More Than Friends

The night was quiet. I like quiet nights. They give me time to think, to be alone with
myself. It has been a habit of mine for a long time. It used to be my refuge from the
world, solitary being that I was, but now it was just habit. After all, my life has been
patched—as well patched as it could ever be. I had my sister back again. I had my family.
Yet…

"Still up, Aya?" it was Omi. The younger boy was in his pajamas, standing at the entrance
to the kitchen, a cup of water in his hands. 

I nodded. "You too?"

Omi walked into the living room and sat down, his bare feet making no sound on the
carpeted floor. "Are you waiting for Youji?"

I nodded again. "It’s getting late."

"Youji never comes back before two o’clock nowadays," Omi noted, taking a sip of
water. "And he’s always drunk when he did. I sleep in the room next to his. I can hear
him tossing and turning in bed every time I stay up to finish my homework."

My heart twisted painfully within me. Youji was growing thinner, and his complexion
paler. Never have we seen him so forcibly cheery during the day before, nor so downcast
at night. "Asuka."

"Just when he finally accepted the fact that she was gone, she appeared again," Omi said
unhappily. "And he had to kill her. His love and the one strand of hope that he had been
holding on to for years."

They all had to kill someone they had strong ties to, all except me. Omi had to finish his
own brother; Ken killed one who had been his best friend; and Youji was forced to slay
his only true love. All except me. "Youji is not healing."

"That he isn’t," Omi agreed. "When’s the last time he actually got out of bed before
noon? Two months ago? He’s having a hangover at every possible occasion; it’s getting
out of hand."

I could not agree more to that. But what could I do? Youji would hardly thank me for
interfering in his own affairs. That was the way Youji had always been. He might seem
frivolous and carefree, but he was a sensitive kind of person, and he did not want to
appear as though he was asking for pity. 

Heavy steps outside the door, then the sound of a body leaning against it, and the
fumbling of keys. Even through the door, I could detect the faint smell of alcohol.

"Youji’s back," Omi said, as both of us got to our feet and hurried to the door. I opened
it, and Youji stumbled in, the smell of beer and wine wafting to us.

He smelt terrible enough, but he looked worse. His carefully groomed blond hair was
disheveled and drenched with sweat—and blood. Vivid purple bruises were forming on
his arms, and through his close-fitting T-shirt I could see more patches that were darker
than his skin color. There was a long gash across the material of his jeans, where blood
was rapidly soaking through.

"Bloody Hell!" Omi exclaimed, sounding as shocked as I felt. "What happened to you,
Youji?"

"Didna bring ‘nough money," the blond young man’s voice was slurred.
"Over—overtaxed m’ pocket. No—no matter, I’ll—‘ll sleep ‘t off." He missed his step,
and would have fallen on his face if I had not caught him.

I frowned. This was worse than anything Youji had came back with before. He had never
gotten so drunk that he could not handle a few gangsters; of course, he had never gone
beyond the limits of his wallet, either. Youji was losing control over himself.

"Dun feel too good," the lanky youth mumbled. His body jerked, and he started throwing
up on the floor. I cupped my hand over his mouth, and we dragged him to the toilet,
where he became sick.

Omi brought Youji a glass of water. "Here."

"Just in time," I remarked, gently mopping his forehead. "He’s just about to retch his
stomach acids."

Youji had thrown up everything he had consumed for the past few days by now, and was
leaning against me, still coughing weakly. We carried him back to his room, and his eyes
closed even before we set him on bed. Whether he had fallen asleep or fainted, I could
not tell.

I went back to my own room to take out my first-aid kit, and woke Ken on my way back
to Youji’s room. "Youji’s in a bit of trouble," I said briefly, and led the sleepy-eyed
soccer-lover over.

Ken became fully awake when he saw the state Youji was in. Omi had undressed him,
and we were treated to the sight of his tortured-looking body. Youji was so thin that we
could almost count his ribs.

I set down the first-aid kit by the bedside table, went to the bathroom, and got a basin of
lukewarm water and two towels. Omi wetted a towel and began cleansing the long gash
on Youji’s leg, while Ken started bathing his upper body, gently washing around his
bruises. I turned to leave the room.

"Aya, where are you going?" Ken asked.

"Clean up," I said shortly, and went back to the living room to clean up the mess Youji
had made on the floor.



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


"Kill me," Asuka said matter-of-factly.

"I can’t," I replied, my voice shaking even as my hands obeyed her. Asuka. Neu.
Schreiend. My love. My enemy. Wire, merciless invisible wire, shot forth from my
wristwatch of its own accord. "No! I won’t!" The wire wound itself around her neck
slowly. She did not move away. She just stood there, smiling at me, waiting to die.
Smiling at me. Her past partner. Her lover. Her killer. My wire tightened. The expression
on Asuka’s face changed abruptly. "No, don’t kill me—"

My wire continued tightening, but this time, I was controlling it. She was my enemy. I
had to kill her. Her face became contorted, her eyes started bulging. Her mouth opened,
but no sound came out. Her lips formed one word: no.

"Youji!"

No, her eyes begged me. The eyes that I had never forgotten, even through the years
when I thought I had lost her forever. I tried to look away, but I couldn’t. I watched, my
hands unrelenting, as she died before my eyes.

"Youji! Snap out of it!"

I opened my eyes. Pale face. Piercing violet eyes. Flaming red hair. Burning hands on my
shoulders, so hot that they almost scorched me. "A—Aya?"

He frowned slightly, and drew up the blanket to cover me. I had kicked it into tomorrow
just now. "You are cold."

Obviously.

I tried to get up, but my body started screaming protests almost immediately, and I fell
back onto bed. "What happened?"

"You got drunk." Aya, being Aya, did not bother to add "again".

I thought back on yesterday. I could vaguely recall going to the bar, and ordering a couple
of straights. After that—nothing. Though I was fairly sure that if I checked my wallet, I
would be glad I did not remember spending that much. It was rather obvious that I
ordered more than I could afford. I knew how bars deal with customers who did not pay
promptly. These people set out to make an example of them, so they tend to be more than
a little rough. I’d fared better in missions. "Shock me with how bad I was last night."

Aya raised an eyebrow at me. "You got knifed in the leg, and someone broke your left
arm. Then there are the bruises. You were throwing up your digestive juices. And it
wasn’t last night; it was the night before."

That explained why I wasn’t feeling the effects of having drunk that much. My hangover
passed while I was still unconscious.

At last. Some good news.

I grinned at Aya. "Thanks for watching me. Can you get me something to eat?"

Aya nodded shortly and left the room. Even though he had his sister back again, Aya was
still the same cold statue that we’ve worked with. Takatori Reiji had died, and Aya-chan
was awake—and having a sweet little romance with Kenken—but Aya had not changed. I
wondered about that sometimes. Hate had sustained him for so long, and now that it was
gone, so had his directions in life. Days of yelling "Takatori shi-ne" might seem
uncomplicated in comparison. 

If Omi and Ken noticed, they did not comment about it. But then, Ken was sort of
occupied nowadays (with Aya-chan), and Omi was still a kid. Omi might have gone
through many things in the course of his work—his identity, his family, Ouka—like the
rest of us, but underneath it all, he was still a kid.

Aya and I were different from them. We’ve both experienced too much emotionally to
retain any semblance of innocence. There’s Aya, lost but not even acknowledging it to
himself; then there’s Youji, torturing himself with the memory of Asuka. Asuka…

Aya came back with a tray in his hands, which he set before me, still not saying a word.
Typical.

"Thanks."

He nodded and started to turn to leave, then apparently changed his mind, and sat down,
observing me quietly with those amethyst eyes of his.

Aya still hadn’t learnt much about communications. In the old days, I guess Aya-chan
balanced him with her sunnier nature; when he joined Weiss, he had already shut himself
up. At times he seemed to be trying to make friends—and I’m the one he usually
practiced on. Sigh. I know it’s corny, but we—Ken, Omi, and myself—like Aya just fine
the way he was. We are all friends. We don’t criticize.

I wasn’t about to tell Aya that, though. Aya is as sensitive as I am; I don’t want to give
him any reason to change "Takatori shi-ne" to "Kudou Youji shi-ne".

"Where’s Aya-chan?" I asked, when the room became too quiet.

"In school," Aya replied, but his eyes had softened at the mention of his sister. People
who did not know Aya well thought of him as ice; personally, he reminds me of
fire—and not because of his hair, either. He was, well, I guess the only word is
"passionate". He went berserk every time he saw Takatori Reiji, and that was a fairly
good indicator. Like a volcano: normally serene and almost placid, but the boiling lava
would always be just below the surface, waiting to erupt. No, Aya is definitely not ice.

I followed up on my advantage—if something worked on girls, ten to one it worked on
guys as well. "How’s she doing in school?"

"Not bad," Aya almost smiled. "She told me that she didn’t like some of the boys in the
class who teased her. That was a month ago."

I laughed out aloud. "What did you do to them?"

The corners of his mouth tugged slightly, as though Aya was trying to suppress a chuckle.
"After I held them to the wall—a foot or so off the ground—by the scuffs of their necks,
they came to my way of thinking immediately."

I resisted the urge to look out of the window to check if the sun was still up there. Aya
actually made a joke. Maybe he changed more than I thought after all.

"You aren’t eating," the redhead reminded me.

I picked up my chopsticks again. "Who cooked it?"

"Me." As short and brief an answer as one could ever desire.

On second thought, Aya didn’t change much.



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


"All going?" Birman asked as she switched off the TV and turned on the electric power
again. Light flooded the room, falling softly upon the four Weiss members. Aya nodded;
Ken nodded; Omi nodded. Her eyes fell on Youji, who wore a frown on his face.

"What happens to the kids they kidnap?" the Balinese asked.

She raised an eyebrow. "That’s fairly obvious, isn’t it?"

"I mean the boys."

"Same as the girls."

"Perverts!" Youji muttered, before looking at Birman straight in the face. "I’m going."



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


The hard part was that we did not know the exact location of the headquarters. All
Birman had been able to give us were the location of one of the contact points, and a
brothel. It would not be easy to infiltrate such places. Believe me, I know.

This brings back all the old memories. Memories I’d rather forget. Investigating with
Asuka, losing her…

"Who goes?" Omi was asking. He himself was obviously out, so it was up to one of us
three.

I could see Aya’s train of thoughts: if Ken went, and anything ever happened to him,
Aya-chan would never forgive him—I opened my mouth to volunteer, but Aya beat me to
it. "I go."

Part of me wanted to scream at him. No, let me go. I have nothing to look forward to,
anyway. Let me take my chances as I should have done years ago.

Because I don’t want to lose you, Aya, the way I lost Asuka.

The rest of them were busy laying out plans. "Are you listening, Youji?" Ken asked.

I decided to play up to my image. "No."

"Aya infiltrates the contact point, Ken and I act as back-ups for him, and you act as
back-up for us—waiting in the car. All right?"

"Okay, mother. All clear, no questions." Omi rolled his eyes at me, then grinned
good-naturedly. I grinned back.

Time to grow up, Balinese. The mission comes before you do. And Aya can take care of
himself. Nothing like that doomed investigation years ago would happen here.



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


I was rather glad I was not the one infiltrating the place. Aya sounded shaken when I
contacted him, and that was very, very bad, considering that it’s Aya we talk about. Ken
was stationed across the street, pretending to be trying to fix his motorcycle. I leaned
against the wall, stimulating a look of nervous anticipation and looking at my watch
every three seconds or so. Acting the part of a young man on a date wasn’t particularly
hard; all I had to do was to think of Ouka. The guards looking for suspicious people
should look right past me.

"Bombay, I’m listening in to the conversations around here. Don’t contact me for a
while." Aya’s voice sounded by my ears.

"All right, Abyssinian."

If anyone saw me, they should think I was listening to music; about the only advantage of
wearing earphones.

"Siberian, aren’t you about done with the bike?" I asked Ken through my speaker.

"You have a point there. I suppose I ought to move to the other side, anyway." 

Ken moved discreetly to the other side of the building, and I leaned back against the wall
again, still glancing at my watch. I wished I knew how Aya was doing. Not knowing
what’s going on always set my teeth on the edge. I don’t like getting shocks; they usually
involve bad news. I’ve had enough nasty surprises to last me for a lifetime.

"Kayomura Eastern Industries," Aya’s voice broke into my reverie. "That’s their
headquarters. The name is Kosugi Norio. Male. Mid-thirties."

He’s fast, I noted admiringly. "Got it, Abyssinian."

"I’ll be leaving now, wait for me at—" Aya’s voice broke off for a moment. "Damn.
Busted," he continued grimly. "They saw me."

"Hang on there, Abyssinian, we’re coming," I switched to Ken’s speaker. "Siberian, let’s
go help Abyssinian."



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


Omi’s line was busy, and I could not get through to him. I knew how he would react,
though. Both Bombay and Siberian. They would charge in. And that wouldn’t be a good
idea. Disastrous might come closer.

I had not told Omi the entire truth. I did not tell them how tight the security here was. In
fact, I doubt even Birman knew it. It was not so much the security level, or the
sophistication of weapons. It was the sheer number. It was like the choice of handling
one Crawford—or two, three hundred ordinary bodyguards. I would rather take my
chance with Crawford. The two of them would be in big trouble. I had no doubt that they
would reach me, but after that—Omi would have spent most of his darts by then, and
with only my katana and Ken’s bugnuk, we’d hardly be a match for guns.

If only Omi had not disconnected so quickly—

Too late for that now. I looked at the security guards approaching me from all three
directions. They had not drawn guns yet. Part of their orders was probably "try to take
intruders alive". I took out my katana. I don’t like people who exploit children for
prostitution.

I hoped Ken had the sense to stop Omi, but that would be a lot to hope for. Ken would
charge in right alongside Omi. Why did Omi had to disconnect so quickly?

It’s time to act, Abyssinian.

By the time Ken and Omi arrived, I was starting to tire. I don’t like ruthless slaughter;
none of us do, but we did what we had to do. I had taken some hard knocks, and a dagger
in my shoulder. And Omi had ran out of darts, his hands were empty. Ken’s bugnuk
would be even more ineffective than my katana. I got them into it; I’ll get them out.



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


The contact point was in a relatively large building. Omi was going in by the front, so I
charged from the back. There was no point in remaining undercover when one of us had
been exposed already. I jumped onto my bike, turned on the gears, and crushed—through
the door.

Motorcycles came in handy sometimes.

Omi had entered approximately the same time as I did. I saw two guards drop dead when
I entered. I slashed my way through, and the two of us charged upstairs through a path of
blood. "Where’s Aya?" I asked Omi.

"Third floor, I think," Omi replied, switching on his speaker. I followed suit. "Abyssinian,
we are coming."

There was no reply, but we could hear the sound of steel in the background.

Aya was still standing when we got there, but his situation wasn’t very good. Bleeding in
several places, in fact. Though I rather doubt if those who got close enough to wound him
were still alive. From the number of bodies around him, probably not. And more guards
were coming.

"This isn’t good," Omi muttered as the two of us joined Aya. "Both of you use
short-range weapons, and I’m about to run out of darts. I couldn’t bring the crossbow." In
other words, if they decide to fall back on guns, we would be in deep trouble.

The next moment I saw a gun’s barrel. And it wasn’t alone. Shit.

"The mission must be accomplished," Aya said softly, but somehow very quickly. "You
know where the headquarters is; go get the Balinese. I’ll hold them back."

"Aya!" I never knew who cried it, Omi or me. 

"Go!" Aya grabbed a dead body before him as the first wave of bullets came. "Now!"

We left. Neither of us looked back.



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


"What?" I shouted into the phone. It was damned hard to keep the accusation out of my
voice, even though I knew it wasn’t Omi’s fault. Damn Aya, why did he have to be so
noble and self-sacrificing? "What?"

"Ken’s tailing them on his motorbike. My crossbow and more darts are with you in the
car. Meet you at the T-junction." Omi hang up before I could shout anything else at him.

I started the car and went off, pulling up at the junction next to the building housing the
contact point. Omi slipped into the seat next to mine. "Where?" I asked.

"Northern district. Ken just contacted me."

We blasted off. Ken’s directions got clearer as we got closer, and we eventually met up at
the gates of a large industrial park. Kayomura Eastern Industries. So they took the
Abyssinian to their headquarters. How convenient. We could finish off our target today.
Very economic.

We were all ready. Omi had fully restocked his supply of darts; Ken was bursting with
energy. As for me, I’ve been steadily working myself into a killing rage. If those bastards
even touched Aya—

"Let’s go," I said curtly.



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


Thud.

Pain engulfed me, and I clamped my mouth shut to choke back the cry that threatened to
tear from my throat. How long had it been? How many times? I had no idea.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

How long had I been here? Are the others here yet? I knew not. I cared not. No past. No
future. All that existed was the present. All that existed was pain. Pain. Pain. Pain.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The whipping stopped. How many whips have they worn through? Three? Four? I had
long lost count. Was it crop before that, or flogger? I could not remember that either. The
leather bindings on my hands were cut, and I collapsed onto the ground. Cold cement
floor. Warm sticky blood. I was lost. Totally lost in pain. One thought remained: I must
not scream.

I must not scream.

I vaguely became aware of somebody standing over my body. Sounds of snickers. I hate
it when people laugh at me. Somebody grabbed me by my legs. I did not move. I could
not move.

More snickers.

What was happening? I dizzily wondered. The man above me forced my legs open, I felt
knees against my inner thighs. What was happening?

Then I knew.

No— But there was no strength left in me. None at all. I could only lie, limply, as the
man took me on the cold cement floor.

I must not scream.



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


"Where have they kept him?" I burst out at last. We’d been searching the grounds for
nearly two hours, and still no sign of Aya. This was all so damned frustrating! What if
Aya—no, he would be fine. I would never be the one to tell Aya-chan that we’ve lost her
brother.

"Shut up and continue looking!" It was Youji, of all people. He seldom screamed at
anyone except himself. He was white-faced, and paling by the second. I had never seen
Youji this way before. He was right, though; and surely somebody here would know
where they had taken Aya—

"Our target," Omi said suddenly. "There can’t be many secure hiding places, even in a
industry park as huge as this."

Youji was gone before he had closed his mouth. We went after him. The Balinese had
grabbed one of the fleeing security guards. "Where is Kosugi Norio?" he demanded.

I joined Youji, holding my bugnuk in a very visible position. Omi watched our backs.
The frightened man took one look at the claws and decided to answer. "In the…basement
in…B-section, four levels…four levels down…"

"What’s in there?" Youji asked.

"That’s…that’s where he finds…his personal amusements…" the man nearly died under
Youji’s killing gaze. "It’s sound…soundproof…he and his close…close associates
can…spend days there…"

"What kind of amusements?" I asked, but Youji’s wire had already tightened. His face
was furious. 

"What do you think amusements entail, Siberian?"

It took me a few moments to comprehend it. Youji was a long way ahead of me by then. I
ran to catch up, pulling Omi with me. Damn it all, Youji had better be wrong in his
assumptions! I dared not continue the thought further.

Youji had a head start before me, but he had not spent his days practicing soccer as I had.
I caught up with him outside the B-section district. Omi could catch up later.

One level, two levels, three levels, four levels—

Here there was no sign of the mass panic outside when the three assassins out for blood
arrived and slashed their way through. The—now dead—security guard had mentioned
soundproof devices. And no one, obviously, had been persuaded by their sense of loyalty
to warn their head about our attack.

There were around twenty men standing or sitting around in the basement. Whips,
floggers, and all other imaginable instruments to inflict pain. The stench of blood, old
and new, was enough to turn anyone’s stomach, and the amount of blood spluttered
around made me sick. There was a bloody wreck of someone on the ground, lying in a
pool of blood—but surely not even blood would have dyed anyone’s hair that red?

Aya.



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


My brain stopped functioning the moment I saw Aya. How dared these sonuvabitch
perverts treat Aya this way? Beside me, I heard Ken giving himself free rein, going for
the men’s throats. I went for Aya. Omi should be able to stop anyone from escaping.

When I got close enough to Aya to see the state he was in, I thought my heart would stop.
There was not even an inch of his pale skin that had not been torn open and dripped
blood. I knelt down, wrapped my arms around his shoulders, and gently turned him over.
I winced as I did so. His skin had been stuck to the floor by his own blood, and try as I
might, there was no real way to lessen the pain of skin being torn off in large patches. My
rage raised another few notches as I saw how they had tortured him, not sparing even one
thumbnail-sized bit of skin, not even there—then it hit me. The bleeding down there was
too heavy to be purely external. My eyes shot to his face.

If there was one person who could go through all this and still remain conscious without
going insane, it would be Aya. His lips were bitten through, his face covered in sweat,
blood, and other things I did not even want to think about. His eyes were open, though,
and very alert.

"Who did it?" I asked, my voice shaking.

"All—all of them," his voice was barely audible.

"What?"

I looked around. Ken was still chasing down the men, and Omi was stopping those who
managed to get away from the Siberian with his crossbow. I had counted twenty-three of
them just now. Twenty-three. I was beyond furious. I briefly contemplated strangling all
of them and string them up for a necklace, but I was holding Aya in my arms.

"Do you want to go to the hospital?" I asked Aya. He’d better. He really ought to see a
doctor for his injuries.

"No—" Aya forced each syllable out. He was holding on to consciousness by a bare
thread. "Home—"

I changed tactics. "Do you want Aya-chan to see you like this?"

"She’s going—summer camp," Aya fixed his violet eyes on me. "Youji—"

I could not refuse anything, with those amethyst-like eyes gazing at me. "All right,
Abyssinian. We’ll take you home."



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


Youji was driving. He was doing a pretty good job of it, considering the fact that he was
furious. I sat in the back, watching over Aya. Ken had gone on ahead to get a fresh supply
of bandages and medication. What we had in store was probably not going to be enough
to treat Aya. As we zoomed through the city, I reached out to feel Aya’s temperature
again. He had been in so much pain that I was almost glad Youji had knocked him out
with a well-placed back chop before we moved him.

How could anyone do this was beyond me. Sure, as an assassin I had never led a
sheltered existence, but this—hurting for no other purpose except to hurt, taking pleasure
from inflicting pain—was too horrible even to think about.

I looked at Aya again. His body was a mess of bloody lashes crisscrossing one another.
Youji had draped his own coat over him, but it didn’t do much in way of concealing;
there were just too many wounds. Teeth marks covered his lips. How many screams of
agony had they dammed? I shuddered, the image in my mind so vivid that it was scary.

Youji stopped the car. "We’re back, Omi. Is Aya okay?" His voice was terse and filled
with concern.

The car’s sudden cease of motion woke Aya. He raised his head slightly. "Are
we—home?" he asked hoarsely. I nodded. "Omi, go—go up and see if—if—Aya-chan
left—left yet…"

"You worry about that now?" I asked incredulously. Youji sent me a chilling look. I
exited the car and rushed upstairs. The door was open, and Aya-chan was sitting just
inside it, a travel bag by her side. She looked up at my steps.

"Omi-kun! Do you know where Ken is?"

I did not reply to that. "I thought you’d have left by now, Aya-chan."

"I wanted to say good bye," Aya-chan did not state whom, but it was fairly clear that the
person uppermost on her mind was not her brother. "Where are the others?"

"Out," I said shortly. This was a dilemma. Aya specifically stated that he did not want his
sister to know what happened to him, but Aya-chan would not leave for her summer
camp until Ken returned, and Ken was out getting medication for Aya, who really ought
to be in bed as soon as humanly possible. "Aya-chan, when’s your train due to leave?"

She bit her lips. "Another hour. If Ken takes me on his motorcycle, I can just make it."

"I see,’ I said, trying to make it sound casual. "Well, I came up to get my schoolwork.
Kino-san and Ruko-san want to borrow it. Bye!"

Aya-chan smiled at me. "You are always so good in your studies, Omi-kun. Bye!"

I mustered a smile for her as I left, but wiped it off the moment I was out of her sight.
"We have a problem, Youji," I told him. "Aya-chan is still in there."

Youji swore softly. He had gotten to the backseat, and had eased Aya into a half-seating
position, cradling him as one would hold fragile glass. The redhead had fainted.

I switched on my speaker. "Siberian, answer. Bombay here."

"Siberian speaking."

"Where are you now?"

"I just left Birman. I’ll be back in ten minutes or so."

"Can you go any faster? Aya-chan is still here, and she would miss the train to summer
camp unless one of us takes her to the station! Youji can’t go and in any case his car is
stained with blood! Hurry, Siberian!"

"Understood, Bombay."

I disconnected and started pacing. Ken had better get here soon, or we both would go
insane. Youji’s hands were already trembling as he wiped the trickle of blood from Aya’s
split lips.



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


At last, was my first thought when I saw Ken zipping in on his motorcycle. Aya lay in my
arms limply, his head thrown back and his eyes closed. I pushed a stray strand of that
flaming hair behind his ears carefully. Inside, my red hot fury had settled into a cold icy
blade of rage; how dared those perverts do this to Aya? How dared they?

"Ken’s coming out," Omi said an eternity later.

I looked up. True enough, Ken had came downstairs with Aya-chan, who apparently did
not notice his preoccupied expression, carrying her luggage. They got onto his bike, and
zoomed off.

"Let’s go," Omi said.

I got out of the car, still carrying the unconscious Aya in my arms, my coat draped over
him. Omi went before me, unlocking the apartment door and opening the door to his
room, pulling the blanket off the bed. I absent-mindedly noted that the bed spread was
new. Too bad. I’ll get him another one if the bloodstains turn out to be non-removable.
Omi brought in the packs of medication Ken had discreetly left in the kitchen, and we got
to work.



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


For days, all I could think of was the agony along my nerves. The brightly-lit torture
chamber, the jeering, sneering faces, the raised whip, the cruel laughter…all combined to
form a timeless, changeless hell. Pain. More pain. Yet more pain. It had been this way,
and it would be this way. Forever. No escape, no refuge from pain.

Gradually the pain subsided, and the nightmares began. In my dreams, over and over
again, I felt each brutal thrust and heard each lustful laugh. If I ever screamed or cried in
those nightmares, I did not know about it; but always there would be one of my friends to
douse my feverish forehead with a cool damp cloth, and apply fresh salve to my countless
wounds. I did not recognize them, but I knew they were my friends, and the knowledge
always restored me. More and more frequently, the face I saw when I woke up belonged
to a lanky young man with shoulder-length blond hair and concerned green eyes.

Then I would fall into hallucination again. They were brutal, those men, but even worse
than the callous violence was the shame. The humiliation. Bile rose in my throat at the
very memory, and that memory was always there, lying over everything else on my mind.
Pain. Shame. More pain. More shame.

My physical wounds eventually healed, leaving behind scars, but nothing more. My other
wounds did not. What was trauma? I had once wondered. Now I knew the answer.

"Aya?" Youji’s voice sounded outside the door.

I did not move. One of them would bring me my meals, but they usually gave up and left
it by the door when I did not open it. I would open it and take the food later. The door
was not locked. They could have forced their way in had they really wanted to. But my
friends were sensitive, and they respected my need of privacy. I had not set foot out of
my room since I regained consciousness, and I had severe doubts regarding whether I
would ever leave it again.

"Aya," Youji repeated. "I know you are awake in there. Open the door."

A long pause. He waited. So did I.

"This cannot go on forever, Aya. You have to face yourself, more than anyone else. What
happened, happened. We are friends, we want to help."

I did not reply. Did they know about the gang rape? Omi and Ken probably didn’t. Ken
could never keep any feeling out of his voice, and Omi was still a kid. Youji,
though…Youji was no more an innocent than I was. He knew how harsh the world can
be, and he had been through enough to believe it. Besides, I vaguely recall replying to
Youji’s question of "Who did it?" But was that reality, or hallucination? The two had
blended together to such an extent that I could no longer tell them apart.

"Aya, let me help you. I know what you have been through, it’s not your fault."

I froze. That was as clear as he could get without being explicit. Youji knew. For a
moment, I wanted to snatch the door open and punch that perceptive bastard in the
mouth; then the blinding anger left me, and in my heart of hearts, I knew he was right.

"Aya, I only wish to help. I won’t ever hurt you; promise."

He was not going to leave any time soon, that much was obvious. I changed my mind. It
had been ages since I spoke to anyone other than myself, and Youji understood me better
than everybody else. I got up from my chair, and walked over to the door, my bare feet
making no sound as I crossed from the carpeted area to the ceramic floor. The carpet had
been a present from Aya-chan, she thought my room needed more in the way of comforts.
The original ceramic floor was cooler.

Then suddenly the floor was not ceramic anymore. It was cement. Cold cement. I was
back in the torture chamber, lying limply on the cold cement floor, in my own blood.
Pain filled my senses, took over my mind, and sent me to my knees, shaking
uncontrollably. I summoned my last bit of strength, last dregs of will, and forced the
words out. "Youji, go! I’m not ready—"

Silence. Then—"If you say so, Aya."

I waited until there was no more presence outside my door, then I gave in, totally
surrendering myself to pain.

I would go insane one of these days.



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


Life in the apartment was becoming a trial for the two of us. Aya wouldn’t leave his
room, and Youji prowled through the apartment, his face dark as thundercloud. I did not
know how Omi felt about it; personally, I spent all my free time outside. Soccer could be
suitably distracting.

I never knew what made Aya so withdrawn. The torture had been terrible, but I thought
he’d have gotten over it by now. I asked Omi, but he was as baffled as I was. When I
broached the subject to Youji, he told me to on no account ask Aya.

I really wasn’t very nice to Aya-chan that day. She was leaving for summer camp; I know
she expected me to be more than usually attentive and considerate. I wasn’t. I was
zooming off on my bike before her train even left. I hope she wasn’t too angry over it. I
really liked her. But she did not know what it was like to kill for a living, to hang your
life by two precarious threads, one of luck and one of skill. She made me so happy just
by being there, but the knowledge that pure chance could kill me always prevented em
from going too deep. The way Aya looked, the scars, the blood—it could very well have
been any of us. It could have been me. I had never been good at solving emotional
problems. I suppose I would just let things proceed as we go along. It would all work out,
if Aya-chan and I were meant to be together.

But there were too many ‘ifs’ in the world.



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


Lash after lash, pain upon pain.

No past. No future.

What was happening? I wondered.

Then I knew.

No—

The man above me was laughing. Others snickered.

I hate it when people laugh at me.

"Ah! Sweet little lad," the man remarked as he pulled out of me. "Who’s next?"

No—

I woke up. Covered with sweat, trembling all over. Staring at the ceiling in my dark room
that was eerily silent. Cold. Empty. Me.

I had to get out. 

I pulled on a long-sleeved T-shirt to cover my scars, and opened my door. The corridor
beyond was as forbiddingly empty. I looked at the other doors. They were all closed, their
occupants asleep, as anyone not haunted by nightmares would be. I stepped out, heading
for the front door. I had to get away from my room and all the memories within.

I paused outside Youji’s door. He said he wanted to help. He would understand. He knew
how terrible nightmares could be. I knocked once, twice, but there was no reply. He, too,
was asleep.

I wrenched myself from the spot, opened the front door, and left the apartment. It was
raining, I would get wet, but I did not care.

When I got downstairs, I saw I wasn’t the only one who could not tolerate a night in the
stifling apartment. There was no question who the lanky young man lounging on the
bench could be. Youji’s hair was plastered to his head, his clothes to his body. The last
time I really looked at Youji’s body was the night he got drunk, before the mission; he
had been thin enough then, but now a good wind could blow him away. Was it because of
me?

I sat down on the bench opposite his. He did not seem surprised to see me.

The scene seemed very appropriate, somehow. Night. Rain. Youji. Me. We are night
creatures, we who work as Weiss. And I had always associated Youji with water. He was
almost always urbane on the surface, but a storm brewed behind it. Everything he
touched went smoothly, almost like magic, but when he lost control over himself he
explored the darkest corners of a human mind. No one could ever tell what lay beneath
the surface of the ocean.

"You can’t sleep?" I asked after a while.

Youji glanced at me, before looking down again. "I’ve been this way for a long time. It’s
less expensive than drinking."

"Asuka?"

"Partially."

We fell silent again. Rain continued falling upon us. From the heavens. Water cleansed.
But it also chilled.

"How have you been handling it?" Youji asked.

"Handling what?"

"You know what I’m talking about." Strangely, it seemed natural for him to ask such a
question out of the blue, under such circumstances. "How are you dealing with what they
did to you?"

"I don’t know." My eyes fell on the bottle beside him. "Still drinking?"

"It helps sometimes," Youji’s slender long fingers twirled the wine bottle
absent-mindedly. "I’ve finished it, though."

"Good things never last."

The next moment Youji was directly in front of me, his green eyes boring into mine.
"Bad things don’t, either, Aya. What happened is not your fault and never was," he said
softly, his face so close to mine that we almost touched. "Do you know why I’m drinking
nowadays? It’s not because of Asuka anymore; it’s because of you."

I looked away. Youji grabbed me by my shoulders. I shuddered at being actually touched
by another, but he did not let go. "You are my friend, Aya; more than my friend. It hurts
me, worse than you can guess, to see you tormenting yourself like this.’

I did not reply, and his hands finally fell away. "I don’t suppose you’ll ever understand,
would you? Giving, without even hoping for the other to return in kind. A hopeless fool."

But I did understand. That was the kind of love I had for Aya-chan, so deep and so
intense that it went way beyond the normal love between siblings. Aya-chan loved me,
her older brother, but she had others in her life: school, friends, Ken— I only had her and
my teammates.

And—that’s how I felt about Youji.

"You are not the only one."

"What does that mean?"

"I mean, you are not the only hopeless fool."



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


I turned totally rigid. What was Aya saying? Surely I misheard him. Aya would not say
such things—or would he? I gazed at him, at that impossibly pale handsome face and
eyes that were as bright and as deep as amethysts. This time, he met my eyes.

It was raining, I suddenly noticed.

We stood up and went back into shelter. I tossed the wine bottle into a rubbish bin before
we went upstairs; I wouldn’t need it for a long, long time.

We were both soaked to the skin. I went into my room, and he followed. It felt very right,
for some reason. I turned on the heater, but left the lights off, and pulled off my dripping
wet shirt. Then I took a couple of towels and passed one to Aya. From the sounds, I knew
he had followed suit and was toweling himself in the darkness like I was. Then I stripped
off my pants, which was clinging to my body uncomfortably. It had felt good enough
when I had been there in the coldness, but now I wanted to be warm. Inside and outside.

"Youji,"

"Hmm?"

"I can’t reach my back," He sounded embarrassed about it.

I smiled, though he could not see it. "Pass me the towel." He did, and I dried his back
tenderly. "Are you warmer now?"

"More or less."

"Really?" I felt his hands. The limbs were usually the last part of the anatomy to receive
any heat. "You still feel cold to me." Before he knew what I had in mind, I had planted
his hands firmly on my chest, covering them with my own hands. "Let me help you warm
up a bit."

"Youji," I thought he was about to protest, but all he did was to capture my hands. "You
aren’t any warmer than I am." I could hear the smile in his voice. He lifted one hand to
his lips, kissing each finger in turn. Then he repeated the same service on my other hand.
"Better now?"

We were both heating up at a remarkably fast rate, but it wasn’t directly because of our
meager efforts to warm each other up. Sometimes the body is smarter than the mind. My
arms went around his neck in a tight embrace; I leaned over, and whispered so close to
his ear that he probably felt my breath. "Much better, Aya. Thanks."

We turned to face each other at the same moment, and our lips met in a long deep kiss.
Aya wasn’t very good at it. Oh well, I figure I had enough experience for both of us.

Our hands were busy exploring each other, our bodies pressed close together. My hands
encountered no few scars as they roamed down his back, but what usually increased my
anger at those who had tortured him now only added to the infinite tenderness. With our
arms around each other’s waists, I guided him over to the bed.

Lying side by side, we kissed again. Aya was breathing heavily when I finally finished
savoring those delicious lips of his. He really wasn’t very skilled in this. I doubt he hadn’t
been a virgin, before those perverts raped him.

I reached downwards, touching him sensually. A deep guttural moan escaped from his
throat. "Youji—" I shushed him by the simplest method: covering his mouth with mine.
His entire body tensed when my hands found what I sought, and he gasped involuntarily.
Tearing his lips from mine, his eyes searched my face in a frantic gesture.

I left my face open. "Trust me, Aya." But I slowed down my advances.

"Just—give me—time, Youji—"

So I went back to the activity he seemed relatively comfortable with: kissing. It took
considerable time and skill, but Aya eventually relaxed again. "Think you are ready,
Aya?"

"I—I suppose so."

I ended our deep kiss, my lips moving down, lingering at his taut nipples before
continuing on my way. This time, he let me. I knew I ought to get some jell, but I had
none. No, I do have. I smeared the precum that had been oozing out onto my shaft; a
natural lubricant probably worked as well as anything else. I could only make guesses,
since this would be my first time with a male. I wondered if Aya knew that. I paused at
his entrance. "Don’t force yourself, Aya." My voice was husky. I had intended to
concentrate on pleasuring him, but seeing him was enough to arouse me.

"Just—do it!"

I moved in a little, then eased out slightly, before going in deeper. Bit by bit, I made sure
that he was comfortable with each thrust before plunging in slightly more. His breathing
became more and more labored. It could not be long now. Then—

"Ah—!You—ji!" He came, in waves and waves of pleasure. I joined him there in a little
while, as I reached my own climax. For long moments the two of us clutched each other
in a tight embrace, drifting together in paradise.

When we finally came back to earth, Aya leaned closer, and brushed a kiss on my ear.
"Thank you, Youji." I knew what he meant. I doubt he would be haunted by those
memories again. "I…" he broke off, his face turning slightly red. "Just thanks."

I grinned at him. "I feel the same way, Aya." He would get used to the word ‘love’
eventually. "What would the others say, though?"

"Maybe they wouldn’t notice?" Aya suggested.

I laughed. "Yeah right." He laughed as well.

It felt good to laugh.

Reading Room?