The kitchen. The table in the center. Yohji put an arm under Aya’s shoulders and knees,
hefting him up. He was light. Lighter then a grown man should ever be. It only added to the sick
feeling building in Yohji’s stomach. Yohji kicked the door that was trying to close itself on him
and shoved his shoulder into it, managing to wrestle Aya through the door.
"Ken! Omi!" Yohji screamed, desperate. He didn’t want to be alone with this. Yohji
looked around the messy kitchen and spotted the kitchen table. Flat area. Good. Omi and Ken
rounded around the corner to the kitchen at the same time, both of them breathing heavily and
looking panicked. Omi saw Aya and cried out.
"Oh, Aya-kun! Is he okay? What happened?" Omi shot the questions at Yohji.
"Shit, call the hospital. What the hell are you standing there for?" Ken snarled. Yohji was
dumbfounded for a moment, simply staring at them as they began to fly around the kitchen. 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. He remembered Aya’s last coherent plea.
"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.
"Do it, goddamn it! What are you standing there for?" Yohji roared. Ken was so still for a
moment, it was as if his whole body had shut down. Omi came running back in from the mission
room, the first-aid kit in hand. He threw it to Ken, who caught it by some miracle, then switch his
gaze to Yohji. Yohji had to thank Omi at another time for being a person who acted in the
moment.
Omi put one hand down on the kitchen table and fiercely knocked everything, bowls and
salt shaker, off of the table. Yohji could only hold Aya like a small, broken child as Omi tore into
the living room, knocking something over by the crash that followed, and came back into the
kitchen with a heavy blanket. Omi laid it down on the table and was already off to the bathroom
for antiseptic and band-aids.
Yohji laid Aya carefully down on the blanket. The kitchen table had now turned into an
operating surface for Aya. Aya didn’t move, but instead his body rolled until the table or joints in
his body stopped him from moving. His head lolled to the side, his mouth slightly open as he
struggled to breathe in his unconscious state.
Ken slammed the first aid kit down on the table next to Aya’s head, his hands shaking.
"Shit. Shit. Shit," he breathed, over and over like a mantra. Yohji took a breath, feeling it shake in
his lungs. He carefully rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, letting them rest above his elbows. Ken
had already left without Yohji noticing and had returned with a pillow from the couch. Ken lifted
up Aya’s head with a gentleness that a mother would have, his calloused hands smoothly cradling
that bruised skull before bringing the pillow underneath it and bringing it down.
Omi was back as well. They all looked at each other, the ability to understand intents
instead of spoken words from their missions pouring through. Omi was already at the sink filling
up a bowl with warm water while Ken snapped open a towel and laid it across Aya’s hips. Yohji
prayed, prayed that it wasn’t what he thought it was.
Yohji moved closer to Aya’s feet and reached under the towel slowly, making his
movements as minimal as possible. Aya’s bruised knuckles were still wrapped around the waist
line, trying to hold them up even in unconsciousness. Yohji took those fingers in his and lifted
them away, letting them jerk and grip painfully around his own for a moment. Aya moaned
through his pain and Yohji stilled, trying not to awaken him. The fingers relaxed their grip and
Yohji took the wrist as softly as he could and moved the hand out from the towel.
Yohji switched his view for a moment, glancing at Omi as the boy began to soak a hand
towel. He wrung it out and began to dab at Aya’s face, trying to clean up the blood. Ken was
running his hands over Aya’s arms and chest, feeling for broken bones and more immediate
injuries. He hissed loudly and moaned at Aya’s wrists. They were bloody, torn messes, flesh
ripped and pulling away from the open wounds. He had been struggling. Yohji hadn’t noticed
how badly his wrists were damaged. He looked at his hands, the fingertips red with that precious
liquid that Yohji was all too familiar with.
Yohji locked his fingers in the belt loops of the pants and began to work them off of Aya’s
hips, gently tugging them away, shocked and sick when they stuck and the light tearing sound that
followed. Blood had dried them to Aya’s body. Yohji felt bile rise up in the back of his throat. He
knew. He knew what happened. He pulled the pants over Aya’s knees. Maybe it was from a
different injury. Maybe there was chance that blood was from his back. They were finally out over
his ankles and Aya’s heels rocked on the table with a light thud as Yohji jerked the pants off all
the way.
He hadn’t meant to be rough. Something was building up inside of him. Yohji wondered if
it was at all like the feeling Ken had before he berserked. Yohji had never wanted, straight out
desired, to kill something more then this moment. Even more then anything he had experienced,
Asuka, Noin, whatever love or pain he had felt in his life, he wanted someone to die for even
looking at Aya wrong. Yohji hurled the pants into the corner, not even looking to see if
something was hit. The metal crash that followed told him he had thrown it into something he
shouldn’t have.
"Yohji?" Ken asked, glancing up from checking Aya’s ribs for breaks. God, Yohji could
count the ribs in Aya’s chest. Yohji had always been skinny, smoking and drinking and not eating
and being all around unhealthy with a fast metabolism, but Aya looked like some eating disorder
picture. The breath that moved through him caused the ribs to poke out, making the skin stretch
like a sagging tent.
"I’m okay," he murmured to Ken and Omi’s concerned faces. He was fucking not okay.
Aya was half dead on their kitchen table. He was not o-bloody-kay. He wanted someone to die.
Yohji looked down at the mess that was Aya, mentally checking off all of the cuts and bruises
forming. Omi’s brows crunched together uncharacteristically, his sweet face filled with worry.
Ken was already back to work, touching there, nodding his head there, making a list in his head.
Yohji didn’t want to. Oh, he had wanted to see Aya naked, anyone would, if they were
looking at those perfect hips. Aya was a walking vision of beauty that got thrown into a mundane
world of assassins and florists. He was fucking beautiful, making people look whether or not they
were male or female. Hell, the male ones probably thought Aya was a lady, the way he held his
head up and walked like he owned the street. Yohji had caught himself staring at Aya when he
would walk through a door, stuck helplessly like an animal in headlights. He never once worried
or fretted more than one or two wet dreams he had with Aya as a focus. Dreaming of having sex
with Aya was like dreaming of having sex with some kind of porno star. It wasn’t that Yohji was
gay, bi, whatever, it was that Aya was beautiful.
And seeing the aftermath of someone completely destroying this beauty made Yohji want
to slap Aya awake until he told him who the bastards were. The next person to breathe in Aya’s
general direction was going to wind up choking to death. Yohji released the fist he never knew he
had made.
Gently, slowly, Yohji put his hands over Aya’s bruised knees and pushed his legs slightly
apart. Omi stopped wiping Aya’s face and glanced over. Yohji let his right hand drop from Aya’s
left knee and slowly brought the other leg up a few inches, glancing between Aya’s thighs.
"Yohji-kun!?!" Omi squealed, sounding offended, embarrassed and confused all in one.
Yohji ignored him. He was shocked into utter silence. He put Aya’s leg back down on the
table gently. He reached across Aya’s body and took the half-red towel from Omi’s shocked hand.
Raped. The word didn’t seem like enough to cover the damage. Yohji timidly reached up under
the towel and began to wipe Aya down in a pathetic attempt to clean him.
"What are you doing?" Ken snapped, as if Yohji was trying to make this into some kind of
perverted opportunity. Yohji felt tears sting his eyes. Fuck, why the hell was he crying? Aya was
probably traumatized out of his life. One look at the damage had been enough to want to have
Aya never be touched again.
The inside skin of his thighs had been torn open, bloody rends from fingernails and teeth.
That white flesh stood out brightly between the huge rust-colored welts, some still dully shining
with wetness. Bumps of varying colors from red to yellow were forming up and down his legs,
more so toward his groin. Closer toward Aya’s rear and opening, more blood came, but it was
mixed with another fluid, one that Yohji had seen in the middle of many nights out. No wounds
gave a source for the blood, but Yohji knew in his soul that it was coming from Aya’s insides.
Raped.
"Yohji . . . What are you doing?" Ken asked very slowly, in an obvious effort to try and
control himself. Ken’s hands were clenched in fists in front of him on the table, shaking as the
muscles in his forearms flexed and then relaxed as Ken tried to make an effort not to go into a
fight mode.
Yohji didn’t want to tell Ken. He didn’t want to see Omi’s face clench and get stuck in a
horrified face that still was so innocent. He didn’t want to see Ken’s brows dig together and his
lips pull back in a snarl that he was unaware of when that surge of vengeance ran through him.
Yohji closed his eyes, his hand closing tight over the towel.
"Yohji. Aya’s been raped . . . right?" Ken got out slowly. Omi gasped and jerked his head
toward Ken’s face, his eyes shocked and sad.
Yohji nodded his head, unable to speak. Words didn’t seem able to cover this.
Ken half sobbed and growled at the same time, throwing down a fist on the table, making
Aya’s body roll. Ken froze for a moment, seeing Aya’s unconscious movement, then turned
around and turned to a wall, giving it a kick before slamming his head against it. "I wanna get
them. I wanna know who did it," Ken swore, his sense of honor and justice needing to get blood
for it.
"Wha . . . Why . . . To Aya-kun," Omi choked, one hand shaking as it made his way to his
face, as if in an attempt to block out part of the world. Yohji opened his eyes, looking at the
damage it had on their group. He closed his eyes again, though not as tightly, a little bit relaxed by
shock and comfort that he wasn’t the one to say it. Raped.
"Just . . . don’t think about it right now," Yohji started. "Just get him cleaned up, see how
bad it really is," he suggesting, taking a stance as a leader. He rubbed the towel down the inside of
Aya’s thigh and over the top of his groin before taking it out and wetting it in a bowl. We should
really just use a bath, Yohji thought, as the water turned a deep pink, a few hairs floating to the
top. A fingernail also surfaced, making Yohji hiss and smile almost sardonically at that item of
flesh. Ken moved back to the table, returning to finding the broken bones and seriously bruised
flesh. Omi remained still, another hand wrapped around his middle.
"Why?" Omi asked with tears forming, trying to understand why there were people this
cruel in the world, so close to his makeshift family.
"Omi!" Ken snapped. "Don’t ask that right now! Just focus on Aya, okay?" Ken ordered.
Omi jerked and stared at Ken, obviously wounded by words at the moment. He tensed up for a
moment then nodded to Ken before moving back, taking up a towel again and cleaning Aya’s
body. They worked on in silence, the night beginning to haze into a soft gray-black light drifting
in from the kitchen window, barely any more then a glow in the corner of the eye.

"Any reports from the hospital personnel yet?" the man drawled out, lighting up a
cigarette at the end of it. He was sitting in a leather chair, the back facing the door as he relaxed
into the chair, making it move slightly back. A tall wood desk stood between him and the door,
the monitor and the organized piles of paper between the chair and the door giving the impression
of being little soldiers guarding the important man smoking inside.
Another man stood at the other end of the office, the light bright on his pale features. He
wore a black suit, very nondescript, doing his best to look like an average business man and
coming off as even more of a suspicious and dangerous person.
"Sir, we have not heard any reports. There is an all-clear, no serious injuries that could
match if he was someone able to even disguise himself. No emergency red-lights reported in any
of the local hospitals, one red-light reported at a hospital in the next prefectu-"
"Enough. He hasn’t had a hospital yet? Anything from his places?" The man asked, a
steam of smoke released though his lips. He took another drag before turning around in his chair,
smirking at the other man.
"No, sir . . ." The man said slowly, obviously fearing the wrath borne to the messenger.
"Interesting. I wonder where he could go?" the man asked, looking in the direction of the
smartly-dressed inferior. His own pressed shirt was unbuttoned at the top two, his hair slightly
mussed. The sweat had dried on his face, giving him a worked and tired look. He smelled of sex,
obviously very sated and pleased from the night’s activities.
"I . . . I don’t know, sir," the man stuttered out, confused that his opinion would be
important and trying to find out what the boss wanted to hear so he would not offend anyone
important and risk his unstable job.
"You don’t know," the man murmured out, echoing the statement as if it was the
statement of a slow child. "Interesting. I don’t know either. I’d be very interested if someone
could find him for me, some who had good things ahead of them for that," the man suggested,
dangling an important position before this lower being, hint at his slow mind that he could become
more powerful and a place that would allow him to control others below him.
"Sir, I might be able to help find him, if it would please you, sir," the man hesitantly said
again, hinting back that he would take the position, yet in a horrible blunt way.
"That might be interesting," he said slowly, making the last word drip from his lips.

"We need a doctor," Ken stated, looking down at Aya.
"No hospital," Yohji shot back, brushing a stray hair out of Aya’s sleeping face. "We need
a doctor that won’t talk. Nobody can know that could take it to someone who was listening,"
Yohji mused, not disagreeing with Ken.
They were in Yohji’s bedroom, the lights on a soft glow. Aya was sleeping in Yohji’s bed,
his left cheek covered in a bandage taped to his face, with small strips of medical tape over the
corners of his eyes and mouth, a band-aid to the right on his forehead. Yohji had thrown their
feather comforter over Aya’s body, the edge tucked around Aya’s neck. A pillow propped up
Aya’s right foot, making a large hill in the lower bed.
Yohji had pulled up his desk’s chair to the edge of Aya’s bed. An ash tray rested on the
bedside stand, two packs stacked to the left of it, another pack already open and half-finished,
with the ends of finished cigarettes already beginning to pile in the ashtray. Yohji was perched in
the chair, leaning over Aya as if to stare him into living. Ken was standing at the foot of the bed,
his arms crossed as he looked down at them.
It was a familiar scene. It seemed whenever Aya got seriously injured during any of the
missions, he would wind up in Yohji’s bed with Yohji chain smoking over him, worrying what
was left of his health away until Aya would be able to move out of bed and they would scream at
each other until Aya would finally get to his room and slam the door before he would go missing
for a few days before showing up, obviously upset at having thrown a tantrum, yet still fiercely
angry and blaming it on Yohji.
"You shouldn’t smoke by him right now," Ken sighed, repeating himself again. He did not
expect Yohji to actually listen to him yet had to say the same warning again for Aya’s sake.
"You’re right," Yohji said, looking down at the half-smoked cigarette raised to his lips.
He shakily put it out, as if karma was going to get him and have Aya actually get second-hand
smoke while he was already so helpless. Ken blinked and raised an eyebrow, surprised that for
once he was actually being listened to. Yohji was fretting away, the threat of really losing Aya
shadowing him. He’d never admit he was worried though, only replying bye lighting up a cigarette
and suavely asking Ken if he was a little too worried about little Yohji, sexual sarcasm always
biting.
They both looked at Aya, both of them feeling guilty that this happened to their friend
while they should have noticed something or felt something, not watching bad movies. The sound
of running water and pots hitting together came from the kitchen as Omi washed the dishes,
cleaning up the mess left after all the blood had finally come off from Aya. Yohji slowly detached
himself from the chair and picked up the cigarette and a lighter. He walked over to the large
window and opened it, leaning out on the small balcony meant for potted flowers and began to
light up again, blowing the smoke out into the morning dawn.
Ken watched him, looking at Yohji’s thin frame and tired eyes as he stared out the
window, feeling guilty that his close friends were so hurt and unhealthy and that he hadn’t done
anything. Kens still felt a strong sense of loyalty and need to defend his friends even though they
all thought themselves not worthy of living after all the lives they had taken.
"I’m gonna call Kritiker," Yohji told Ken casually.
"What?!" Ken half-yelled before he bit down on it for Aya’s sake.
"We need a doctor. They’re not even alive by the papers so they’re much less known as
doctors. If there are people listening on the street, they won’t even hear that someone’s walking
to our general area," Yohji explained, taking a huge glowing breath out of the cigarette.
"What if they make us do missions again? They’re not going to do anything out of the
goodness of their hearts," Ken argued.
"Then find a doctor who won’t talk," Yohji snapped back. They were paranoid. They
were going fucking nuts. Yohji knew it was the assassin part of the mind working right now,
running over the scenario, trying to erase paths already, trying to hide Aya from the public, even
though there was no clear reason for them to do so.
"Fuck it, Yohji, you know I can’t! But I don’t want to be their pawn again! I don’t want
to kill anymore, didn’t we decide that?" Ken whispered, trying to remain quiet for Aya and yet
ready to explode.
"I know. I’m not expecting a favor without paying a price. It’s just me asking, don’t
worry," Yohji told Ken, looking down at his cigarette. Already finished. He snubbed it out on the
windowsill, beginning to feel faintly sick and unbalanced with the nicotine. He didn’t light up
another cigarette immediately. He put the pack down instead, feeling that it was time for a
breather.
Ken crossed his arms again and glared at Yohji. "You’re just going to take care of it all by
yourself, taking all the blame, huh?" Ken accused, knowing his words were unfair but not caring.
"Shut up, Ken. If Aya can make it to noon, no doctor. If he starts going down in the
slightest, I’m going to make the call," Yohji snapped, standing up and walking over to his closet.
"Fuck you! You wanna ruin your life again? We can just take him to a hospital! Nothing
will happen!" Ken yelled, losing all control he had over his emotions.
"He said ‘no hospital.’ I’m going to respect that as best I can without letting Aya die. He’s
pretty fucked up right now. So, don’t you argue with me, because I already know what I’m doing.
Don’t call me the only self-centered bastard in this room, you asshole," Yohji snarled at Ken, the
other man’s attitude rubbing him the wrong way. Yohji shoved open the sliding door to his closet,
making it bang loudly. It gave him a small sense of satisfaction as he ripped a coat off of its
hanger, making the hanger flip up and then off the clothing bar. He slammed the door again and
turned around.
Ken looked fit to strangle him. His face was all pressed together as Yohji stalked past him
to the door. "I’m going to get some breakfast, all right? I’ll be back in an hour," he snapped,
slamming the door to the room closed as well. He felt like a fucking child having a fit, and yet he
couldn’t stop himself from being so angry. Fuck Ken.
"Yohji-kun! If you go out, bring back some band-aids, please? The big ones?" Omi called
out from the kitchen when Yohji stomped past the door. Yohji snarled at Omi’s request and threw
the front door open, making it hit heavily and bounce back closed.
"Fuck, fuck! I’ll get your fucking band-aids, you lazy ass punk!" Yohji whispered to
himself, any request at this point making him angry and resentful. He started to stomp to the
convenience store down the street, an early morning jogger running past. She bounced by, raising
her hand as her breath streamed out in a cloud, her tight pants and light running jacket looking
ridiculous in the cold weather. Yohji looked at her and the hand immediately dropped and she
began to bounce faster, her eyes locked forward as she ran past Yohji.
"Shit . . ." Yohji moaned, slapping his forehead as the nice body moved out of sight. He
didn’t mean to look so pissed off. He vaguely wondered what his expression must have been as he
began to walk on the sidewalk, looking at his feet as they moved forward. He couldn’t really be
mad anymore. He just felt numb and tired.

Omi was drying his hands with a towel when he walked into Yohji’s room. Ken had taken
over Yohji’s watch, leaning over the bed and concentrating on Aya’s face, as if to make sure that
he was still breathing properly. Ken glanced up at Omi, standing there uncertainly with a gentle
smile appearing on his face, though his eyes betrayed him. Omi was ready to cry at any moment.
Ken looked back at Aya, unable to look Omi in the eyes.
"How is he doing, Ken-kun?" Omi asked gently, flipping the towel over his shoulder.
Ken looked at Omi. Omi’s face was openly begging for Ken to tell him that Aya was okay.
Omi wanted that superficial comfort that they both knew was a lie. Ken looked back down at
Aya. The right eye had swollen shut, the left one just shy of swelling closed as well. They had
covered the small scrapes caused by Aya’s face being slammed into a floor with medical tape. A
band-aid covered a bruise where the skin had split over Aya’s right eye and a huge bandage was
taped to Aya’s left cheek, where the skin had also been split open. The corners of his mouth were
covered with tape as well, the skin split from his mouth being force opened more then it could
possibly go. The bottom lip was split twice, his lips bruised and swelling as well. The white
comforter was tucked over his shoulders, the white bringing out the pale, alabaster color Aya’s
skin had.
Ken closed his eyes. He didn’t want to lie to Omi. Underneath the comforter, Aya was
broken in half. One shoulder had been out of its socket and had to be put back into place. The
other shoulder had a bite mark on it. Both wrists were heavily bandaged, one nearly broken from
the struggling Aya had done. Three fingers were broken on his right hand, only his thumb and
pointer finger still whole. Someone likely stepped on Aya’s hand. His chest was covered in bruises
and welts, likely from a belt or whip of some sort. Two ribs were broken, and one was bruised.
Ken was surprised to find that Aya didn’t have a punctured lung when he saw the heavy bruising
along his sides. One nipple had a hard bite mark in it, covered by a gauze bandage. His hips had
been torn up, the skin raw from fingernails raking across it. Aya’s buttocks were covered with
whip marks and the skin surrounding his opening had been split. They had needed stitches inside
there. Omi, being the best with his gentle hands, had sown closed the most injurious rips. His left
ankle had been twisted and was bandaged and propped up on a pillow. The other ankle was
bandaged as well, Aya having struggled with bonds around his feet as well.
"He’s starting to get a fever. He’s pretty messed up, Omi," Ken sighed, unable to tell Omi
a little white lie. Omi tried to smile and it fell, his face turning into a sad expression as one tear
began to well up at the corner of his eye.
"Oh . . . Oh," Omi said helplessly, a hand beginning to play with the bottom of the towel.
He didn’t want to cry. He was so sick of sobbing like some woman, being incapable of protecting
his friend. Doubtless that Aya could take care of himself, Omi still felt like he should have felt
something, or be able to do more. He was lost. Another tear started to well up, blurring his vision.
Omi tried to wipe it away with the back of his hand, unable to stop the tears.
Ken got up from his chair. Whenever Omi started crying, he felt useless. Omi was always
smiling even though he had been through so much. Ken couldn’t think of anything to say to make
Omi feel better. He wasn’t very good with words. Anything he said would probably make Omi cry
even more. He took two steps toward Omi, reaching out a hand to comfort him, then stopped,
hesitating. His hand clenched. He wanted to just hold Omi and tell him everything was all right,
just like he would with a girl. Omi wasn’t a girl. Omi could handle the truth.
Still, those tears kept coming. Ken gave up his mental battle. Tears were always a killer.
He moved forward and hugged Omi close, trying to press some of his feelings into Omi, trying to
tell him that he cared and wasn’t going to make him cry, so please stop. Omi’s hands reached
around and fisted up Ken’s shirt, trying to find someone to hold onto as he began to cry in
earnest. He didn’t really care at the moment that he was sobbing brokenly like some child. He just
felt so bad. Ken rested his chin on top of Omi’s head, closing his eyes as he held the boy close.

Yohji staggered a bit before he finally managed to wrestle off his left shoe, then the other,
using his shoulder to balance against the wall. He had a bag full of packs of band-aids, much more
then they would ever need, and a few dark bottles. He had already put down one bottle before
walking back home, then another before staggering into the house. He was already pleasantly
disorientated and warm.
"I’m home," he called out into the empty house, feeling very calm. He just was too tired
to be angry more. He couldn’t find any energy to be mad with or to worry with or to get
depressed with. He just felt calm and numb, alcohol burning in his stomach. He managed to get
the brown bag on the kitchen table, the floor tilting slightly as gravity tried to get the best of him.
Yohji, very experienced in the ways of being drunk, caught himself and began walking to his
room. Halfway up the stairs Omi suddenly flew down, his feet stomping furiously as he looked
like he was trying to flee the scene of a crime.
"Oh! Yohji-kun! You’re home, uh . . . Aya’s upstairs . . . with Ken. I was just, uh,
checking on them, um," Omi rushed out, his hands coming up and flying in the air as his face
blushed red. Yohji couldn’t help the eyebrow that raised up. Omi’s eyes were slightly red and
watery, like he had been crying. The way he was blushing and trying to deny being upstairs,
though there was nothing wrong with it, made Yohji very curious.
He slammed a hand into the wall by Omi’s face. It was harder then he meant it to be, his
weight drifting more then he thought it would. Yohji swallowed while waiting for Omi to come in
focus again.
"Now, what are we up to, mmm?" Yohji whispered, his voice going low. Omi blushed
even redder and the tips of his ears began to burn.
"N, n, n, n-nothing!" Omi spattered, dying of embarrassment. Yohji smirked and Omi
yelled before running down the rest of the stairs and into the kitchen. Now, why he looked like he
was going to get in trouble for something was beyond him.
"Thanks for the band-aids," Omi screamed up at him, making it sound more like a death
threat then a thank you. Yohji smirked, only finding himself amused at Omi’s reaction. He finished
his way up the stairs, more then once grabbing for the railing. He moved into his room and was
already sitting in the chair by Aya’s bed before he even realized he had walked past Ken. Ken was
standing still in the middle of the room, looking slightly dazed as he stared at a point on the
ceiling, his eyes glazed over. Yohji gave him a confused and slightly perturbed look before turning
to Aya’s face. The bruises were still there, if anything turning darker. His face was lightly flushed,
bringing it to a pale white with a bare touch of pink on his cheeks, giving him the impression of
death rolled over. That was a slight improvement.
Yohji put the back of his hand gently against Aya’s bare forehead before drawing it away.
He was warm to the touch, a fever developing. So the color returning to his face was merely
another addition to the injury. A fever. Shit. They wouldn’t be able to handle that on top of Aya’s
already near-fatal injuries. He looked back at Ken, still looking like he was a stunned deer in the
headlights.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Yohji asked, irritation creeping in on the sides of his
favorable numbness.
Ken’s gaze rolled over to Yohji’s face. Ken stared, as if taking the time to match a name
to the face. He looked down suddenly, then turn all the way around, searching the room.
"Where’s Omi?" he asked, his voice sounding funny.
"Downstairs. What have you two been doing?" Yohji drawled, annoyed at Ken for being a
fucking idiot. It wasn’t deserved, but Yohji was very pissed that Ken as demanding his attention
when he could just get more drunk.
"I kissed Omi," Ken stated very calmly, looking at Yohji in a stupor, as if saying it out
loud so he could review the words. Yohji stared at him for a moment.
"Did you go further with him or something?" Yohji asked carefully. If it was just a kiss,
then why was Omi tromping around in the kitchen like he had found himself in a classroom naked
for how embarrassed he was acting. Yohji was lightly confused. He had thought Omi and Ken had
been together before this, for some reason. They just seemed so cute together. It was startling to
learn that they really had been just friends for how well they got along.
"Yohji! No! I did not do . . . something," Ken snapped, his face flushing. Obviously
thinking about those activities, but had definitely not done anything, Yohji concluded. "He was
just crying so . . . Well, I dunno, I just kissed him!"
"Why?" Yohji asked, curious as to why Ken thought the best place to get a first kiss was
in the bedroom of their teammate and friend who had been raped and beaten nearly to death. His
annoyance was growing, anger drifting in. Aya was on his last limb and Ken was causing drama
with Omi.
"I thought he would stop crying! It works on the girls, so I just thought it would make
him stop," Ken tried to defend himself without sounding like a pervert.
"Ken, no matter what he looks like, Omi is most definitely not a girl," Yohji explained
very slowly, looking down on Ken. What a fucking idiot. Yohji however had no right to patronize
Ken, for there had been several separate occasions when he had brought home someone who
turned out to be the opposite sex he was aiming for. Sure, it never really stopped him, just caring
about the sex, but it was an honest mistake for someone to make sometimes when dealing with a
relationship. But Yohji was still very angry that Ken was taking away from his opportunity to get
hammered before eleven o’clock in the morning.
"Um . . . I’m going to go downstairs," Ken explained, moving to the door. Like he ever
had needed to explain why he was leaving before. Yohji threw his body into the chair and started
to wedge the heel of his shoe off with the other foot.
"Have fun. Omi’s in the kitchen," Yohji alerted Ken, feeling slightly pleased when Ken
blushed about the same color red as Omi.
"God, you are such a fucking pervert!" Ken yelled, furious. He slammed the door to the
room and his heavy steps down the stairs shook the framed poster of one of Yohji’s favorite one-
night stands, the picture’s widespread legs threatening to fall on Aya’s face. Yohji ripped open
one of the fresh cigarette packs and started to smoke again, looking down at Aya’s face.
Aya’s pallor was at its worse. Aya was as white as they came, his skin becoming sunburnt
in the lightest amount of natural sunlight. That light skin was now near opaque, the veins almost
visible where his face wasn’t bandaged. A few small beads of sweat were forming on his forehead,
and the flush in his cheeks was worse. Yohji felt Aya’s face with the back of his hand. Definitely a
fever. Aya’s breath was already weakened, pulling in his bruised lungs.
Yohji stayed like that for a moment, merely watching over Aya. He dried off the bit of
sweat with the damp towel Omi had brought in while he was out. He leaned back in the chair,
considering, smoking and blowing little circles in the air, all of this useless activity. When the
cigarette was done, Yohji got up and walked toward the phone.

Omi was putting the band-aids away in the medical cabinet. Yohji-kun had really bought
way too many packages, as if trying to hint that Omi had been ridiculous in his request. Omi
huffed and muttered a few sentiments at Yohji as he moved around the kitchen. Really! It wasn’t
that much to ask. Omi felt his temper rise and realized it was more because of Ken then Yohji.
Omi felt like the biggest, stupidest kid ever to walk the planet. God, he had just kissed
Ken! Like Ken was into guys. Ken liked girls and was really nice to them. Omi had seen Ken yell
at Yohji when the playboy had flirted a bit. Ken didn’t like guys. And Omi had been sobbing his
heart out like a girl. Geez, he just kissed Ken.
"Ken’s probably going to hate me," Omi muttered to himself. His mind played the scene
over again. He had kissed Ken. He was going to die of embarrassment. He would rather jump out
a window then face Ken. Omi had kissed his best friend! He ran his hands through his hair, trying
to clear his thoughts. But of course, Ken walked in the room.
"Hey, um . . . Hey," Ken started out lamely, making the silence that followed even more
uncomfortable. It was obvious that he was regretting it. God, Omi wondered if he could drown
himself in the sink. He didn’t want to be in the kitchen with Ken alone. He just wanted to bang his
head against a wall. He had kissed Ken, another guy.
"So . . . mmm . . . You look . . . upset?" Ken questioned, each word seeming to come out
on its own, disjointed from the rest of the sentence. Omi felt anger flare up. How dare Ken come
and try to comfort him when he didn’t even want to be in the same room as Omi. Omi wanted to
punch him right across that ‘caring’ face.
""Cause . . . um, I just wanted . . . To, uh, tell you that . . . Well," Ken fumbled, one hand
rubbing the back of his neck. Omi looked at Ken’s face only to have Ken break eye contact and
become very interested in the far wall. "Well, that . . . I didn’t mean to, like . . . just go and uh . . .
kiss you . . . Like, if it . . . Well, if you’re mad at me, that’s, uh, okay . . . Let’s just say I was
trying to make you, um, feel better. Ha. Stupid jock me," Ken laughed, his humor fake as he put
himself down.
Omi was stunned. So, he . . . he didn’t kiss Ken? Ken thought that he had kissed Omi . . .
That was different. That meant that Ken thought he was responsible for the kiss. Did that mean
that he had wanted to? Was it a misunderstanding? Omi’s painfully short experience with romantic
relationships didn’t give him any answers.
"It’s okay," Omi started, trying to think about how to phrase his words. "I mean, it wasn’t
a bad kiss, or anything, at least," he joked, laughing a bit at the end. God, how nervous could he
sound? Next his voice was going to start to break.
"Oh, well, that’s good, right?" Ken joked back, both of them trying to turn this into a
comfortable, easy conversation they could deal with. "Because, uh . . . I’d like to do it again,
sometime . . . Maybe! If that’s all right with you, I mean! I mean, no offense, I just was talking
out loud!" Ken rushed out, realizing what he had said.
Thank God that Ken was so honest and blunt! Omi couldn’t have been happier at that
moment for Ken’s big mouth. Now, Omi didn’t have to think up questions to figure out if Ken
was gay or not. It didn’t really matter. Good ole Ken had just been as truthful as he could.
"Ken-kun, it’s okay!" Omi exclaimed over Ken’s embarrassed babble. Ken stopped
talking, looking at Omi as he realized he had been rambling. "Let’s just try it out, okay?" Omi
suggested. He had learned a little bit of seduction from various missions and living in the same
general space as Yohji-kun. Ken seemed to be freezing in place as Omi looked at him underneath
his eyelashes.
"Alllllrriiiighhtt," Ken said very slowly, trying to buy time to think a little bit more. He
took two hesitant steps toward Omi. Was this for real, not a joke? If it was a joke, Ken wanted to
die before he could even start to damage his friendship with Omi. Sex had never been far from the
top of the list, but when it came to Omi, Ken was pretty sure he liked the friendship part above a
sexual partnership with Omi. Besides, what about the age difference? Was he too old? Only by
several years, but with Omi just now a minor, it felt like he was taking advantage of him. Besides,
did Omi even know what he was asking? Maybe it was a misunderstandi-
"Ken-kun, I can see you thinking," Omi teased, moving closer. He felt strangely confident
now. Ken watched as Omi moved closer, his lips moving toward Ken’s. Omi lifted up on his toes,
still a little too short to reach Ken’s face with ease. Ken put one hand hesitant on Omi’s shoulders,
ready to both shove and pull at the same time, just in case.
"Where is he?!" A man’s voice roared out into the kitchen, the back door slamming open
and squealing on its hinges. Several rushed and stressed voices were suddenly audible as two
people dressed smartly in white hospital gowns over the blue operating clothes, both of them
pushing covered tables rattling with tools and vials. A woman walked in on high heels and the
typical dangerously high black miniskirt and a barely legal red top on, a hospital badge pinned
over her right breast on the white doctor’s robe, open and floating around her. Her black hair was
pulled severely back into a smart and exact bun. Her skin was a rich tan with brown eyes that
would have been welcoming had she not been glaring. Ken and Omi stared.
Another man stepped in, his head covered with a hair net and a thick beard covering his
thin face. His sleeves were rolled back and the stains on the front of the shirt told that he had been
rushed from work.
"Sorry about this interruption, but we got a call from your team," the man explained, the
woman turning around and yelling senseless orders at the two other nurses. Ken and Omi realized
they had frozen in their positions. Ken yelped and pushed at Omi, who did the exact same. They
ended up on opposite ends of the kitchen, both looking extremely guilty.
"Where’s who? What call?" Ken snapped, once he had recovered.
"It’s all right, you guys. I called them," Yohji explained as he walked down the stairs.
"He’s in the second bedroom on the right."
The two male nurses were already hustling equipment up the stairs, their voices counting
to three together before heisting up a rolling table and moving it up the stairs. The woman turned
back to the Kritiker doctor.
"I’ll take care of it, sir," she offered pleasantly, the respect in her voice obvious. The
doctor nodded appreciatively then began to start to the stairs. "One of you two, come with me.
I’m going to need some things, a few towels, some heated wat-" The doctor’s demands rattling
off as he climbed the stairs. Omi was already following, used to making himself helpful. Ken
preferred to remain standing in the kitchen, glaring at the woman.
"Hello. I’m taking care of the business end of this for Kritiker," her voice brittle and hard
now that the doctor was gone. Ouch. Ken winced as he recognized the frigid bitch personality. A
personal distaste made him want to distance himself as soon as possible.
"Get on with it," Yohji slurred, showing just a hint of being drunk. Ken figured he must
have put down a shot or something before coming downstairs. Yohji leaned onto the counter top,
his painfully thin frame bending toward the woman.
"Well, obviously the fact you did not report your team being alive is the first," the woman
started, straightening up as she prepared to place herself superior and list what they had done
wrong.
"Uh, yeah, that’s nice. What the fuck do you want?" Yohji interrupted. Ken looked at
Yohji. For the playboy to not even try to pick the woman up must have meant Yohji had picked
up on the woman’s attitude. Either that or just didn’t even think she was worth the effort.
The woman’s mouth was still open, her red lips frozen as she tried to process the fact that
he had cut her off. She obviously thought she was an important one. Yohji cutting her off before
she could even start a tirade was pretty rude. Ken smirked, looking down at this offended woman.
"Fine, then!" She retorted, flustered by Yohji’s causal dismissal. "I assume that you are
Kudoh?" She sniffed, making his name sound like a curse. Ken closed an eye at that. Frigid bitch,
indeed.
"Enough, already. What do you want?" Yohji asked, rubbing one temple lazily. He
couldn’t not have cared more in the world if this woman was to live or die. The woman was
agitated, livid with her face paling in anger. She had definitely gotten too much attention as a
child. She was the type that didn’t realize when people didn’t care about her opinion.
"Here’s your stupid mission, you dick head!" She snapped, throwing a vanilla folder
across the kitchen table. Papers flew out, the organization gone with the woman’s control. "Just
do the instructions, you self-centered prick!" she hissed, her high heels rapping as she stalked out
of the house.
"Way with the ladies, Yohji," Ken complimented.
"Shut up," Yohji moaned, rubbing at his skull. Yohji looked up and noticed a grocery bag
on the counter. Ken started to pick up the files’ content as Yohji found a bottle of whiskey and
proceeded to open it and take a swig from the bottle.
"Uh, Yohji, you okay?" Ken asked.
Yohji seemed distance for a moment before noticing that Ken was asking him a question.
"No. No, I’m not okay. I’m not going to be okay until Aya is able to tell me what the fuck is
going on."
Ken was left alone, slightly miserable as Yohji walked up the stairs and into his bedroom.

Stable. Physically stable. There had been a little bit of bleeding in the spleen from the rape,
but remarkably a small amount of internal bleeding, considering. Yohji was staring at Aya now,
watching his lips open, barely forming enough of a space to push out air, the split lip beginning to
scab over. It was the late afternoon, the sunlight filtering in through the white curtains, a
building’s shadow darkening a side of the room. Everything had a nostalgic orange glow about it,
like the end days of summer.
Those fucking doctors had finally left. Yohji still had his watch on, his fingers playing with
the release for the wire. He couldn’t take it off until he was sure those bastards had backed off
their territory. He didn’t like them. Yohji hated the way the doctor examined Aya slowly and
emotionlessly, like he was some type of experiment. Yohji wanted to kill him when he grunted at
the damage Aya had taken from the rape. How could the man make a reaction like a grunt in such
a situation. Yohji wanted to kill him. He took another swig from the whiskey.
He was buzzed now, finely disorientated. Yohji was sprawled in the chair, the back of his
skull resting on the top of the seat, the remainder of his body stretched out, his legs splayed in an
attempt to keep himself balanced. Yohji felt his stomach burn as the alcohol hit, making him feel a
little bit more numb, a little less homicidal.
Fucking doctors. Ken already accused Yohji of overreacting. Ken already accused Yohji
of being a martyr. Yohji was more then fed up with Ken. Omi also told Yohji he was
overreacting. Omi also was still running around like a mother for Aya. Yohji was fed up with
Omi. He was sick of them both. Yohji let his eyes focus again on Aya.
"Are you done yet?" Yohji asked himself, his voice rough from cigarettes. He looked into
the bottom of his glasses, the floor and his show a rich brown as the liquor sloshed over the rim
and hit his knee. Yohji determined he was acting like a fucking drunk little shit. He finished off the
glass before leaning over in his seat, nearly toppling out of it before he slammed it into the
ground, holding it there in case the glass decided to tip in the next few seconds. When it didn’t,
Yohji lurched back into his chair. Fucking doctors.
They had prodded Aya there, used a shot here, used antibiotics and a hell of a lot of
painkillers. Yohji didn’t think Aya would be able to see straight for the next week with how many
shots they had given him. The doctors had left an IV there, two packs of blood in the refrigerator
waiting when this one was finished. Yohji watched as the small filter inside the plastic bag pumped
the liquid down and into Aya’s upper elbow. They hadn’t been able to put it into Aya’s wrist
because of the damage to his joints. One of those damn nosy male nurses had gotten all friendly
with Omi and had given Omi directions on the IV. Yohji wanted to cuff the kid and demand to
know why he was being nice to people who worked for Kritiker. Then again, everyone was
always friendly with Omi.
The doctor and the two nurses worked about Aya like some bizarre college class, all of
them being very professional and crisp. Yohji wanted to kill them. He wanted to give them a black
eye to compare to Aya and then see how they would handle it. Yohji was angry that they weren’t
showing emotion; that they could look at what had been done and continue on with being
professional. Yohji was disgusted that they could remain removed from the situation. He had
gotten up and threw insults at them, shoving one away from Aya before Ken managed to stop
him.
Ken had been mad. He had never wanted these doctors in their house but Yohji had
demanded it, and then Yohji acting like a spoiled child. Ken had yelled a few choice words here
and there, calling him a martyr and playboy and a few other things Yohji had never really
considered a part of his personality. Of course, Yohji had been yelling some things back that
might have provoked Ken on, but he had been more then a little upset at the time. More then a
little drunk too.
Yohji looked down at Aya again. Still breathing, weakly. Funny. Yohji always
remembered being able to hold his liquor better then this. The hidden stash in his room was gone,
and the grocery supplies were just about out. Looked like he was going to have to sober up out of
necessity.
"Fuck," Yohji repeated, just to make sure he had covered everything.

Breathe. In. Out. It was hot. The breath hurt. It burned the back of his throat. Breathe in.
It was better this time, him taking a slightly lighter breath, making sure to blow it out slowly. He
tried another breath, the effort making him dizzy and sent little slivers of pain through the nerves
around his brain.
Aya moaned. The first thing he was aware of was making a painful, weak moan, trying to
breathe. His throat was sore beyond all belief, the back of his mouth swelling up with bruising so
that he could barely breathe. His lips felt incredibly dry, blistering. His mouth was dry as well, his
tongue huge in his mouth from being dried out. He closed his mouth slowly, moaning again with
the effort, trying to salivate and bring back a small bit of comfort.
He tried to open his eyes. Only one did, and only barely. His left eyelid opened a bit, lazily
widening as if trying to comply with Aya’s brain’s demands and yet unable to. Everything was
fuzzy and had an aurora. All he could see were large objects of different colors. Suddenly his left
temple throbbed and pain rocketed through his face, stabbing from his temple and under his
cheekbone to his jaw. It throbbed, ached, hurt. He gasped, a little panicked now. He couldn’t see.
He couldn’t see anything. He tried to grip something with his fist and only came up with soft
fabric, barely yielding to his grip. It was a comforter.
"Aya?" A voice asked softly. Someone touched the top of his head. No matter how much
he hurt right now, the body immediately reacted, working instinctively even if he couldn’t get his
eyes to open. He flinched away.
And screamed. Everything hurt. It hurt so much. His whole body cried out, pain tears
forming in his useless eyes. His muscles ripped, tore, bones crunched and scabs opened. The
scream ripped the dry skin of his throat. His ribs rattled around his lungs, stopping his breath.
"Aya?" the same voice, a touch louder. He realized the hand was still on his head. He
hadn’t even been able to move away from it. Aya realized that his scream had never been voiced,
his throat too dry to produce any intelligent sounds. One tear trickled out of the corner of his eye
and made a sticky, hot path down his face, over a raw cut. It hurt, it irritated him, and he couldn’t
even wipe it away.
Someone did for him. So spectacularly gently, the skin of a finger barely even skimming
across the delicate hairs of his face, merely putting enough pressure down to let the tear move to
his skin instead of Aya’s. Aya smelled a dull mix of a clean aftershave and soap and light
cigarettes.
"Y . . . Yoh . . . ji?" Aya croaked, his voice barely audible, much less understandable.
"It’s me. Your eyes are pretty much swollen shut, so don’t think you’re blind, all right?"
Yohji informed him, his voice uncharacteristically soft. He was acting like if he said something too
loudly Aya would break.
"Wh . . . e?" Aya couldn’t form the words. He was tired from trying. The pain in his
temple increased and he whimpered, unable to stifle the pain nor the noise. Everything was so raw
and sensitive. He just wanted to find a warm, dark place and die. Just die. He didn’t want Yohji
by him right now. He couldn’t deal with it. He hurt too much. Aya wanted to die.
"Aya, you’re probably pretty fucking high right now, huh? I bet the painkillers are doin’
wonders," Yohji mused, obviously not expecting an answer. What painkillers? What had they
done to him? Was he at a hospital? Aya tried to open his other eye, begging the already open one
to focus on something. Please, not a hospital.
"You’re in my room, okay?" Yohji explained, very lightly. Had he talked out loud? Aya
felt tears form again. He was helpless, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t see. And Yohji was there,
leaning over him, smelling like booze, his weight causing the mattress to slump toward him. Aya
felt like he was going to slide down and into Yohji, just be swallowed up whole. Aya wanted to
die, to faint, something, anything that would make him not be there right now.
"God, what the fuck happened? Why? Shit, Aya, you’re scaring me right now. I don’t
want you to die," Yohji rambled, his voice getting a little panicked and softer, as though trying to
convey something to Aya’s dreams. Yohji was scared? Yohji could fucking see. Yohji could touch
his face. Yohji could talk about things Aya didn’t care about. Aya felt rage at Yohji, building up
from his own. Yohji leaned back from the bed and the mattress lifted up slowly, expanding back
into its original shape.
There was a silence for a moment and Aya wondered if Yohji had left. Aya suddenly
didn’t want Yohji to be gone anymore. He hated Yohji, he wanted to kill him, but he didn’t want
him to leave him alone right now. Not when he couldn’t move. He wished Yohji would speak
again. He still wasn’t sure if this was home, but if Yohji was there it would at least mean he was
safe.
"Don’t mind me, okay? Keep sleeping. Because you’re going to get better or I’ll shoot
you in the fucking head," Yohji snarled, as if he could force Aya to live or die.
Aya smiled, weakly, in his own mind before the large colors faded.

TBC

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