out in anger being as
Yohji’s remark had reduced him to a puddle of babbling unintelligence. This absolutely,
positively, no-holds-barred *sucked*. 

"You can fool Omi, who’s just a kid and of course you can fool Aya who’s too damned
preoccupied with guilt and his imouto to notice but you can’t fool me Ken. I’ve seen how
you look him. You love him." It wasn’t a question but rather a statement. 

The heavy breathing soccer player was poleaxed. Even subconsciously admitting to
himself that he was attracted to a fellow teammate, a violet eyed, redheaded, silent,
moody teammate that was a *boy* had been struggle enough but now another member
was aware? Yohji the playboy, Yohji the lady’s man, Yohji the greatest lover since, hell
since *ever*, now knew that Ken was *very* attracted to Aya? No, that was impossible.
It couldn’t be happening. It had to be a dream. Or a nightmare. Anything but reality. It
couldn’t...he hadn’t even had the time to come to terms with what he felt for Aya. He
didn’t know what he wanted, whether he loved him or not. And now Yohji was saying
things and he knew and it wasn’t fair! Ken hastily decided that maybe death wouldn’t be
so bad. With his claw, he’d be a mushy mess in no time Dead but not humiliated. Surely,
surely that was better than this horrid disaster...wasn’t it? 

"I’m bi Ken," the older boy remarked conversationally. 

Thoughts of an elaborate suicide vanished. He stared blindly at the floor. "Huh?" Yohji’s
words suddenly registered. "You’re bi?" He gaped openly at the other boy. "As in
bi...um...you know?" 

Yohji couldn’t help but laugh. "Yeah, bi as in...um...you know." 

"Since when?" 

"Since always. Before Asuka I had a boyfriend you know." 

"I wish I was a mop!" Ken blurted out unthinkingly. Promptly, he felt his face heat with a
blush. It was a good thing that the closet they were camped out in was dark. His face
probably would have put a tomato to shame. Or at least Aya’s hair. Immediately, Yohji’s
sexual preferences vanished at the thought of the silent redhead. 

Aya...ohGodohGodohGodIcan’tbeinlovewithhimandnowYohjiknowsandohGodIdolovehi
m! This was mortification heaped upon mortification garnished with mortification and
served with a side dish of mortification with mortification for dessert and darn it, he was
mortified! 

Yohji broke the silence. "Love doesn’t come around so often that you have the chance to
worry about something as trivial as gender," he advised in an uncharacteristically solemn
voice. "You tried with Yuriko but it failed. She would never have been able to understand
you and what you do. But Aya, he knows only too well." 

Outside the shrill wails of the security alarms screeched, interrupting the blond. It was
their signal from Omi to find the targets in the ensuing chaos and get rid of them. Yohji
stood gracefully and watched as Ken shuffled to his feet. "That’s our cue." The door
opened, a slice of fluorescent light dripping into the closet. He could see the bright green
of the gaze the older boy leveled at him. "Just remember one thing Ken. There is no
shame in loving." 



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

His fingers were trembling as they reached out to grasp hold of the doorknob. Every bit
of logic and reason within him was screaming to run far away and never come back. It
had been a long and strenuous mission and he was utterly exhausted. It wouldn’t have
been any effort on his part to simply turn away from Aya’s room and head back to his
own. They shared an apartment afterall. But Yohji had extracted a promise from him
before heading into his own apartment to clean up Omi’s injuries. He’d promised the
lanky older boy that tonight he would go to Aya. 

A sigh escaped his lips. He even had the excuse to play nursemaid to the redhead, who’d
been rather badly injured. The gauze was unnaturally white in his hands. Well let it not
be said that Hidaka Ken was a coward. He kept his promises and he would tell Aya. Or at
least die trying. 

He took a deep breath, determinedly squared his shoulders and shoved the door open.
The room was utterly chilled and dark, with only the moonlight drifting in from the open
window to illuminate it. Aya sat shirtless on his bed, attempting to bind his wounds. Red
ribbons of blood had dried upon his arm, looking stark against that pale skin. He was
ethereally white in the streaming moonlight. 

The redhead looked up, eyes narrowing slightly. 

Ken ploughed forward, forcing cheerfulness into his actions and words, which was no
easy feat since Aya was about as hospitable as a great spotted tundra leopard. "Hey Aya. I
brought some gauze to bind your arm," he announced, heading towards the bed, his heart
beating wildly. The enormity of his actions suddenly struck him. He was in Aya’s
*room*, heading towards Aya’s *bed*. Oh dear God, how many dreams had he had of
this moment? Holding back a nosebleed, he quickly added, "Why don’t you let me do
that for you?" 

"I don’t need you." 

He swallowed thickly, trying to quelsh the poignant thrust of pain that burned into him at
Aya’s curt words. Surely that couldn’t be an omen of what he would say to the *other
thing*, could it? Damn it, he knew this was a bad idea! Why couldn’t he have just gone
on watching Aya and loving him from afar? What was the harm in that? Why did he have
to proclaim his love for the redhead? He didn’t believe for a minute that Aya could
reciprocate his feelings. Why the very idea of Aya saying, 'I love you too Ken' was simply
ridiculous. He didn’t care about anybody except his precious imouto back in Tokyo.
Surely it wasn’t too late to run back to the sanctity of his own room where he could go on
as before? It didn’t matter if Aya loved him or not. 

But even as he thought that, he recognized it for the lie it was. It did matter and that’s
why he’d promised Yohji. He was betting everything on a chance. A small, microscopic
chance but a chance nonetheless. That maybe, since Aya had gotten his revenge on
Takatori Reiji, just maybe he could open up and feel. His imouto was okay, Takatori was
dead, there was nothing left for him to complete. Wasn’t it possible that he could find
love? Tomoe Sakura was out of the picture; Ken hadn’t noticed Aya looking at anyone
else. So perhaps... 

He plastered a bright grin across his face. Now was *not* the time to wimp out. "Of
course you don’t need anyone. You’re Fujimiya Aya, great katana wielder of death! You
never need anyone!" He perched down on the bed next to the taciturn redhead. "But since
I’m here, offering my humble assistance, why don’t you just take it? Surely I’m not that
bad, am I?" 

Aya didn’t answer and Ken didn’t expect him to. But he didn’t resist and so Ken took
that as a yes. His fingers touched Aya’s as he took the cloth from him and they burned.
One thing he’d never bothered to consider while tending to Aya’s injuries, was their close
proximity. Already he was reacting to the other boy. His hands were shaking, his heart
rattling furiously. He could feel those violet eyes trained upon him and he knew that he
was blushing. This was going to be a long night. 

Trying to keep his hands from trembling, he gently took Aya’s cool arm in one hand and
the moist cloth in the other. Soothing stokes wiped most of the dried blood away. As he
worked, he kept his gaze lowered beneath his bangs. The too long strands usually
provided endless bouts of irritation for him but today he was glad that he’d never gotten
around to getting them cut. They offered protection from Aya’s piercing plum scrutiny,
one that surely couldn’t miss his blushing cheeks. When the cleaning was done, he
carefully applied some antiseptic to the wound and bound it tightly with the gauze. 

"All done," he proclaimed, automatically brushing his bangs back as he looked up at the
quiet redhead. That purple gaze stabbed him, vivid against the dark room like luminous
orbs. Ken blinked and quickly began the process of re-wrapping the roll of gauze.
Something, anything to keep busy. Otherwise he’d flee the room. Aya was completely
unnerving. Why did he keep staring at him like that? What could he possibly be thinking? 

He almost snorted. It would be easier to get blood from a shadow than to know what Aya
was thinking. Now that Takatori was dead and Schwartz had been defeated, who knew?
Most likely regret for leaving Aya chan back in Tokyo, but that had nothing to do with
this moment. He wondered once again, what Aya thought of him. Could he maybe come
to love him? He risked a peek at the older boy. Such dark red hair, falling carelessly into
soulful eyes. Pale chest and smooth skin. He was beautiful, made of the darkest parts of
the night. Didn’t he know, didn’t this silent, ethereal boy *know*, that he would do
anything for him? He would give up his own life; watch the blood spill endlessly to see
just one smile. Do anything, risk everything, be nothing just to hear those stolen words.
For one night, one moment. Just to be his. 

"Aya." His voice cracked, that one word so loud in the tired stillness of the room. An icy
blanket of wind splashed into the room, ripping at the curtains and swirling around them.
Goosebumps jumped upon his bare arms. "It’s cold!" he exclaimed, glad beyond belief
for the brief reprieve. "How can you keep the windows open on a night like this?" Noisy
shuffles took him to the window and he hastily shut it with an ear splitting *THUNK*.
"Do you wanna get sick?" 

"Why do you care?" 

His throat bobbed in a swallow. Aya’s question was the perfect opening for him to
express his feelings. Wouldn’t it just be so easy... *I care because I love you. Don’t you
see it? I’ve loved you for so long, I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love you.
Everything is nothing, without you. Say you love me, say I’m not making a fool out of
myself, say-*...to walk away? "You’re a part of Weiß. We’ll be at a disadvantage if you
get sick." How fluidly that lie was spoken. If only he believed it. 

"I won’t get sick Ken." 

His quiet voice held anger and he was scowling darkly. Nothing that Ken hadn’t heard or
seen dozens of times. And yet...shivers rapidly zipped up his spine. The sound of his
name on Aya’s cool lips, even in rage, was unexpectedly sensual. Aya sitting on the bed,
bare-chested and looking entirely delicious, saying his name in a room wrapped by the
cold wind; his fantasies couldn’t have come up with a more erotic setting. The urge to
fling reason and consequence into the night, to crawl into Aya’s arms and kiss him
senseless, was poignantly overwhelming. The only alternative was to tell him. And then,
if there was a God, maybe... 

"Aya?" It came out as a weak croak. He cleared his throat determinedly, his hands
automatically fidgeting behind his back. He wanted to touch Aya *so* badly. 

"What?" 

Hardly encouraging but it would have to do. At least he answered, which was better than
his custom silence. Ken shifted nervously, poking at the carpet with his socked foot.
Absently he noted that there was a hole near his big toe. His fingers were sweaty. How
strange, that he could feel so hot in such a cold room. "I love you." 

Even as the words slipped out, he began panicking. Now wasn’t the right time, he’d said
them wrong, he wanted them back! Fire bloomed into his cheeks and he’d never felt such
an oppressive silence before. It flowed thickly around his trembling hands and into his
tightly constricting lungs, falling like an extreme burden. And then the silence lurched
into dizziness, as remaining standing grew labored. He now regretted shutting the
window. The room had grown unexpectedly stuffy. 

Aya’s face remained unchanged, his face impassive. "You love me," he stated, his voice
bland. 

They could have been talking about a mission or the weather or about flowers. The
redhead looked as interested as a goat. Ken felt like an utter fool. Rage grew, not at Aya
but at himself. Tightly, he nodded, not trusting his voice. 

/What the hell did you expect you stupid dumb ass? This is Aya we’re talking about!
Surely you didn’t think that he’d hurl himself at your feet, sobbing with gratitude at the
idea of you willing to share your splendid self with him? That he would swoon at your
declaration of love and write flowery sonnets of love in return? No! I just want him to say
something, to show some reaction. He can’t be that cold, can he? Am I so unimportant,
so beneath his notice that this means nothing to him?/

"Why?" 

Ken blinked, his thoughts interrupted. "Wh-what?" 

"Why? I don’t understand. Why do you love me?" 

He stared at the redhead, trying to determine if the older boy was mocking him. It didn’t
seem likely being as Aya was hardly one to mock and ridicule. No, he appeared
completely serious, as always. But this question, Ken hadn’t certainly expected him to
ask him *that*. Why? Oh for so many reasons...if only he was brave enough to list them
all. 

"Why does anyone love somebody?" he asked lamely, tugging at the collar of his T-shirt. 

"I’m not talking about anybody. I’m talking about you." 

There was a silence that seemed to last hours. Ken fidgeted, trying to find the right
words. But eloquence was Yohji’s specialty not his. And really, he had no idea of how to
respond to Aya’s question. At length he answered. "It just, uh happened. I don’t know
why, I’m not God. People love each other, it’s a fact." 

"And you love me." 

"Y-yeah." 

"Why?" 

Ken gave in to the urge to look at the redhead. He looked completely emotionless, though
serious as ever. He couldn’t be baiting him...could he? Or perhaps he was. Who knew
what was beneath that cold mask? He could be laughing at him, laughing at the idea that
he was begging for love. And suddenly Ken was angry. Angry with himself for coming to
Aya, angry at the situation because it was going nothing like he’d envisioned and angry
with Aya for asking him such puzzling, unnerving questions. Right now nothing mattered
but letting go. His emotions were pure and had been hidden inside for so long. They
deserved to come out. What did it matter? Aya couldn’t possible hate him anymore than
he did already. "Do you think I want to be in love with you Aya?" he bit out furiously.
"Do you think this is easy for me? You’re a *boy* for God’s sake! A cold hearted,
insensitive, callous boy! You don’t care about anyone but yourself! Your own loss is all
that matters, you’re the only one who has pain! Everyone else is nothing to you. You’re a
goddamn statue and I’m in love with you!!" 

Aya’s eyes narrowed and flashed with glowering ire. His body was taut with rage. "I
didn’t ask you to love me." 

It was his words, not his wrathfully icy tone that abruptly neutralized Ken’s anger. One
minute he was utterly enraged at the coldhearted, silent boy and the next he was...tired.
How could he possibly argue with Aya? He wasn’t in a position to blame the older boy.
He had come to Aya, confessing his love. It was all his own fault. What had he expected,
what did he want? To hurt the one who had hurt him? To force the one who he loved to
show some emotion, to feel something? What was the point? It was futile and had been
from the beginning. How foolish that he should even try. And to be angry...the urge to
leave the cold, dark room was overpowering. "I know," he replied quietly. "And I’m sorry
for coming here tonight. I shouldn’t have." He caught the older boy’s gaze. "I just thought
you should know." Aya’s eyes were hard and empty. 

He turned and hurriedly rushed to the door wanting nothing more than to flee from this
botched conversation and unnerving night. His hand gripped the cold metal of the
doorknob when Aya spoke. "You never answered my question." 

Again? What did Aya want from him? Why did he keep asking that? He was driving him
to insanity! Tears bitterly stung his eyes as the wood grains of the door before him
doubled and blurred. "Why?" he cried hysterically, his voice choking. "What do you want
me to say Aya? What do you want to hear? That I love you because you’re special and
perfect? That I want to see you smile and make you happy?" His forehead dropped, softly
thudding against the door. His voice diminished from frenzied rantings to a strangled
whisper, tears catching upon his lashes and falling to the floor. "That you’re so beautiful
it hurts and I hate what you’re doing to yourself?" 

Silence greeted him. *I love you Aya. Always and forever, even if it’s unrequited* He
pushed the door open, feeling the rush of warm air swirl around him. He couldn’t bear to
look back at the redhead and see the loathing expression that would paint his ethereal
face. "I-I don’t want anything from you. Just so you know," he said quietly and firmly
closed the door behind him. As though closing the door on his only love... 

He had left the radio on in his room. The piercing strains of Glay’s 'Freeze my Love'
engulfed him. He had never noticed how hauntingly depressing the song actually was.
But had he ever felt so utterly forlorn and miserable before? Not even Kase’s death...that
had been nothing like this. He hadn’t loved his best friend with such mind-altering,
soul-searing, flaming intensity. Nothing could ever come close to what he felt for Aya.
Absolutely nothing. 

He fell onto his knees, feeling exhausted so that he couldn’t even remain standing. Gone
was that tiny slice of hope, he was wholly defeated. Tears burned at his eyes and he
gasped, unable to understand why he felt so lost. Why should it have ended in any other
way? Was he that naïve? 

***Freeze my Love 

Ima mo mune ni nokoru ai 

Kioku wo nemurasete*** 

He had loved this song once. If only it were possible to freeze this miserable love he felt
but he wasn’t Aya. He couldn’t simply shut off his emotions, it wasn’t in him. *Love still
lingering in my heart, Sleep with my memories, Freeze my love* Damn the fucking song!
One volatile smash sent the radio careening to the floor. His breath hitched as he buried
his wet face into quivering hands. They didn’t lie because it still *was* lingering and he
*would* sleep with these memories. And sometimes, even that just wasn’t enough. 



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He hadn’t moved from his place on his bed. Two hours slipped by and he hadn’t moved
once. The cold wind didn’t touch him, the throbbing wound on his arm didn’t pain him,
the darkness didn’t faze him. Unaware of all reality, he only felt quietly numb. 

*I love you.* 

Numb with *that* phrase stuck in his mind. It played over and over again, like those old
broken record players. Why did the inky shadows in his room remind him of the stark
emotion in Ken’s dark eyes? He had wanted to know why. What was love? Why should
Ken feel it for him? So shocked that he couldn’t even think of anything else to say. Ken
in love with him. A fellow assassin in love with him. A *boy* in love with him! Why
should he believe it? Ken’s voice aching, his words candid. 

*That you’re so beautiful it hurts and I hate what you’re doing to yourself?* 

How could he say that to him? What did he know? He had no right to feel these things, to
love him! How dare he! Ken had no idea of what he was, of what he felt. He knew
nothing! And now... 

*I-I don’t want anything from you.* 

"Bastard," he hissed, unaware of his fists tightly clenching. A bitter jeer splashed across
his pale face. "What the hell do I do now?" 



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Ken niichan?" A tiny hand tugged at his blue T-shirt. Receiving no reply, the little girl
tugged harder and called his name in a louder voice. "Niichan!!" 

Ken blinked a few times, clearing his thoughts and looked down into a pair of wide,
eager brown eyes. "Keiko chan," he greeted, kneeling down beside the small girl. "What
can I do for you?" 

"How come you’re sad today?" 

A startled cough forced its way from his chest. "Sad?" He cleared his throat. "Why would
you think I’m sad?" 

Keiko tugged on one of her long pigtails as she stared at him. "You always cheer real
loud when anyone gets a goal. You run in the game and play too. But today you’re only
standing on the side and not saying anything. And when Maki chan tripped Shiro kun,
you didn’t even blow your whistle and get mad!" 

He rubbed at the back of his head guiltily. He should have known better than to try and
hide anything from the kids. They were all too damn smart for their own good. "Maa
maa, I can’t fool you, can I Keiko chan?" 

She shook her head solemnly. "Kaachan says I’m a wise owl." 

A smile spilled across his face. He ruffled her hair playfully. "She sure is right about
that." 

"Sometimes if you’re sad, it can help if you talk about it to someone who’s not sad,"
Keiko informed him sagely. "And I’m not sad at all." 

He repressed the urge to sigh. He had left the apartment as early as possibly, not wanting
to risk running into Aya. He hadn’t bothered to show up to work, not wanting to confront
Yohji and all the questions the older boy would undoubtedly have. He never wanted to
see any of them again. Well, with the exception of Omi. He was close to the younger boy.
But beyond that... A small hand waved in front of his face. Keiko’s eyes were expectant.
He managed a small smile and before he knew it, words were tumbling out of his mouth.
"Last night I made the mistake of telling someone that I love them. But they don’t love
me back." 

"That’s impossible!" Keiko cried with disbelief. "Everyone loves you, you’re Ken
niichan!" 

He laughed, a sound that was woodenly hollow even to his ears. He watched the children
before him as they played soccer. So innocent, so unafraid to love. How openly they
hugged and kissed him; how freely they cried and laughed. When did the transition from
childish innocence to jaded cynicism occur? "Not everyone," he whispered softly. 

"Well then you have to make them love you!" 

He stared at the young girl, her face bright with artless optimism. "How do I do that?" 

A frown wrinkled baby-soft skin. Keiko chewed on a lock of her dark hair as she thought.
Finally she said, "You hafta smile a lot and say lots of compliments. Then you tell them
that you’re gonna change into something more comfortable and kiss them. And then in
the morning you can wake up in their bed and say 'I love you honey' and do the kissing
thing some more." 

Ken had to laugh. "You sound like you know quite a lot about love." 

She rolled her eyes. "They always do that on those soap operas kaachan watches. Oh
yeah, you also have to take your shirt off." 

"My shirt!" 

"All the girls like that." 

"But what about the boys?" he thought wryly. He didn’t actually think of himself gay.
After accepting his attraction to Aya, accepting that he was in love with a *guy*, he had
bought one of those popular J-Rock magazines that most schoolgirls read. Many of the
stars in it were visual and dressed like women and he hadn’t found himself attracted to
any of them. Even guys on TV and in the streets, there was no one except Aya. Everyone
he saw, he compared to Aya. There was no one else who had such vibrant red hair and
ivory skin. Soulful, violet eyes shimmering with silent ire. The only one he loved and he
didn’t want him. He was doomed to remain alone forever. 

"Ken niichan, Maki chan keeps kicking me and not the ball!" 

"I am not! You keep hogging the ball!" 

/If I can’t have him then I don’t want anyone/



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Keiko fidgeted, trying not to watch the people come out of the ice cream shop across the
street. She wanted an ice cream cone badly but kaachan had told her not to go anywhere.
Hopping from one foot to the other, she cast another look at the bank. Kaachan still
wasn’t coming out and it had been *forever.* A quick scan at the clouds showed that
were no new shapes, just the same old sheep playing a flute, a cat walking on a tightrope,
a man tying his shoe, a carrot reading a book and a unicorn. 

"I’m booo~rrrredddd," she sang, swaying from side to side. "And kaachan is taking a real
looooooo~nggggg tiiiiiiiimmmmmeeee." She giggled as she started to feel dizzy.
Everything was moving upside down! She spun around fast, her new green dress
billowing out around her. How funny she was being! Then abruptly all the fun stopped
when she twirled straight into a tall figure. She would have fallen if the man hadn’t
caught her. 

"Watch where you’re going," he snapped. 

Keiko blinked and shook her head to get out all the dizziness. She looked up at the man.
He had very red hair and a mean look on his face. Keiko would have been scared but she
had seen the man before. Sometimes he came to see Ken niichan. "I ‘member you!
You’re Ken niichan’s friend!" she shrieked, bouncing up and down excitedly. Maybe the
man would want to play the spinning game with her! 

He stared down at her, his purple eyes narrowing. She giggled. Her touchan glared at her
sometimes too but he was only joking. The red hair man must be joking too. "Is Ken
niichan coming here? Huh?" She tugged at his hand eagerly. "Is he, is he? Huh?" 

"No." His voice sounded like he had no manners and he pulled his hand away from hers. 

Keiko frowned at him like kaachan did when she sometimes caught Keiko eating
chocolates and candies before dinner. Her touchan didn’t get a mean voice when he
glared at her. He always laughed afterwards. "You don’t have to get ants in your pants!" 

He gave her another nasty look and walked away. 

She glared back at the man and stuck out her tongue. He was nothing like touchan or Ken
niichan! "You better not be rude to Ken niichan, he’s already sad!" she yelled. 

That made the man come back to her. "What did you say?" 

Keiko didn’t look at him. Instead she poked at a crack in the sidewalk with her shoe.
"You’re mean. You have no manners and I don’t like you." 

He took a deep breath. "Why do you say Ken is sad?" His voice sounded a lot like
touchan when he was trying not to get angry. 

"Am I trying your patience?" she asked looking up at him. She didn’t actually know what
'trying your patience' meant but she only knew that she tried kaachan’s and touchan’s
patience a lot. And they got mad after she did it. She wondered if Ken niichan’s friend
was going to get mad at her. She didn’t do anything to him, he looked like he was mad all
the time. 

The man knelt down to her level. "Yes you are. Now answer my question." 

Keiko stared at him. He had funny hair that she didn’t notice before. There were long
pieces hanging on the sides. She wanted to pull one of them but she didn’t think that the
man would like that. She didn’t like it when boys at school pulled her pigtails. "You’re
really Ken niichan’s friend?, right?" 

He blinked and than nodded very slowly. 

"Than you hafta make him feel better ‘cause he’s real sad." She nodded importantly, just
in case he didn’t believe her. "He said that he told a girl he loved her last night and she
didn’t love him back! He was so sad that he didn’t even get mad when Sayuri chan and
Enji kun started punching each other!" Keiko decided that even if the man was rude and
wasn’t polite, she liked him. If Ken niichan liked him, than so should she! And she liked
his funny hair too. "I don’t know why the girl doesn’t like Ken niichan. She must be a
real baka. Ken niichan is so cool, when I grow up I’m going to marry him!" 

"A real baka," he repeated, in a funny voice that sounded like he had a cold in his throat. 

She nodded again, twirling her pigtail around her finger. "I don’t know why she doesn’t
love Ken niichan, everyone loves him! Kaachan says that he’s selfless. Selfless is when
you help old ladies carry big bags of groceries and hug kids when they cry and bring
candy to the soccer games. Ken niichan always does those things. Once he even fixed
Hiroshi kun’s puppy’s leg. There was a thorn in it. But since Ken niichan is sad, we hafta
make him happy again because we’re his friends." She leaned a bit closer to the man and
whispered in a secretive tone, "Do you wanna know how to make him feel better?" 

The man said nothing, just stared at her. He was a weird person. She took his silence to
mean a 'yes'. "Ice cream." 

He had a startled look on his face. "Ice cream?" 

Keiko rolled her eyes. "Of course ice cream! Ice cream always makes sad go away. When
I’m sick, touchan brings me ice cream and then I feel better. You should buy Ken niichan
a big ice cream with lots of chocolate in it and sprinkles. With a cherry on top too!" She
smacked her lips. "Yummy! And then Ken niichan will forget all about the girl, until he
tries to kiss her." 

"Kiss her?" he choked out. 

She giggled. His face looked funny. There a was red blush coming into his cheeks. "Are
you ‘barrassed of kissing? Your face is getting red." 

He scowled at her but she wasn’t scared of him anymore, she liked him. "I told Ken
niichan to kiss the girl. And to take off his shirt too. They always do that on TV." 

The man suddenly stood up. He was glaring again. "I have to go." 

Keiko grabbed a fistful of his pants. "Wait!" 

He jerked away from her. "What is it?" he demanded, annoyed. 

She looked way up at him. "You should get that grouchy look off your face. You should
smile. Ken niichan always says that if you smile, everyone smiles with you but if you cry
than you cry all by yourself." She frowned. "He didn’t say anything about being grouchy
though but I guess it’s like the same thing." She blinked suddenly as a thought occurred
to her. "Hey, I don’t even know your name! My name is Keiko chan. What’s yours?" 

The man was silent for so long that Keiko thought he wasn’t going to say anything. But
finally he said, "Ran. My name is Ran." 

She motioned Ran to kneel down. He did after a moment. "You know what else is a good
idea Ran niichan?" 

He looked very surprised. "Niichan?" 

Her head bobbed in a nod, her pigtails bouncing. "Since you’re Ken niichan’s friend than
you’re my niichan too! You wanna know what I think? I think that you should test out the
ice cream you’re gonna give to Ken niichan on someone else. To make sure that it will
make Ken niichan feel better." She blinked at him innocently. 

Ran smiled. "Now who could I get to test out the ice cream for me?" 

Keiko gaped. He looked very handsome when he smiled! Then she remembered what he
said. "Me! Me!" she cried, jumping up and down. "I’ll test the ice cream for you! I can
eat a double scoop no problem!" 

To her great surprise, Ran reached out and brushed her bangs from her face. "You’re a lot
like my imouto, Keiko chan." 

She smiled happily at Ran. "I thought you were mean and scary at first but I like you a lot
now!" She reached out and gently tugged one of Ran’s long red eartails. "I like your hair
very much. You look nice when you smile Ran niichan." 

"Keiko chan! What are you doing?" 

Keiko looked away from Ran niichan. Kaachan was coming down the stairs of the bank.
"That’s my kaachan," she informed Ran. "She was taking a real long time in the bank." 

"How many times have I told you not the talk to strangers?" 

"But kaachan, Ran niichan isn’t a stranger!" she told her mother. "Ran niichan is Ken
niichan’s friend! I just met him right now! At first he was grouchy but then he was really
nice and Ken niichan is sad so we’re gonna make him feel better with ice cream but we
need to test out the ice cream and Ran niichan said I’m like his imouto and Ran niichan
is going to buy me ice cream!" She giggled at how fast she had said all that and hugged
her mother with glee. 

Kaachan looked a little embarrassed. "She’s quite the chatterbox." She looked down at
Keiko. "Keiko chan, how many times have I told you not to bother-" 

"It’s no problem," Ran niichan interrupted, standing up. His cheeks were red again. 

"See? It’s no problem!" 

"Keiko chan-" 

"ICE CREAM!!!" she howled, grabbing Ran niichan’s hand. "Let’s go!" 



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I knew I’d find you here." 

He looked up, shielding the dying afternoon sunlight from his eyes. Yohji moved into his
view, peering down the length of his nose at him. Ken sighed, hugging his knees tightly
to his chest. He knew that he’d have to talk to Yohji sooner or later but he’d hoped that it
would be later rather than sooner. "How did you know I’d be here?" he asked resignedly.
May as well get this over with right now. Yohji could be surprisingly forceful when the
mood struck him. 

Yohji sank down upon the grass beside him, folding his long limbs gracefully. "You
always sit under this tree after coaching a game. You come here to think." 

"I didn’t know you knew that," he remarked, surprised. He hadn’t known that Yohji knew
him so well. 

"We live together, work together, kill together. After all this time, I’d like to think I know
you guys. We’re friends, aren’t we Kenken?" 

He grinned at the older boy. "Cleaning blood stains together really has that bonding
effect." 

Long fingers reached out and patted his head. "I’m glad that you can still smile and make
jokes. That’s one of the things I admire about you." 

His eyes widened. "You admire me?!" 

"Takes a lot to be able to smile after ending up in all the shit life dishes out." He pushed
up his sliding shades. "And we oughta know. One word Ken, 'angst'. You and Omi are
lucky in that sense. Always smiling and cheerful. Not me. Half the time I never wanna
see the light of day." 

"That’s cause half the time you’ve got a hangover." 

"Oi!" He whacked Ken’s shoulder. "I’m trying to be serious here!" 

"I know." Ken rested his chin against his knees, staring out at the quiet soccer field. The
setting sun splayed impossibly long shadows upon the rumpled grass. "But sometimes it’s
just easier to be silly. That way you can pretend everything is alright." 

"Is that what you wanna do Ken? Pretend?" 

"No. I-I just want-" *Him to love me* He rubbed his cheek against the rough material of
his jeans. "I don’t know what I want." 

"You want Aya." 

"He’s not mine to have." 

A flash of anger shone behind silver sunglasses. "I never thought you were a quitter Ken." 

"What right do you have to judge me?" Ken demanded, Yohji’s taunting words kindling
his own ire. "You don’t understand this at all! Aya doesn’t love me. He never will!" 

"Did he say that?" 

"He didn’t have to," he muttered tightly. "It was very clear." 

"And so you’re gonna give up? Just like that?" The older boy gazed up at the brightly
colored sky. "One little confrontation and Kenken goes running. How sad." 

"Don’t patronize me Yohji," he hissed. "This is easy for you. You’ve never been rejected
before. Everyone loves you. Everyone wants you. Well I’m not like you. I’m not some
dashing lady’s man. I’m just Ken, the good ol’ boy next door. And if I’m not wanted than
I’ll accept that. I’m not going to chase after Aya. I can’t do that, it’s not who I am." 

There was no warning. One minute he was staring moodily at the flaming orange sun on
the horizon, the next Yohji’s long fingers were under his chin, roughly forcing him to
meet flashing jade eyes, hidden behind silver tinted shades. His eyes widened as he
registered how close the older boy’s face was to his own. The smell of cigarette and lime
and exotic sensuality splashed over him. *I’m bi Ken.* 

"If it weren’t for Aya, I would make you mine Kenken," Yohji murmured huskily,
tightening the hold on Ken’s chin. His other hand came up and elegant finger swept
sensuously across his cheek. "Don’t say you’re not wanted Ken because you are. I love
your naïve, temperamental, clumsy ways. Everything about you is a *huge* turn-on. And
believe me," Yohji’s fingers moved from his cheek to brush across his lips with agonized
deliberation. "If I didn’t see something in Aya’s cold eyes, if I didn’t *know* that he
*does* feel something for you, then I swear I’d fuck you right here, right now." And with
one last smoldering look, one last soft caress, the older boy was striding away, his body
looking impossibly long in tight Jeans and close-fitting shirt. 

"What the hell... " 

His lips still tingled from Yohji’s fingers. Just twenty-four hours ago, one mere day ago
and everything had been normal. He hadn’t known Yohji was bisexual. He hadn’t known
that Yohji knew he loved Aya. He hadn’t gone to Aya and made an utter ass out of
himself. He didn’t know that Yohji desired him physically. *I’d fuck you right here, right
now.* A shudder wracked his body at those drawled out, sensually raw words. How had
everything suddenly gotten so complicated? Yohji of all people, wanted him! That had to
be the end to end all ends. 

He could feel a blush spill onto his face. Yohji had touched him so softly...but he loved
Aya. Who didn’t return his feelings, never mind what Yohji said. *If I didn’t see
something in Aya’s cold eyes...* What could that mean? He was bewildered. Last night,
he hadn’t seen anything in Aya’s eyes other than that rigid coldness. This was so
complicated. 

He sighed deeply. "Well shit." 



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The light pink envelope festooned with Hello Kitty and a multitude of hearts and stars lay
among the other plain white letters. It was from Aya chan of course. She loved Hello
Kitty. He picked the letter from the pile and opened it, careful not to tear the colorful
envelope. Unconsciously, his eyes softened the sight of her bubbly hiragana, written in
metallic purple and green ink alternatively. She had stuck stickers and drawn little
doodles all over the paper. He read the letter carefully, feeling all his problems dissipate
as he was immersed in the warmth and liveliness that was his imouto. Even from a piece
of paper, her vibrancy sparkled through. And today, he’d been immersed in that same
vibrancy. 

The taste the chocolate mint ice cream still lingered in his mouth. A smile made its way
across his face. He hadn’t wanted to like Keiko chan, his mood had been entirely too
dark to tolerate the antics of a hyper little girl. However she had won him over. Keiko
chan so much like Aya chan when she’d been young. Constantly chattering, sticking her
nose into everyone’s business, doing her best to weasel ice cream out of everyone and
anyone. So filled with life. Brimming with love to give. Even as a child, he’d never been
able to give love so freely. How many times had he ever told his parents and Aya chan
that he loved them? 

*I love you.* 

He sank down upon his bed heavily. Ever since his confession last night, Ken was all he
could think about. The entire day had been filled with Ken’s words echoing in his brain,
his face etched in his mind. His presence surrounded him like a shroud. Even his dreams
last night had been of Ken. Ken smiling so sweetly as he declared his love for him. Then
the stark pain when he was rejected and finally the quiet acceptance. Aya had thought
about it all day and he decided that nothing made him feel guiltier than that stoic
acceptance. If Ken had shouted and yelled, he would have been able to handle it. He
knew how to deal with harsh words and bitter reprisals, hiding emotions behind a façade
of cold carelessness and cynicism. How unlike Ken to say nothing, to merely walk away
after telling him in that achingly broken voice that he wanted nothing from him. What
could he possibly say to that? He knew anger and scorn. And yet, something deep inside
wanted to go to the soccer player and soothe the hurt in those innocent eyes. To make
right everything he’d wronged. If only he knew how. 

*I don’t know why she doesn’t love Ken niichan, everyone loves him! Kaachan says that
he’s selfless.* 

Ken was selfless. Beneath his brash behavior was someone who was filled with kindness
and caring. He was the sort of boy all parents wanted for their daughters, all old ladies
loved, all guys wanted to watch the game and fix their cars with. But Ken was so much
more than that. He fought for justice and peace, in the night as well in the day. He was
the first one ready to hurl himself into a fight, no matter how unfavorable the odds,
paying no heed to the consequences. How many times had he staggered into the shop,
bloody from some fight he’d gotten mixed up in? How many children had he taken care
of and taught soccer to? How many times had he brought food for all of them, making
sure they ate properly? There were so many good things about Ken. The whole day had
been spent thinking about them. And the rest Keiko chan had filled in. She adored Ken. 

So what should he do? Ken had been right, he *was* selfish. He only thought of himself
and of Aya chan. He was the only one in Weiß who hadn’t had to kill a loved one. He
hadn’t lost the most important person in his life. Even if he’d had to leave Aya chan
behind, she still lived right? He was so much luckier than the rest of them. So how was it
that he still couldn’t smile? Still wasn’t able to comfort his teammates? Couldn’t even
accept the love they gave? He remained frozen. Nothing had changed. 

*You’re a goddamn statue and I’m in love with you!* 

Ken knew who he was, what a frigid personality he had and he still loved him. He had
called him beautiful and perfect. How could he feel that way, knowing what he was? He
couldn’t understand it, why Ken loved him. And yet, if Ken could love someone as harsh
as he, why couldn’t he love in return someone was wonderful as Ken? There were so
many questions, so much he couldn’t comprehend. The whole day he’d spent thinking
into circles that just didn’t end. 

Unbidden, Aya chan’s last words in her letter came to his mind. *Follow your heart
Oniichan and find happiness. I love you.* Perhaps he was making this harder than
necessary. Could it be possible that it really was as simple as eating ice cream? He was
tired of analyzing and angsting. He knew that he wasn’t good with people, that he didn’t
know how to interact. Ken, Yohji, Omi, they were the first real friends he’d ever had.
Could he really let his inhibitions spoil his relationship with Ken? Putting their initial
meeting aside, Ken had only ever shown kindness and concern towards him. And now
love. It was humbling, to know that he was loved. The initial anger he’d felt after Ken’s
confession had long faded into acceptance. It wasn’t understood it, but it was accepted.
Which meant what? 



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ken stood on the balcony, his back to him. Aya stopped in the middle of the living room
and watched the dark haired boy for a few minutes. His heart pounded rapidly. Why he
was so uneasy was beyond him. Ah, but he promised not to think about anything. Just do,
enveloped by action. A stupid phrase Aya chan used often. He could just hear her, urging
him on. 

Steeling his resolve, he stalked out onto the balcony. It was windy and cold, the kind of
night he craved. The sky was cloudless, splattered with gleaming stars that appeared to
mock him with their shining happiness. His mouth opened and not a word came out.
Frozen he stood, commanding his voice to utter some sort of appropriate greeting as the
icy air gushed around him. The stars laughed as he remained silent. 

Ken must have felt his presence for he whirled around after a few seconds. Dark eyes
widened, a stunned expression painting his face. He gasped his name, backing away
sharply and stumbling in his haste. 

Aya reached out and captured his arm, to keep him from falling. Ken’s skin was cool and
smooth beneath his fingers. And still no words came out. 

That adorable, for he’s seen it countless times in his mind’s eyes over the past hours and
he decided that it *was* adorable, blush was back, staining high cheekbones. He’d never
realized how much Ken blushed. Or how endearingly sweet it was. 

"W-what are...what are you doing h-here?" Ken stammered, wrenching his arm away with
more force than necessary. 

"It’s too warm inside," he replied, feeling like a proper fool the minute the words left his
mouth. What a lame excuse. 

"Oh. Well I’ll...um leave you then I guess," he muttered, head down, chocolate colored
bangs obscuring his eyes. He moved towards him, obviously intending to flee into the
sanctity of his own room, when a scrap of paper slid from his fingers and fell onto the
ground. 

Aya picked it up. It was the poem he’d written yesterday morning, during a slow moment
in the shop. He remembered Ken asking if he could have it. And now, he was reading it
out on the balcony? "This is yours," he informed him coolly, holding out the tattered
paper. 

Ken didn’t look at him as he snatched the paper away. Their fingers touched. He
mumbled out a muffled thanks as he hastily stuffed the paper into the pocket of his khaki
cargo pants. 

"I didn’t know you liked it so much," Aya continued quickly, not wanting Ken to leave.
At least not until he finished saying what he’d come to say. Even if he wasn’t quite sure
of what he was going to say... 

Coffee tinted eyes met his briefly before they hurriedly glanced away. "I-I liked the
rhyming," he said hesitantly. 

"I don’t usually like using rhyme schemes," he explained, feeling more comfortable.
Talking about poetry was something he could do with relative ease. He loved poetry. "It
limits the language you can use. But Aya chan, she loves poems that rhyme. I guess she’s
gotten me into the habit." 

Confusion and bewilderment adorned the soccer player’s face. He looked torn between
bolting for his room and hiding in plain sight. Ken was gawking at him, as though he
didn’t know what to make of his comments on poetry. Which he probably didn’t. The
only time he really ever talked was in regards to a mission. Aya felt a sharp twist of guilt.
His moodiness and inability to handle emotions were playing hard on Ken. It was he who
had inadvertently reduced this vociferous, impulsive boy to a shy, stuttering wreck. 

"Um, well I d-don’t know too much about poetry but I do like yours." Ken flushed,
studying the ground diligently. "Even if you said that it didn’t, uh, mean anything." 

"Analytical poetry is vastly overrated. Not everything has a meaning behind it." He
leveled a sharp look at the nervous brunette. "Words can come out without any type of
consciousness behind them." 

"Yeah." He shuffled his feet, the uneasy action deafening against the quiet night. "I guess
so." 

There was an awkward silence. Aya quelshed the impulse to sigh. This was not going
well. If only Aya chan was here. She would know what to do. She was great with people.
He, on the other hand, had no idea what to do. When a person was unresponsive, how did
people talk to them? How did people manage to talk to him? He didn’t know what to say
to Ken, how to right irrepressible wrongs. 

Finally Ken cleared his throat. "It’s getting late. I’d better go." He took a step forward,
meeting his gaze at last. His eyes, they looked black at that instant, glittering with
bewilderment and uncertainty. "I’m sorry to bother you A-Aya." Such a quiet, un-Ken
like voice. 

"You aren’t bother-" he abruptly cut his words off seeing a sparkle of white behind Ken.
Without thinking, he grabbed hold of Ken’s arm, turned him around and pulled him
towards the balcony’s railing. He pointed at the sweeping path of bursting light. "Look. A
shooting star." 

All the anxiety and embarrassment on the younger boy’s face dissolved as his entire face
lit up with joy. "Sugoi!" he cried, his eyes gleaming with delight. "I’ve always wanted to
see a shooting star!" 

Aya nodded abstractedly, not watching the shooting star. He was much more interested in
the soccer player standing beside him. With that earnest expression of rapt fascination, he
looked surprisingly sweet. It was a look of pure pleasure; one that he rarely ever saw but
suspected that children like Keiko chan saw it all the time. 

Aya gave in to the urge and carefully brushed away a lock of chocolate strands from
Ken’s eyes. He pointedly ignored the wide-eyed look of disbelief the younger boy threw
his way. Instead, he studied the blazing star. "Don’t forget to make a wish Ken." 

"H-hai." 

As for his own wish, he didn’t know what he wanted. Before last night he would have
wished for Aya chan to always be happy and for her to forgive him for leaving her alone
in Tokyo. But now, standing at Ken’s side, knowing what he felt for him...*I wish for
eloquence, just for tonight* 

The shooting star faded from their view, leaving behind only a pale crescent moon and a
sea of broken stars. "What did you wish for?" 

Ken looked over at him, cheeks pink. "You’re not supposed to tell your wish otherwise it
won’t come true." 

"Aa." His gaze shifted from the night sky to the balcony railing where Ken had rested his
hands. There were no thoughts in his mind as his left hand moved up and lightly came to
rest overtop of Ken’s. 

A strangled cry escaped from the younger boy as he choked out his name. 

His own fingers were so pale in comparison to Ken’s, as they laced through those tanned
fingers. Such capable hands, that wielded weapons and made flower arrangements with
the same deft abandon. "Was it worth it Ken?" he inquired, running his fingers softly over
Ken’s. He was smooth and quivering beneath his touch. Touching Ken felt unexpectedly
right and shockingly sensual at the same time. 

"Na-nani?" 

He smiled inwardly. Ken sounded on the verge of suffocation and hysteria. "Seeing a
shooting star today," he clarified calmly. "Was it worth the wait?" 

"I-I guess," Ken wheezed, face bright red. 

A particularly sharp gust of icy wind blew at that instant. He was reminded of last night
and how Ken had closed the window in his bedroom, worrying that he’d catch a cold.
Ken was so considerate, shouldn’t he return the gesture? 

Aya watched his fingers as they tightly seized Ken’s wrist. One small pull and the
younger boy was in his arms. "Cold?" he whispered, rubbing suntanned, goosebumped
arms as he held the shivering brunette close. He could smell Ken’s scented shampoo,
could hear his harsh breathing against his neck, could feel the swift pounding of his heart
against his chest, and it was decidedly delicious. 

It didn’t last. Ken was over his shock in seconds and he jerked away from Aya’s embrace
violently. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, brown eyes flashing. 

Ah, this was the Ken he knew. "Do you want to get sick?" he mocked, repeating the
question Ken had asked him last night. 

Eyes widened and then narrowed. "As if you really care!" he retorted angrily. "What is all
this anyways? Your conscience got the better of you? You feel sorry for me and decided
to condescend to talk with me? Well I don’t need your pity Aya! I told you I didn’t want
anything from you!" 

"I’m aware of that," Aya murmured quietly. 

Before his eyes, Ken’s temper seemed to die at his hushed tone. "Why are you playing
games with me?" he asked, a wounded expression dominating his face. "What do you
want from me?" 

His words were nearly inaudible. Aya turned to look out at the night, unable to bear the
hurt on Ken’s face. Hurt that he had caused. How was he to make this right? He didn’t
know how to answer Ken’s question. What should he say to soothe the soccer player?
The enormity of this situation made it all the more nerve wracking. If he muddled this,
there would be no more chances. Ken would be lost, haven given up on him for good.
Was that what he wanted? 

Ken mistook his silence for rejection...yet again. "I see," he whispered. "I won’t bother
you again." 

Instinctively, he clenched the other boy’s arm. "Don’t." The word burst out as a faint
croak. "Ken..." 

The boy was unnaturally still. "N-nani?" 

His gaze caught Ken’s. "Don’t leave." 

"Why?" he choked out. Chocolate eyes shimmered like liquid. "I c-can’t just...with you
n-not-" 

Aya pulled the stuttering boy up against him and did the only thing he could think of to
keep Ken from weeping. He kissed him. Ken gasped, his cool lips parting in shock. His
hands moved up, tangling in silky brown locks. Ken tasted like mint toothpaste and
oranges and something nameless that was incredibly sweet. He heard Ken moan against
him, as the younger boy wrapped his arms around his neck. Aya kissed him harder, his
tongue sliding over even white teeth, exploring the soft mouth of the boy against him.
Ken’s tongue hesitantly met his own. Aya hissed, roughly pulling Ken closer. Their kiss
grew harsh as they both sucked fiercely at each other. 

At length, they pulled away. Aya felt his forehead drop lightly against Ken’s as they
panted heavily. That was the most erotic experience of his life. 

"W-why did you do th-that?" Ken huffed, clutching at Aya’s shoulders as though he was
unable to remain standing on his own. 

"Actions speak louder than words," he breathed, tilting Ken’s chin up to meet his gaze.
The soccer player looked adorable. His hair was disheveled from his fingers, his cheeks
were flushed and his lips were red and swollen from their kiss. Aya wanted to kiss Ken
again. It was strange, he’d never actually initiated a kiss before. A couple of girls had
chastely kissed him at one point or another but they were *nothing* compared to the kiss
he and Ken just shared. It was pure sensuality. It took one blazingly hot kiss to tell him
what should have been blatantly obvious all along; he wanted Ken. A huge burden, the
burden of not knowing, was lifted from his mind then. He knew now. And nothing else
mattered. 

Ken blinked up at him. "I don’t understand." 

He let go of Ken, his hands coming down to grip the balcony railing. "I never meant to
hurt you. What you said last night shocked me. I didn’t know what to say or how to react.
I was angry." 

"Why?" Ken asked in a small voice. 

He shrugged, struggling to find the right words. Surprisingly, speaking of his emotions
wasn’t as difficult as he would have thought. It felt strangely...soothing. "I couldn’t
understand why you’d love me. That’s why I asked you. Your answers left me stunned. I
never imagined that anyone could ever love me. I didn’t want to believe it. I prefer
solitude. I-I’m not good at this sort of thing, talking and socializing and stuff. But I have
thought a lot about what you said. And I..." he trailed off uncertainly, gesturing at
nothing. 

Ken was examining the vast array of city light and shadowy buildings, carefully averting
his eyes. "You weren’t disgusted? Because I’m a guy too?" 

"Nothing about you disgusts me Ken." A thin smile made its ways across his face as he
thought about Keiko chan. "I’ve spent the entire day extolling your many virtues." 

"So what do we do now?" Ken questioned, tugging nervously at his bangs. 

The moonlight splashed around the shadowy city. It was getting cold, as stars gleamed
down luminously. *Follow your heart Oniichan and find happiness* There really never
was an option was there? It was only for him to find out. And now he knew, without
anymore thoughts. It was all emotions. Nothing had ever felt so right, so comfortable.
"I’m not as easy person to love," he warned sternly. "I don’t know--" 

Ken didn’t let him finished. The soccer player threw himself against him, arms winding
tightly around his neck. "I already know that," he declared, as he buried his face into
Aya’s neck. "And I still love you." 

Now it was his turn to blush, as he enfolded the younger boy into his arms. Ken felt so
perfect against him. This was the only complete thing. 

Ken peered up at him through a mess of chocolate locks, eyes shining with joy and tears.
"Do you mean it Aya?" 

Automatically, he brushed Ken’s bangs from his eyes and kissed his forehead. "How
could I not? You look so sweet when you blush." 

Ken promptly blushed. 

Aya smiled, trailing one ivory finger down a red cheek. "This coming from the guy who
punched me on our second meeting?" 

"Well considering that you tried to kill me the night before, I think I was justified!" He
grinned up at him. "And I think you look sweet when you smile." 

His smile grew just a little bit more, only for Ken. "Aa." 

"Ai shiteru Aya," Ken murmured, leaning up for kiss. "Always." 

"I know," Aya responded quietly and the distance between them was breached as they
kissed for the second time beneath the inky sky. 

~*~OWARI~*~ 

Reading Room?