I hate him

Yohji stared at the envelope on the kitchen table. ‘Rent’ was written on it briskly, simply,
in a bold thick pen. The envelope was thick and heavier then one would expect from a regular
office letter. It had not been sealed shut, but the fold tucked in. Yohji opened it up and did a quick
count of the bills in the envelope.
"Shit," he hissed, his eyebrows scrunching together. He was getting so sick of Aya fucking
Fujimiya’s whole little deal with money now. There was 100,000 yen snuggled into the envelope
in a strange assortment of crisp, larger bills and more wrinkled small bills. One had been taped
together. Yohji considering flinging the money away just to show Aya who needed his money, but
then clenched a fist and put the envelope back on the kitchen table, set up against the vase of
flowers, exactly where it had been before.
This was going to have to stop. WeiB had ended, nearly half a year ago. They had no
longer gotten any videotapes or assignments or visits from anyone in Kritiker. They might have
well of died for all the contact they got. Ken went off for a week, obviously trying to separate
himself from the past life of assassination. He came back though, but with a job as a soccer coach
for the local children on sundays. For the rest of the week, he just worked in the flower shop, not
mentioning the fact that he once tore open throats with his bagnunks.
Omi had registered into the local high school and was now sweating out final exams. He
still worked in the flower shop half-time and was the bright, bouncing genki kid as ever, minus a
few needles. Especially bright when Yohji wanted nothing more to sleep in. He was at school at
the moment as well, leaving before Yohji had gotten up. About three hours before.
Yohji himself hadn’t even thought for a second about trying to get away and starting a
new life. The flower shop and the upstairs apartment was pretty much his home now. You
couldn’t get away from it. He just was too bitter to go anywhere else, too jaded. He had seen too
much to sit there in a cubicle. He’d start remembering things, things that shouldn’t be remembered
by assassins.
There was something just holding them all there. Maybe it was the fact that they all had
killed together. Maybe that they had shared some of the inner angst and turmoil resting inside
their hearts and with each other had found someone who was able to understand. Maybe they all
really wanted to be florists.
Yohji snorted at that, crossing his arms as he leaned against the refrigerator. His gaze
dropped to that damn envelope and of course, he began to think about Mr. Icicle-up-the-ass.
Aya’s sister had awakened from her coma and had entered school. She was going to transfer to
Europe in a semester and go to some nursing school. Trying to get those little details about
‘which county’ and ‘what school’ out of Aya would be like tearing back your own nails. They all
had thought that with Aya-chan alive and well and so full of energy, Aya might have returned to
Ran and maybe become, oh, social or something.
Instead, Aya had gone even further away from socializing, even more so when the only
thing he said all day was ‘die’ and goes about killing people. Not a way to make good, everlasting
friends. He was mysteriously disappearing at night, and no one saw him during the day except for
the occasional glimpse of him leaving his room and going to the bathroom. He didn’t work in the
flower shop, but on some random mornings there would be an elaborate arrangement, one that
held more skill then any of them ever could manage. And the arrangement would always just look
sad before someone would buy it.
However, these stupid envelopes kept showing up. Yohji remembered one night when
Omi was on the verge of tears because he couldn’t scrape together enough money to buy
textbooks for school. He could have just hacked into a credit account of some rich prick and
gotten his books delivered to the shop by the next morning, but he refused to stoop to his
computer skills. The next day, there was an envelope with Omi’s name on it, with more then
enough money for Omi to buy books and get lunch for the rest of the year. Omi had tried
somehow tell Aya thanks to his face, but the elusive redhead couldn’t be found beyond the times
he was sleeping in his room. Omi didn’t have the heart to wake him up, so he wrote a letter to
Aya. They were still waiting on a response.
Aya-chan would come by and visit sometimes as well. She would talk to everyone except
the now ever-absent Aya before noticing some potted flower or sunny arrangement with a card to
her. Yohji always saw that there was a ridiculous amount of money tucked into those cards along
with some message that Aya-chan would read to herself, looking half-sad and half-pleased before
she would head back to school. She had told Ken that she had gotten a part-time job to pay for
her apartment, but someone always paid her rent before she could.
And, of course, on the first of the month like today, an envelope would show up with way,
way, waaaaaay more then Aya’s fair share of the rent. Yohji looked at the envelope again and
cursed. Fuck Aya and his whole self-sacrificing bit. Where was the money coming from anyway?
All he did was sleep all day. Yohji knew this because of the trips he would make down the
hallway and the silent opening of the door just to make sure Aya was still alive in his tomb. It
wasn’t a room anymore, but more like a holding place for Aya during the day until he ventured
out at night.
The last time Yohji had seen Aya was about . . . two weeks ago if he remembered
correctly. The redhead had been walking down the stairs. Aya-chan had ricocheted into the shop,
practically suffocating everyone with her cheerfulness, even out-cheering Omi. She told them that
Aya had called her last night and apparently was going to take her out to lunch. Nobody had seen
Aya yet though, so Yohji went into the apartment to go find the asshole.
He paused on the stairs, looking up. There was Aya, making his way slowly down the
steps. He looked into Yohji’s eyes and froze, taking a panicky step back and catching his heel on
the stair behind him, almost falling. Yohji was too shocked to even run up and try to catch Aya.
The man had always been a touch on the slender side, but now the hollows of his cheeks were
making shadows over his too pale features, much too pale, even for Aya. That ugly can’t-match-
with-anything-if-you’re-a-redhead orange sweater, once being tight and form hugging, now was
hanging from his shoulders.
Aya made a grab for the banister and managed to haul himself up. He glared solidly at
Yohji before continuing down the stairs. He and Aya-chan had gone off to lunch, and that as the
last he had seen of Aya for a long time.
Still, that look in Aya’s eyes when he had jerked back was going to haunt Yohji. Aya was
known for not showing any emotions, for keeping those damn violet eyes as blank as . . . Jesus H,
he couldn’t even think of something to compare that special ‘Shin-ne and I don’t give a damn; just
as long as there’s enough clean cloth to wipe the blade clean’ Aya glare that had most of those
creatures in the dark pissing their pants.
Yohji debated between a cigarette and a diet Pepsi. He had promised Omi that he would
try to stop smoking, so instead had picked up diet soda between the cigs. Another form of cancer
that was much less satisfying then nicotine. But, Omi had gotten tears in his eyes and had begun
to cry out that Yohji was going to die of lung cancer in a few years with how much he smoked, so
Yohji had thrown out the pack he had been smoking then right in front of Omi and went out to
buy a twelve-pack of diet soda. And another pack of cigarettes. Okay, so he smoked when the kid
was gone. But now it was outside and followed by a sprit of cologne. He had cut back severely
with this new schedule, and it was killing him just like the damn phenyl. . . . phenol . . . whatever
hell that chemical was that made soda sweet.
He contemplated for a moment, then glaring at the refrigerator, bounded up the stairs.
Screw trying to assuage his curiosity over Aya with something that was going to kill him in
mysterious medical way. If he went up and demanded answers about Aya’s new nightlife, at least
he would be able to see the katana swinging at his face. That was the kind of death he wanted,
short and to the point. He would also like to leave a beautiful corpse if that could be helped.
Chuckling at his own dark humor, he put his hand on the doorknob and burst into Aya’s
little corner of the world. Took one large step in, his mouth opened, then closed. He brought his
feet together and felt his hand drop from the handle in a small state of shock.
The room was completely dark, with the blinds drawn tightly. The only light going into the
room was from the midday hallway. The floor was covered in clothing. Aya, the meticulous neat
freak, had a dirty room. And more so, it all seemed to be . . . girls’ clothing. There was a long
purple dress there, a bra here, two pairs of ridiculous black high heels, and a mound of clothing to
the immediate of Aya’s bed, like someone only had the strength to take their clothes off before
dropping into his bed.
"YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?!?!" Yohji practically screamed at the still figure on the
bed. Oh, God! It was worse then he thought. Aya, the only one out of them who wouldn’t know
the female sex if they landed in his face, had a girlfriend. Whoever this girl was, she was so
enrapturing to Aya that he was becoming a nocturnal freak. Ken had trouble getting Aya to bring
in a delivery of flowers. This is weird. Okay, so he had that Sakura girl for a while, but that was
more because she reminded him of his sister. A little unhealthy obsession with the sister, Yohji
thought, but then pushed it out of his mind.
There was a moan from the bed. Oh, sleeping sex beauty was waking up. How could he
have been able to get a girl in? Yohji couldn’t manage it without being spattered by Ken or Omi in
the morning. Maybe it was because he brought in the loud girls. Hmm, there was something to
think about. Yohji tucked it away in the corner of his brain reserved for women, the majority of it,
and began to navigate into Aya’s room.
"Well, who is she?" he demanded, standing over the bed. Aya was wrapped up in his
blankets, the pillow covering his head, with the sheets all pulled out and twisted. She must be one
helluva wild ride in bed for Aya to be sleeping near vertically on the bed. Yohji waited for the
answer but all he got was a drawn out groan.
"Monkeys, monkeys, bouncing on the bed!" Yohji started singing, putting his hands on the
mattress and pushing up and down, jarring Aya out of whatever sleep he was trying to get. Well,
now he was moving. Improvement.
"One fell off and bonked his . . . head," Yohji trailed off, his bouncing slowing to a stop as
Aya’s mussed head came out from under the pillow. His hair was all pressed to the side from
sleeping and part of his bangs were curling about his eyes. His eyes were hollow and sunken into
his head and, when Yohji looked closer, darkly shadowed from either sleep deprivation or . . .
mascara? No. No no no no no.
But, right across the left cheek was a huge bruise. It was clearly one big beefy ass hand.
Yohji couldn’t think of any normal hand that could be that monstrously big. Aya blinked up at
Yohji, for all the world looking like a son who was being awoken late for school. Then, he looked
down and Yohji became aware of the fact that Aya didn’t seem to be wearing any cloths. This is
going to be one of those days, Yohji thought before all hell broke loose.
"GET THE HELL OUT!!!!" Aya screamed, attempting to struggle out of bed but only
managing to get tangled up in his sheets. "GET OUT!!! What are you doing in here??!"
"What are YOU doing in here, huh?! I thought I was kinky, but you might just be out
closet sex freak!!!" Yohji screamed right back at him. Something inside of him dropped, like his
soul was trying to throw up. That’s not very romantic, Yohji thought to himself, but screw it all, I
think Aya’s being a secretive piece of crap! He wasn’t so sure if he wanted to know about Aya’s
new abusive girlfriend.
"WHAT?!" Aya roared, surprisingly loud for how small he looked on the bed. "You are
the nosiest, loudest, womanizing piece of crap I’ve ever seen!"
"You’re the one sneaking around with an abusive girl, bab-eh!" Yohji sneered back.
"A what?!" Aya snapped, finally managing to stand up off the bed and wrap the blanket
around his hips like it was a sarong. He had a skill to make something so household and common
turn int . . . Yohji stamped out that thought right there. Guy + guy. The equation didn’t really
have a lot to it, but equaled a hold shit load of problems!
"Listen, Kudoh, and don’t forget this. Stay. Out. Of. My. Room," Aya snarled, taking one
step forward and punctuating each word with a poke at Yohji’s chest.
"Oh, fuck off!" Yohji snapped, slapping Aya’s hand down. "You don’t have to keep
acting like an icicle! Jesus, all you do is bitch! You just sit in this room and mope and go out
doing whatever the hell you feel like and giving us all guilt trips over how much money you feel is
necessary to deal out!"
Yohji felt a little bit of his anger bubble die down as he snapped that out. Aya’s eyes
widened a little bit, but that face didn’t change. It felt good to get a reaction out of him, no matter
what it may be. Aya seemed to think that emotions weren’t really needed. Yohji smirked down at
Aya, though he was only a few inches taller.
"You’re a real piece of work, Fujimiya. You walk around here like you’re still the leader.
Guess what? It’s over. No more killing people. No more of this ‘Die, die, die’ stuff to yell out."
Yohji started, feeling the smirk lift into an all out smile. It felt so good to finally tell Aya off. "Did
that get through to you or do you still just wanna whore out those killing services-"
He was stopped by Aya punching him full across the face. Yohji stopped, lifting one hand
up to his cheek. There was blood there. He had busted his face! Aya had fucking busted his face.
"Shut up," Aya seethed, his fist still clenched. There was a little bit of blood on his
knuckles. Yohji straightened up, pulling his hand down from his face. Aya was glaring at him fit to
kill, his eyes glancing once to where the katana was resting.
"Can’t say anything back so you’re just going to physically end this? You’re such a weak
piss off, Aya!" Yohji snarled, trying so very, very hard not to take Aya’s head and smash it out
against the wall.
"Shut up!" Aya snapped again, this time with more force. That ice under his voice was fit
to freeze someone’s face right off. Yohji winced at the swelling on his cheekbone.
"I won’t fucking shut up! You shut up! You are a pathetic piece of work! Did God just
forget to add emotions when putting you together or did you just pop out a bitch? I swear, you’ve
got more PMS then all the women in the world combined!" Yohji started to yell, actually very
nearly screaming. God, Aya just knew how to piss everyone off. It’s like he came with the manual
to everyone’s buttons.
"SHUT UP!!" Aya screamed, tears forming in his eyes. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" he
started to scream, over and over, one hand still clenched at the sheet wrapped around him while
the other hand reached up to rake at his hair, viciously yanking at the side of his head.
"Oh, God, Aya, stop that!" Yohji ordered, moving in to grab his hand. He hadn’t meant to
push Aya this far. Aya only screamed louder when Yohji grabbed his wrist, starting to fight back.
Yohji got a kick in the groin and an elbow to the temple for his trouble.
He was on the floor for some reason. Yohji realized he had fallen against Aya’s bed.
Damn, but he hit hard. Yohji shook some of the stars from his eyes and looked across the room.
Aya was sitting on the ground, the blanket still wrapped around his legs. Except, now it looked
like he had fallen, his shoulders slumped forward and this absolutely desolate expression on his
face, as if he had just lost his heart.
"I . . . It . . . I’ve been . . . I’ve been," Aya started, his voice starting to hitch. His eyes
were focused on the floor. His shoulders were beginning to shake. Yohji felt the silence start to
grow between them, but he didn’t want to stop the fragile start Aya had made toward telling
Yohji what was wrong. Aya looked at some place above Yohji’s head, as if trying to see past him.
His mouth trembled and opened, then closed again.
"Fuck you. Get out," he snarled suddenly, trying the emotionless act again.
"Aya. What’s wrong?" Yohji asked very slowly, damned determined not to walk out.
"Nothing," he snapped back, looking back at the ground. He brought one hand up to his
temple, trying to rub his head. There was a red line around his wrist, like he had been fighting
against some sort of bonds.
"What’s that?" Yohji asked softly. Aya looked at him, a little startled. Yohji pointed at his
wrist. Aya looked at it like it wasn’t his. Yohji wanted a cigarette. Needed a cigarette. God, he
wanted to get as far away from sober as he could right now instead of deal with Aya’s personal
version of male PMS.
"Get . . . Get out! I’m going to work," Aya snapped, obviously not going to answer him.
Yohji lunged forward and grabbed his wrist. Aya froze for a moment, the only noise a car
driving by outside the window, staring at Yohji in an unbelievable mixture of fear and desperation.
In that small moment, Yohji was able to see the red scar around Aya’s wrist, unmistakably some
sort of bond that he had fought with.
"Get out, please," Aya whispered. It was something in that voice, so small and quiet in the
middle of his dark room that made Yohji drop his wrist and stand up. Aya didn’t drop his gaze
with him, continuing to stare at him in that quiet, piercing manner, looking vulnerable and so
alone at the same time.
"I’m leaving," he snapped at Aya, tearing his eyes away and storming out the door.
FUCK! Most empathically, most substantial ‘Fuck!’ ever screamed out loud was trying to escape
past his lips. Yohji managed not to quite stomp down the stairs and snatch the keys off of the
counter. He couldn’t help but kick the door on the way out to the garage. He opened up the door,
almost ready to tear the door off, and slammed it in a most satisfying way.
Cigarettes. Right now.

Aya mechanically walked down the street. Left foot up, down, right foot up, down. He
walked to travel to another place. Simple as that. Step, step. Aya tried to put all of his being into
thinking about walking, but it wasn’t working. Yohji’s argument still was in his mind.
He could still see Yohji’s eyes, completely disgusted with him, the anger welling up over
the sunglasses. Aya was somewhat thankful Yohji had managed to restrain from hitting him,
because he was sure he would be sporting a few more injuries then he already had. The stiffening
of his legs, the pain in his groin and bladder, the tightness around his throat all were reminders
that gave evidence to Yohji’s insults.
"You’re a real piece of work, Fujimiya. Do you still wanna whore?" The comments came
back to Aya, the truth in them hurting. Not as much as the fact of whom it came from. Aya felt
like he could die when Yohji began to yell at him "Can’t say anything back? You’re so weak.
You shut up! You are a pathetic piece of work! I swear, you’re more like a woman!"
Aya held a hand up to his head. What Yohji had said affect him more then he would ever
tell the man. He felt like he was completely empty inside. He wanted to cry and scream and then
Yohji would finally just tell him that it was all right . . . Aya shook his head. That was impossible.
It wouldn’t happen. He wanted a nice warm place to curl up and die in. Was that really getting to
be so much to ask for?
Aya looked up. All of his walking had gotten him to the red light district. He felt neither
scared nor surprised. He just felt dirty and accustomed all at once. He had been here so many
times, there were no longer any feelings of shock of people opening fucking on the streets or the
many intoxicated people that began to jostle by him when it was only five o’clock in the evening.
He would end this. Aya had decided that, after seeing Yohji scream at him, finally telling
him everything that the older man must feel. Aya would stop this ‘job’ and try to come clean, to
come out of the underworld and actually be clean for once. He would do it, and maybe then he
could genuinely be happy.
He was comfortable in Weiss, and though he would never tell them, he could not describe
how much joy he felt when they had all stayed together when Kritiker silently fired them. He
loved Ken’s honest and the warm feeling he brought with him. He loved Omi for always being
there to provide happiness for them all. And fuck them if they ever found out. They were like his
surrogate family, but he’d be damned to ever get a whisper to pry past his lips that he felt even a
moment’s pity for them. If they got close, he’d have to kill them before he had to watch them die.
But, Yohji, the man might as well make him scream out loud. He hated him. Aya truly
hated him. He hated him in the moment Yohji had tied him up in wire. The man didn’t care about
him. Yohji was a pure sexual being. He wanted the lust fulfilled and then would discard people.
Aya couldn’t stand that in any person, especially Yohji. He was an embodiment of everything Aya
hated. He was rude. He smoked. He used women. He had no respect for anyone. He didn’t care
at all for anyone other then his groin.
Yohji would be the first person Aya would ever kill with his bare hands. Aya savored the
idea when his upper arm was painfully gripped and someone threw him against the side of the
wall. Aya looked up as the crowd moved around them, still walking up and down the street, not
the least bit perturbed. Aya looked up at the shadow holding onto him, the late sunlight created a
hazy glow around them. The man was huge, not in an obese way. He towered over most people,
which only made him able to loom over Aya, but not completely block out the sky. Muscles
rippled in his beefy neck, all of them toned to their peak and beyond as they bulged whenever the
near-orge being swallowed in anticipation. Amazingly enough for his over-muscled girth, he wore
a three-piece suit, all in black with a smart white tie tucked into the vest.
"Hey, hey, a little early today. Are you that eager for me, bitch?" the man sneered,
viciously shoving a knee between Aya’s leg. Aya put up a faint struggle before the man grabbed
his balls and squeezed them through the jeans, hard enough to make tears form and Aya’s eyes
clenched closed.
"I . . . I wanna talk to Mr. Haneda," Aya demanded, taking a moment to put the ice into
his voice. They were outside Aya’s place of employment. This man was nothing more then a door
guard, and yet he would be allowed to fuck Aya retarded with a mild reprimand as punishment.
Aya could have easily thrown this bouncer off of him, if he still had some of the muscle and
weight from those days of assassination. But, in this life he had lost most of his frame along with
any self-confidence that he could have used to throw the man off.
"You didn’t come to see me, baby?" the guard slurred, pressing his tongue into the hollow
of Aya’s ear.
"Get the fuck off of me, you goddamn pig!" Aya snarled, completely disgusted. He
couldn’t physically push the man off of him without fear of being drawn into something worse by
him or being severally punished for attacking the employees.
"You little shit! What’re ‘ya getting so uptight about?" the man snarled, pushing away
from him. "I’d fucking smack you up good if I ever get my hands on you," the guard snapped,
moving back to stand to the left of the main doors. His near twin stood on the right, without
making eye contact, but obvious amusement across his face.
Aya smirked down at him as he walked past. They were both only hired guards. They
didn’t mean a thing to him. He was the real attraction in this place, not some rich business man
that might need guards. The guards were in place to guard him and any other of the younger
people that might be checking in for work.
Once inside the lobby, Aya nodded to the prissy receptionist, her older features working
into what could have been a smile as he passed or a glare with her wrinkles. He entered the
hallway that lead to the left of the desk. A door curtain stopped him for a moment as he slipped
inside, down the red-carpeted and red-painted hall. All of it was in a bright china red, setting off
all of the sin going on.
He felt himself slide into the hallway, trying to remove himself as far away from the
building’s activities, but yet still so familiar and close to these things. The hallway doors were
open, with screams and pants and moans drowning out the sound of Aya’s footsteps. Bizarre
music melded into the din, with classical and rap and heavy metal and pop, all songs screaming
with anger. Different people were rolling about in the halls, pressing up against walls or running
away with a pursuer on their sobbing heels. Clothes were flying about as well as condoms and
pills and water bottles with cigarettes and other things, like handcuffs and leather.
Aya walked past the first door with a woman pinned up in the doorway, her feet off the
ground as a man grinded into her, viciously biting her neck as she screamed and raked nails down
his back. Aya didn’t even look back as she began to scream in real pain.
This hallway was too familiar as he walked down it, trying to stay afloat in the river of sex
that ran through it. He was jostled by an older man and staggered as the man’s orgasm died down
and a choking noise was heard as a young man struggled to swallow the older man’s ejaculation
in his mouth. Another shove from a patron as he was leaving in a flurry, obviously embarrassed
yet still aroused. Aya continued walking, managing to just avoid groping hands as a few sought to
have him join in with them.
By the time he had reached the end of the hall, he had to redo the fly on his jeans and
straighten out his sweater. The guards standing in front of the door half ogled and half grinned at
him, both of them knowing damn well what Aya was probably dropping by for. There had been
dozens of times that he had been called in because the boss was horny. It was nothing new. This
was just another ‘job.’ Aya preferred to think in mission means, like this was some kind of job
that had to be done. It kept him removed, a bit. Just enough to keep him adequately sane.
The guard opened the door to the main office, managing a grope and quick pinch as Aya
tried to breeze past. "Just call me, baby," he smiled, trying to look seductive. Aya could have
vomited into that ugly, ugly muscular face. He stalked away, both ashamed and frustrated that
those meatheads were allowed to touch him without payment or punishment.
Inside the main office was a much more subdued scene, but it still matched the hall way.
The room was huge, vast, and dark. It only had one door, which Aya’s back faced now. Dim
lights made pools of a hazy purple and red here, a blue and bright white over there. Soft giggles
and moans strayed through the air, much more impassioned and expressionistic then anything
outside the door. People were in the middle of their acts, moving on pillows or mattress laid out
on the floor, no walls between any of them, just an arm length’s of a dead man’s land.
"I didn’t call you," a husky voice snapped. Aya looked to his left to see his employer. The
man stood at least another foot taller then Aya. He was well-muscled, but not to the over defined
amount like the heaps of flesh guarding the place. He had short black hair, combed back neatly,
with plain black eyes in an oval face. He wore a navy blue suit with a white undershirt and vest. A
silver silk tie adorned his chest, pinned there with painstaking neatness, along with the gold
cufflinks at his wrists. His shoes were also meticulously shined until they reflected the light in their
black leather depths. He looked like the average aspiring Japanese business man, excluding his
height. There was nothing extraordinary in his visage or profile, but in the range of power there
was nothing that could match him inside this building.
"I know. I have to speak with you," Aya returned coldly, gripping his hands into fists and
glaring at him, trying his best to freeze the man’s balls off with his eyes.
"What? What do you want to talk about?" he snapped irritably, his eyes flashing to a
couple as their moans and soft wet sounds become something more urgent and louder. A cigarette
was lit and the man blew the smoke over to Aya’s face.
Aya hated him.
"I’m quitting," he stated, crossing his arms.
Another puff of smoke. "What, a year already?"
"That’s all I agreed to. I’m done. I made enough money to never even think again. I don’t
need this anymore," Aya bolstered, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible while he tried to
drive his point home. He was quitting. No come back calls, no pickups at street corners, no
contract that was legally binding anymore. He had worked a solid year, and that was all anyone
could hold him too.
"You know if I let you go, there are going to be very angry people all over the country.
Some of them might try to get you to work for them instead," the man began, sounding like he
was talking about some report on the weather.
"Fuck them. I’m quitting. They can’t have me," Aya snarled, ready to be done with all of
this chitchat.
"If you stay with me, Aya, there’s protection," the man started again, dropping the
cigarette on the floor and rubbing it out with his heel. Suddenly he turned and had Aya’s wrists in
his hands with his cigarette breath exhaling against the skin of Aya’s ear.
"I never treated you badly, did I?" he asked, pushing Aya against the wall.
"We both know the answer. Let me go," Aya ordered. He had bruises in places that would
never heal from this man.
"Well, Aya, you know the rule. One year, I let you go. That is, if you can live through
your last night here without the hospital," he smiled, his teeth biting into Aya’s ear. Aya hissed
and tried to jerk away, only to have the teeth dig in deeper.
"Fuck you. I don’t need a hospital. Get it over with," Aya growled, even though his hands
were starting to shake.
"I always liked that ‘get to the point’ attitude, Aya. Everyone’s going to miss you. Why
don’t you say goodbye to some of your fellow employees?" The man suggested, releasing Aya’s
ear from his mouth. He gathered up both of Aya’s wrists into one hand.
"We’ll give you a going away part you’ll never forget," he promised, already reaching
with his free hand to the cell phone in his pocket. Aya felt his stomach try to run away from his
body as he suddenly went cold.

"Ken, have you seen Yohji-kun?" Omi asked from the kitchen.
"Nope. Both he and Aya seem to have left in a bad mood," Ken remarked sarcastically,
seeing the pack of cigarettes on the dining room table and the angry handwriting from Aya stating
‘I’m out for the night.’
Ken fell into one of the chairs at the table, his shirt clinging to his back from sweat, his
knees flaking off mud and grass. Another community match between some of the neighborhood
teams. It was always a lot of fun, with bar-b-ques and kids and parents jovially laughing and
conversing with everyone about what their child had done. It had been a perfect afternoon.
"You’re spreading dirt everywhere!" Omi cried, turning around from the kitchen counter.
There was a mess of food behind him with several bowls and something cooking in oil on the
stove. Omi had an apron on over his usual shirts and shorts, but his hair was held back in a
bandanna.
"Whadda mean, Omi?" Ken asked innocently, crossing his feet on top of each other. On
top of the table.
Omi said a few choice words to him that always stunned Ken. The first time he had ever
heard Omi curse he swore he had heart failure. It never fit that smiling face, but yet something
was so comical about Omi swearing up and down the wall that he was going to kill Ken. As Ken
began to laugh so hard tears formed at the corner of his eyes, the back door opened and closed.
"I’m hooooommeeee, ladies!" Yohji’s announcement flooded through the apartment. Omi
suddenly froze in mid-tirade and sniffed the air. "NO!" Yohji walked into the kitchen just in time
to see Omi lunge to the stove and try to save something that was burning.
Ken and Yohji looked at each other before Omi turned around, with real tears in his eyes.
"I’m sorry! I burned it! I really messed it up! I thought we all could have a dinner together
but I . . . burned the fish!" Omi sobbed, something black and shriveled ‘popping’ in the pan still.
Yohji and Ken laughed.
"Oh, kid, it’s okay!" Yohji finally managed to choke out after he and Ken stopped
laughing. Seeing Omi immediately sucked out the last of his anger. After going for a cigarette run
and a long drive, he had felt better. Still a little pissed at Aya, but better. Now that Omi was
nearly sobbing because of a fish, he couldn’t feel a remote spark of anger. "Okay, okay, let’s go
get some dinner outside this place, for once?"
"But what if Aya-kun comes home?" Omi asked, biting the bottom of his lip. "I want us all
to eat together!" Omi suddenly struck Yohji like the kid who sensed his parents were divorcing
and was trying to patch things up before they completely fell apart. This eating together thing was
more then being hungry, it was his attempt to stop the constant fighting that seemed to get
engaged in whenever Aya was with them.
"It’s all right, let’s just grab some take out and some movies. We’ll hang until Aya shows
up," Yohji suggested.
"Really? That sounds great! But, Ken-kun, you better change first," Omi suggested. Ken
looked up from the kitchen table in mild shock. "I can smell you from over here."
"You damn kid!" Ken mocked-roared, getting up and lumbering over to Omi with growls
and his arms held up high. "You’ll pay for that!!"
Yohji smiled as he listened to Omi scream insults as Ken began to chase him around the
house.

Aya tried to kick out, tried to punch out, claw, tear, move, move away! He couldn’t
squirm enough, those rough hands dragging his skin as the muscles twisted under it, grinding
bones together as he tried to move away, his sweater dragging down to choke him around the
neck as more hands held him down with different grips. They had him on the floor, finally
managing to pin him down after the past few struggles.
The rules had been vague, and Aya had taken advantage of it. He could end his contract if
he lived through the night without a hospital. They could beat him, rape him, anything but
outright kill him. No fatal wounds, but severe torture was allowed. That didn’t mean he had to lie
down and let it happen.
He had been fighting with all of the guards for the past several hours, or it could be past
several seconds. Maybe minutes. He didn’t know any more as he kicked out and caught someone
underneath the chin. There was a cry and a punch in the back of Aya’s shoulders. He fell down,
gasping for breath, as another blow landed in the small of his back. He was on his stomach,
vulnerable.
Aya wanted to panic, to run, to just lash out. Most of all, he wanted to die. The men were
beginning to kick him, moving in a circle around him as he struggled on the ground. He felt so
weary of it all. He was tired. He wanted a place warm to crawl into and never come out again
from. He wanted his own place to hide in from all this. Somewhere warm. He realized that he was
going unconscious.
He felt them kick his sides, and for some reason all he could think about was the argument
with Yohji. All it took was Yohji calling him a whore and now he was going to quit. He wasn’t
going to let Yohji get away with slurring him. Fuck Yohji. He was going to kill him. Once he lived
through this.
"Don’t faint on us now, baby!" Someone cried distantly.

"No," Yohji said, very firmly.
Ken and Omi turned to him with wide eyes and both, in unison, at the same, exact,
annoying fucking instant, whined out "Pleeeeeeaaaaaaaseeeeeeeee?"
He hated them.
"Come on, Yohji, you’ll like it! There’s a sex scene," Ken tried to persuade.
"I’d rather make my own sex scene instead of watching it, thank you. Pick something else.
You both have seen it, so get something new," Yohji snapped. When he had kids, they were going
to fu~cking love him.
"You’re no fun," Omi mumbled, putting ‘Titanic’ back on the shelves. Yohji inhaled the
stale, air-conditioned oxygen of the local Blockbuster. After another cooking attempt and one
take-out order later, they had all decided to get some movies to entertain themselves until Aya
came back so they could all bond. Something like that. Yohji was ready to start smoking regularly
again as Ken and Omi reached for another teen flick.
Two grown, male assassins who usually disemboweled or poisoned their targets in five
minutes were trying to pressure Yohji into watching a chick-flick. He only went to those with
dates in movie theaters. Little to say, he never really did watch the movie.
"What are you smirking about?" Ken questioned, accompanying it with a poke to the ribs.
Yohji looked down at the movies, his eyes catching on some zombie film. He suddenly
pictured himself rising up from the dead, ravaging the village, but instead of ‘brains’ it was
‘cigarettes and Jack Daniels and a hotel room.’
"You guys are definitely driving me over the edge," Yohji muttered, shuffling behind as
Omi spotted a new Disney musical.

Aya came to with someone holding onto his wrists, stretching them above his head, with
another landing heavily on his knees and grabbing his hips. The man pushed him down hard into
the ground and stabbed his knees down over Aya’s, making him effectively unable to move away.
Aya felt dizzy, disgusted, and realized that he could not have been knocked out for more then a
few seconds.
There was a grunt and another man joined the dog pile, throwing his weight across Aya’s
chest. Unable to breathe or find any sort of room to move away, Aya began to trash, trying to jerk
his wrists away. The man holding them let his grip go with Aya’s movements for a second, then
slammed them back onto the ground with bruising force and tightening the grip, holding onto his
wrists painfully. Aya heard his breathing hitch as he begun to be aware of the hopelessness of
being able to get away. He was struck by the closeness of the men’s bodies with their grunts and
restraining. Aya started to panic, feeling handcuffs lock painfully around his wrists.
The man holding his hands let them go and stepped on the chain between the handcuffs,
holding Aya restrained. The other two men noticed their friend’s actions and moved off, leering as
if they had already won. The other guards who had been holding back moved in now, like animals
sensing their prey was being brought down.
There was a panicked grunting sound, as if someone was trying to hold themselves
together when they were about to explode. Aya realized it was his voice, jerking away from the
handcuffs and being wrenched back by his joints that refused to slip out of their metal bonds.
Another man leaned in, the leering grin on his face unmistakable as he wheezed in anticipation,
soft, wet throaty sounds whistling in his throat making Aya’s arm muscles tremble as they began
to trash with more fury and fear as this thing came at him.
The man put one beefy hand into Aya’s shirt and twisted, rending it from his body in
burning tears of fabric. Aya grunted, the cold of the floor hitting his back and refusing to allow
Aya’s warmth to be held in it. The man’s hand struck out and had Aya’s neck throughly wrapped
around and held his chin up as the other went to the fly button on the pants. His hand cruelly
shoved into the waistband, his fingernails scrapping Aya’s lower stomach as he gathered up the fly
and yanked there, ripping the fly open. Aya began to struggle furiously against the handcuffs, not
minding the way the skin began to chafe and tear, and the fist holding his head immobile, suddenly
tightening at Aya’s renewed struggles.
Aya began snarling, his teeth gnashing at the air as he tried to buck the man off. His
assailant only smiled and leaned in closer, pulling on the ruined front of Aya’s pants and working
them down around his knees, restricting his legs now as well. The man moved down Aya’s body,
releasing his hold on Aya’s neck and settling his weight on Aya’s knees and moving his hand
down along Aya’s side, hip, then reaching out and squeezing Aya’s penis with enough strength to
cause his eyes to water with pain tears and his voice suddenly cried out with shock and pain
before he could gain control again, pinching his eyes close and tossing his head back, jerking
plaintively at the handcuffs. The man’s foot dug in, pinching the skin and breaking it.
"Oh, baby, we are going to miss you," the man breathed out, panting and licking his lips as
Aya writhed below him, his pale skin becoming damp with sweat. He adjusted his weight and
moved to allow the rest of the pants to be ripped down, gathered around one ankle as Aya tried to
kick out. The man snorted at grabbed at Aya’s ankle, lifting it up and locking it around his
shoulder, forcing Aya onto his upper back, his bottom lifting up. He began to kick and trash,
pulling at his wrists even harder, blooding finally flowing and making them cuffs slick. Someone
moved in and pinned down Aya’s loose leg, stretch him out painfully as the man adjusted his
shoulder under Aya’s thigh. The man settled between Aya’s legs reached out and pinched the
sides of Aya’s face, forcing his jaws apart and making his teeth dig into the sides of his mouth as
he tried to bite. The man put his right fingers into Aya’s mouth, his skin rough and burning his
tongue with a stinging taste, his fingernails scraping the insides of his mouth and the skin of his
fingers rubbing against Aya’s tongue the wrong way. The man felt the insides of Aya’s mouth as
he grunted and tried to bite at him, only injuring himself and causing blood to run against his
teeth.
The man removed his now saliva-slick fingers from Aya’s mouth and settled onto his
haunches. Two fingers caressed the sensitive skin around Aya’s hole, circling in close before one
plunged in. Aya couldn’t help the cry. The skin strained, a small bit at the end burning. It hurt,
digging into him, warm and splitting his hips apart from the inside. It began to move around,
twisting against the sensitive insides, another finger slipping in behind it, causing skin to split and
bleed in an effort to allow the man’s fingers in. Aya cried out as a third was added, making him
feel like he was going to burst in half from his bladder and out. Intensive pain flared in his bowel
and his breath left him as one of the fingers brutally jammed against the sides of his prostrate.
Aya cried out again, his voice being torn from him, starting out as a scream before
suddenly turning into a grunt, then something higher-pitched. His fingers switched as the fingers
found a rhythm inside him, slowly and painful, intrusive and overfilling him. Another hand came
up and began to rub against his balls before grasping the shaft in one hand, causing Aya to twitch
and spasm. His head tossed back and forth helplessly, airy grunts being ripped from him as his
body began to move with the force of the men on top of him, up down, in a wavelike motion.
He felt a shock of pleasure rush through him, a flush of pain from his groin, sending his
body into tremors. It burned and weighed him down, filling up his entire being. His ankles
trembled, one foot twitching in the air, the other leg’s knee shaking underneath the man pinning it
down. The shaking made him acutely aware of the feeling of his legs being stretched open, leaving
him completely vulnerable, making Aya start to jerk to try and close his thighs. The little shocks
continued, leaving his hips convulsing, completely emptied and suspended.
The hand moved away from his groin, leaving Aya alone to the fingers stabbing into him.
An erection had formed and bounced between his thighs, as if embarrassed it had ever come to
life. He jutted forward onto empty air. He felt completely empty as his body began to spasm,
suspended without release, full beyond belief, ready to burst. Another trust from the fingers and at
the exact same time a hand closed violently around Aya’s cock, making him scream as an orgasm
was forced out of him. Aya fell back bonelessly, sweat covering his body as his shuddered, the
hands finally moving out of Aya’s groin and insides. Aya felt horrible open, his legs shuddering
but the muscles reacting like water with no strength to his command that he still try to kick out.
It was then, when he was completely open and half-dead to the world with exhaustion that
the man replaced his fingers with his own erection. Aya screamed out, lacking the strength to
move away as the man began to thrust into him, his own cock splitting Aya apart, driving into him
with all the force that it could muster, the sound of his balls slapping against skin echoing into
Aya’s ears. He was shaking, unable to fight when his prostrate was again stimulated.
Aya moaned, weak, his body unable to cope with a second arousal so soon after a forced
orgasm. The man whose foot stood on Aya’s handcuffs lifted up and Aya could only move his
bleeding hands closer to his head, pulling weakly on his hair in an attempt to take awareness way
from the pain of been pounded into and the intense pleasure of that one spot being caressed and
put it toward a small painful tug on his scalp. The man’s foot had left, and now the man leaned
over Aya, his mouth covering Aya’s lips, enclosing them in a wet, hot mouth. The man grunted
against Aya’s mouth as Aya’s head lolled to the beat of his rapist’s arousal.
The upside down face snorted hot breath against the bottom of his chin as he sucked in
more air through his nostrils. A hand pinched the sides of his mouth again, forcing his jaw open to
the man’s tongue. He began to explore the walls that had little cuts and divots had already been
chewed by Aya. Aya sucked in air through the man’s throat instinctively, gagging at the unfamiliar
feel of the man’s breath. He chocked, stuck between the man pounding into him and the one still
trying to coax a second orgasm from his trembling groin and this shadow that covered his face.
He began to gasp for air, clenching the muscles of his body around the shaft still firmly
buried in him. He felt the splitting sensation again, his whole body pulled in too many directions
when suddenly his world explored in a haze of white spots and an unbelievably burning hot
sensation filling him from somewhere behind his groin. A body collapsed on top of him, dropping
his numb leg off of his shoulder. The hand at his groin was trapped against his balls, underneath
the weight of the man. It began to scrape and pinch, causing Aya to moan and sob, quivering in
attempts to throw them off. The man trying to rape his mouth moved off. There were a few words
exchanged and Aya found his limp body being dragged up until his knees splayed out on either
side of him, his handcuffed hands flopping against his reddening groin. A warm, sticky gel oozed
out of Aya’s ass, dripping down the back of his thigh. Aya moaned, trying to move away from the
sensation of blood and semen oozing out of him, but was unable to even clasp his thighs together
and could only be held up by a grip on his hair.
Again, a hand clenched his mouth open, but instead of a mouth, a warm, soft tip of an
erection gently slid in, like an invited neighbor. The hand left his mouth and clenched into his hair,
two fists on either side of his head. The penis moved into his mouth, slowly, over his tongue and
against the back of his throat, causing Aya to start to vomit unwillingly, his abdomen wrenching
as his stomach started to try and expel itself. Someone punched him in the upper back, causing
Aya to open his mouth to grunt as he fell forward against the man’s groin. Immediately he began
thrusting wildly into Aya’s mouth, bruising the back of his throat and making him want to be
intensely sick.
Aya felt the white stars start to build up again. Something behind his eyes ruptured,
holding him still for a moment, completely rigid. He then began to truly slump against the force of
the penis still driving into his mouth. The hand adjusted its grip, still holding his barely conscious
body up in order to gain release. The man thundered into Aya’s mouth, hitting the back of his
throat and throwing him backward as he lost consciousness.
The last thing he could think of was that he hated Yohji.

"Aya-kun’s not home yet?" Omi asked. Again.
Yohji looked at the clock. It was one o’clock. He looked back to the television, the movie
flashing across the screen. Ken was practically passed out on the couch, his head thrown back
over the edge, his mouth open as he snored lightly.
Omi was sitting right next to Ken, in the middle of the couch with Yohji on the other side.
He looked at Yohji with those big, bright eyes, all watery in the light of the tv as he tried to get
Yohji to lie to him and say ‘Of course he is, Omi! He just stopped off to pick up ice-cream for us.’
"I dunno, kid. He’s not quite late yet," Yohji told him honestly instead.
Omi sighed. "It’s been nice tonight, though," he said half to himself.
"Actually, it has been," Yohji once again answered truthfully. He couldn’t remember the
last time the majority of them had all been out together. Dinner had been nice, with occasional
stories told by Ken of kids falling in soccer practice that nearly made Yohji spurt something out of
his nose with laughter. Omi had told him of the high school stories that had been going on in the
year that Yohji had been completely unaware. Being an assassin had apparently jaded the kid to
the vicious world of rumors and gossip. It was still painful to regress to high school though. As
memories of that one night in the classroom with Saito-san and the perfect grade he had for the
rest of the year came back, soon they were all swapping stories like a messed up knitting-circle.
After a dinner that had lasted three hours, they had popped in a movie, lying to each other
and saying Aya would be there in a few minutes. the movie was some kind of action flick and they
had watched for the first few minutes in an uncomfortable silence, Omi staring at the door as if it
would make Aya show up. Then, as more attention was given to the film, they all began to laugh
and chortle and began to yell out ‘Yeah, right!" at the screen as the action picked up. The serious
action/adventure had degenerated into a comedy as Ken through a piece of popcorn at the screen,
screaming with laughter at some of the fight scenes.
As the movie went on, Ken suddenly fell asleep and their loudest commentator was out for
the night. Omi and Yohji continued their banter but soon it fell, both of them glancing at the door
and clock. They both were worried over Aya and wanted to see him come in the door. Yohij
didn’t care if he didn’t say anything more then his characteristic grunt. He just had this worry-like
feeling and needed to see Aya come home.

Aya opened one eye. It didn’t open all the way. It was almost swollen shut. The other eye
wasn’t exactly listening to his brain telling it to open. His one functioning eye didn’t even focus
well. Everything was a little bit hazy. He could pick out a pair of shoes though.
He was sprawled in a pile of bodies, some half-naked, others clothed, others not. It was a
dogpile of exhausted, sexually drained bodies, all of them reeking with drugs and alcohol and
sweat and semen. Aya felt something rear up in his stomach and he was helpless as he vomited
onto the floor, unable to do more then roll his head away from the fetid liquid as it surged out of
his mouth.
He breathed heavily for a few minutes, trying to concentrate on anything beyond the
incredibly acidic taste in his mouth and the tang of blood that was mixing with it. He was numb,
beyond pain. His head felt like it was floating away from his body, and yet at the same time his
skull kept it connected to his neck. It was painful and relieving at the same time. He lifted his
body up from the ground, grunting in pain and effort, only managing to make it to his knees.
He looked around and began to crawl away from the center of the mass of bodies. He
wasn’t up to walking. Not yet. Behind him in the aftermath of the orgy, someone grunted. The
surge of absolute freezing terror made his bowels twist up painfully and he chocked on his own
panic. Maybe he could walk.
His crawling picked up speed and his hand encountered a pair of discarded pants. When
his fingers brushed against the fabric, he suddenly realized with a sick feeling that he was naked.
Aya felt panic rise up again at the thought of being naked, ever again, much less in a room of his
rapists. He stopped his painful crawl and maneuvered into the unfamiliar slacks, the fabric
scratching his bar legs. He whimpered and gasped at the pain of trying to move his legs, his groin
and ass abruptly filling with fire and sparks of pain reaching to the soles of his feet. The pants
were too big, covering his feet and pooling around his waist. He fisted up a bit of the pants,
tightening them agonizingly around his tender hips. The pain was small if it meant this meager
amount of protection.
He surged to his feet, concentrating all of his pathetic strength into standing up. Managing
to waver on his feet, he began to stagger to the door. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go
home and put on all the sweaters and pants and belts he owned and get under his bedcovers and
have someone tell him it was alright and it would never happen again. He wanted to kill Yohji
too.

Yohji yawned and stretched before opening the refrigerator. The kitchen light was the only
one on in the whole house as Yohji shuffled some condiments, hoping to find something better
behind them. Ken and Omi had long gone to sleep and Yohji was left with a midnight snack and a
kitchen that had been the victim of movie popcorn. Yohji sighed and moved a half-full bowl of
popcorn across the counter, finding the bread behind it.
He put a slice in the toaster, hoping that toast might help whatever he was craving. The
toaster began to hum in the silent house, its wires heating up. Yohji moved to his left, opening up
a shelf to get a plate.
Thud.
Yohji blinked. Did he hear something? Sounded like a footstep. He shrugged and stifled a
yawn with his hand. Probably didn’t hear it. Being awake later in the evening by yourself made
you a little bit paranoid.
Thud.
Okay, something was out there. But was it a cat, or the vengeful one-night stand who was
finally going vigilante on all playboys? Yohji picked up a butter knife. Rounded edge. Who the
hell thought up childproof knives? Fuck. Yohji looked at his bare wrist and then made a fist. He
may not have a wire, but he had killed people up close and personal before. One loud burglar was
not going to beat him at a fist fight.
Yohji moved deliberately, slowly to the backdoor of the kitchen. There was a pant, or a
grunt, and a shadow moved on the floor. Yohji knew it was a person and lunged out the front
door, his fists up to face down the alley.
Nothing.
Yohji Kudoh hated one thing above all: looking good and not having anyone to see it. He
looked behind him to the dead-end, seeing nobody, and glanced back to the street. No one. He
turned around and had the door half open when he noticed Aya.
Aya was curled up to the right of the door, his back against the wall of the house. His legs
were sprawled below him, like he had fallen to his spot. His chest was bare and he was only
wearing a pair of unfamiliar pants, wrapped above his hips by Aya’s hand holding up the
waistband. His head was bowed, his hair a blaze of red with the light from the kitchen hitting it.
Yohji dropped to his knees beside the bloody and bruised figure. "Aya, come on, Aya,"
Yohji sputtered out, putting a hand underneath his chin and lifted Aya’s face up. His eyelashes
were held tightly shut, his eyebrows trembling. His face was a mess, a cut on his forehead and his
left cheek was split. Both his eyes were swelling and blue already, dried blood from a broken nose
splattering over his swollen and split lips.
"Yo . . . Yoh . . ." Aya breathed, his eyes trembling open. Aya didn’t move, just let his
eyes drift til they fell to Yohji’s face. "Yohji . . . Ha . . . Have . . . you been . . . here, l-long?" Aya
rasped out, struggling with his breathing.
"Don’t talk, don’t talk Aya," Yohji rushed out. "I’ll call the hospital. 9-11, right?" Yohji
rambled, putting a hand under Aya’s shoulders. He stiffened and flinched away, his breathing
erratic.
"No . . . no hospital," Aya snarled, one hand reached up and buried itself in Yohji’s shirt.
"Hell, Aya, you are a fucking mess. You have to go to the hospital now, it’s not even
funny," Yohji ranted, realized he was screaming in Aya’s face.
"Fu . . . Fucking bastard," Aya gasped out, cursing in the face of all odds. "Listen to me,
no . . . no hospital. I did . . . I did this for you . . . Don’t ruin it . . . No hospital," Aya wheezed
out, his eyes shuddering closed. He fell forward into Yohji’s arms.
"What? What?! What the hell do you mean?! Aya? Aya!" Yohji cried out, shaking the
body. Aya didn’t rouse. Yohji moved quickly, gathering Aya’s legs up and lifting him up.
"Ken! Omi!" He screamed into the house, moving Aya to the kitchen table. They were
already running into the kitchen with panicked expressions on, both of them having awakened to
Yohji’s earlier screams.
"Oh, Aya-kun! Is he okay? What happened?
"Shit, call the hospital. What the hell are you standing there for?"
They yelled out, Ken moved to the phone, Omi ran to the first aid kit still in the mission
room.
"No hospital," Yohji ordered quietly. In that panic, his voice cut through their frantic
yelling like a knife. The silence following it vibrated.
"What? You can’t mean that!" Ken argued, aghast and not believing.
"Shut up Ken, and get some bandages. If I take him to the hospital, whatever this is for is
totally lost. He did this for me," Yohji repeated, shell-shocked into a numbed state.
Ken just stared.

TBC

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