Always Cold
The Weaver Atropos
((Time-slot)) 4:39--7:29, Sunday March 27, 2005 Easter
((Warnings)) A contemplative Ken and a silent Aya
((Comments)) I felt like writing something. Call it the force of inertia. It's very much PWP, minus the lemon.

Thanks to Krysana for some much needed facts and corrections!

Always Cold

"Aya?"

Ken looked up at the redhead from beneath sleep-laden lids. "Are we there yet?"

A grunt later, and Ken guessed that no, they weren't there yet. He didn't think he could stay up for much longer, much less find a comfortable position, as he was so cramped into the small space Aya's porche permitted.

It wouldn't have been so bad, if it hadn't been for the fact that the blunt of Aya's katana was wedged somewhere against the middle of his thigh. And it hurt like hell—which was why he'd been writhing around for the past hour and a half, with the redhead glaring at him every few seconds on account of it.

As though it were his fault that Kritiker had relocated them. Again. It was only temporary, made more out of precaution than any real fear that they might be recognized. They'd been involved in a lot of missions, as of late. Nevertheless, Kritiker provided them with things they all needed—whether these be material or emotional—and they put up with the situation out of sheer necessity.

Or, at least, from what he gathered, Aya did. He could probably survive well enough on soccer coaching, scrounging up enough to at least pay for a decent room at some apartment or other…and he was sure someone would room with him—either Youji or Omi.

But Aya…Aya depended on his Weiss income to support his sister's treatment and pay for the accompanying hospital bills. As it was, since she was hospitalized in the Police Hospital, she also had some measure of security to top it off. And all Aya really cared about was his family. He'd kill for it…that much they already knew.

Ken turned slightly on his side, gaze focusing somewhat hazily on the passing scenery, squinting his eyes a little against the dark to make out the shapes of trees, cars, and the evermerging gap between sky and land.

They were far enough from the city to be able to admire the stars above—they glittered luminously now that they didn't need to compete with Edison's discovery—and Ken found himself counting them absently.

This was exactly why he wasn't particular to traveling with Aya. It wasn't that the man was bad company—he wasn't. He was neat, clean, and didn't have an imposing presence, unlike Youji, who had no qualms about tossing his dirty shirt in some corner of his bedroom and letting it sit there and rot…for an indeterminate amount of time. No, Aya was considerate—to the point of it being an almost psycho-obsessive habit, but had an odd way of displaying it.

It was probably in his nature—he had always seemed more the quiet, introspective youth, than the congenial extrovert. The brunette frowned a little and shifted his weight. He wondered if he had always been that way. There were times when the redhead would act so kindly and gently, that Ken would wonder if he truly was the impassive man he acted out to be.

It messed with his mind more times than he would have liked.

And it made him think more than he liked to.

Having no one to joke around with—though, he would admit that Aya had a strange sense of humour—gave him ample time to ponder at things he would have otherwise pushed into his very subconscious and faced only in his nightmares.

Things like Kase.

Groaning to himself, Ken brought his hands to his face and rubbed wearily at his eyes. Kase, Kase, Kase. Always Kase. It had been a good two years since they had last met, and just the same amount of time since he had killed him. God, but if he didn't relive that memory every waking moment of his life—

It had been a night just like this one, too…the moon had been up and shining, bathing the earth in an ethereal glow that made it more difficult to see clearly through things—almost as though a fog had settled inadvertently. He supposed the atmosphere had mirrored his own sentiments—he had known his duty well enough, but his judgement had been clouded; clouded by memories of things that used to be.

It had been difficult for him to grasp, at first—the idea that it had been Kase—his best friend, who had organized his beating at the warehouse…and the fire that followed. He could damn near still feel the flames licking at his wrists…and he was hot all over again, and he was on fire.

"Ken?" Smooth, cool hands were at his shoulders, shaking him.

"Ken?" the tone was slightly more wary, and fingertips were sinking into his muscles.

He was falling…dipping farther and farther into that fire…red at all sides of him—that infernal heat constricting him from every side…

And it hurt.

"Ken…?" a pair of soft, amethyst eyes looking curiously into his. He blinked a few times, taking in the stilled milieu, and the pale color of the redhead's cheeks.

He shook himself awake, perhaps more gruffly than he should have, and pushed the young man away with a bit of a nudge. "I'm fine."

A nod was all the answer he received, and he shivered as he turned his gaze back out the window. Always Kase.

He'd been having those nightmares more frequently as of late—reliving the events as they transpired…perhaps more sadistically than he had before he had discovered it had all been Kase's doing. In his dreams, he could hear the black-haired man laughing, taunting him from somewhere all around. And the smell of charring flesh and singed locks did little to assuage him.

He swore he could still smell his body burning when he awoke.

Ken scratched behind his ear, studying Aya's immobile form from where he sat, scrunched about himself in an attempt to evade that damned sword. Aya had parked the car some time ago—being too tired to continue driving without dozing—and was now curled in on himself, looking for all the world like the appositive Persia was so fond of.

The brunette cocked his head curiously to the right, considering how exactly a man that tall could take up so little space, and endeavored a similar pose. Admittedly, it was more comfortable than his prior position, but it left him feeling vulnerable. He wasn't prone to the idea that he couldn't see out the car's window, and be consequently unable to ward off any danger.

"You're too paranoid, Ken."
"I am not. There are maniacs all over the place these days."

A raven-haired youth cast a following brunette a curious look. "You've been listening to Kimiko-san too much."

The brunette shrugged. "Here?"

A nod. "Here."

"What's so special about this place anyway? It's…treey."
"It's called a forest. And you camp in it."

Ken glared at his companion. That much was obvious. "Don't you need a license for that kind of thing?"

The boy, Kase, shrugged. "Not if they don't know we're here. Besides, they don't own the land."

At that, Ken let his belongings fall to the floor, too tired to give much more by way of complaint, and let Kase pull up the tent they'd borrowed on his own. The young man glared at him initially, but let it go once Ken began dribbling around a soccer ball, content in eyeing him as he figured out the inner workings of the tent.

He was attractive, that much was indisputable. His chocolate hair, long despite the school's regulations, fell in glorious waves before his eyes—them being of a deeper hue—and framed his face in a luscious splash of color. He was all neutral tones, his skin being a tan, matte bronze, warmed to its shade by long hours on the field.

He knew there were a lot of people—girls and boys alike—who were more than eager to catch his friend's attention. But, as far as he was concerned, Ken was for him, and for him only. Though, all things considered, he doubted they'd ever get that far. Ken had a way of being utterly and completely clueless about certain things.

Besides, a rueful smile came to Kase's lips, he doubted Ken would reciprocate his feelings.

The next morning found him sore, achy, and irritated. Aya hadn't awakened as early as he had, and his soft intakes of breath were soothing and reassuring. He cast him another look. It wasn't often he had the opportunity to study the redhead as he was now—without that ever-present guarded expression, and those incriminating eyes.

He looked like a child, almost—his head cushioned on the planes of his arms, legs coiled about each other, knees brought up to his chest. He must have been exhausted to let himself sleep so soundly. Aya was a hair-trigger in that respect.

He bit his lip a little in thought, perhaps more anxious than he should have been, and let himself fall slack against his seat once more. It was coming. And he knew it.

"There are so many stars."
"I named them all."

Deep blue eyes turned curiously to brown. "You named them all?"

A slight nod. "Yeah. I was out by the field one day, and I had nowhere to go, so I stayed out and named the stars."

"Why didn't you come over?"
"You were away. On that trip."
"Oh…"
"What?"
"No…nothing."

Ken shifted—always having been the type to move around incessantly—and sighed. "I hope a bug doesn't bite me tonight."

"Only if you have sweet blood."

On his back as he was, arms cradling his head, Ken turned slightly to gaze at his friend. "What?"

"If you have sweet blood, bugs bite you more."

"Oh…" A bit of a smile came to his pink lips, "I must have bucketloads of sugar then, 'cause I keep gettin' bit everywhere I go."

Kase's corresponding grin was cynical, "I have bitter blood. I've never gotten bitten by one."

"Never?"
"Never."
"Liar."
"I don't lie—"
"Yeah, you do!"
"Shut up."
"Make me."

Ken shuddered a little, shivering in the early morning light. "Are you cold?"

Lilac eyes bore into his. The redhead sat up from his position, wincing and rubbing the back of his neck with an open palm.

"No…I'm fine."
"You said that last night, too."
"But…I am fine."

"Did you get bit?"
"No."
"Liar."

"I'm just…really tired."
"You haven't done much of anything."

The brunette waved an absent hand before him, "In general…"

There was a bit of a nod, and then, "Are you cold?"

"Are you?"
"No. I'm used to the cold."
"I'm not. I don't think I can ever get used to it."

Aya took in the phrase, and the context in which it had been bitterly spoken, and gave a slight nod. "It's better than heat."

The brunette kept his gaze fixed on his companion, shaking his head a little in denial, "No…that's not any better, either."

"I'd rather burn than freeze."
"…I…wouldn't…I don't think I'd like either—"
"Have you ever been in a fire?"

Ken cast Aya a skeptic look, wondering if the latter were playing an ill-intentioned joke on him. Regardless, he pulled up his sleeves and trembled at the cold that ran through him. "Fires love me." His lips quivered the slightest bit.

Crimson locks fell in front of pale eyes as a head craned itself at a curious angle. "Those are overlapping scars."

"Yeah," the brunette studied his arms with a bit of a wan expression, "I fell into a campfire when I was younger."

Aya continued studying his arms, his fingertips cold against his wrists. Always so cold… "I like it when you touch me."

Amethyst eyes widened at the statement, and Aya seemed suddenly—for all the world—like the twenty year old he was. Ken felt laughter pricking at his tongue, but decided on a smile instead, knowing the redhead would feel more humiliated than settled by his laughter. "Is that a surprise?"

"Why…?" The voice was coarse, but held that ever-present mellow timbre.

That was just like him, to avoid the question and pose one of his own.

"Why? Because you're always so cold."

His lips tightened into a stiff frown.

Ken cocked his head curiously to the right, fingertips reaching out to catch the redhead's departing fingers. He caught them easily enough. For once, Abyssinian wasn't fighting back. "You've always been cold, ever since I met you."

"Ne, Kenken, we've got a new tenant."

Curious brown eyes glanced upwards at the words. "A tenant, or a cat?"

"A cat. A tall, lithe cat. Abyssinian."

The young man quirked an eyebrow upwards in thought, "Is he another lazy bum like you?"

The tall blonde frowned and feigned hurt, "You wound me, Kenken, you really do."

"I'm sure. Where is he?"

The smaller of the two blondes interrupted, "He'll be here tonight…Manx is bringing him around. He's new to the neighborhood, apparently."

"Do we know anything about him?"

The blue-eyed boy shrugged, "Only what's in his file. Stats. 178cm, 160lbs. Weapon of choice: the katana."

"It sure as hell beats bear claws."

"Fangs," Ken corrected.

"Fujimiya Aya—Siberian, Balinese, and Bombay."

"We have names, Manx," Youji griped, shifting a bit annoyedly as he spoke, a restless look at his watch indicating he was already ten minutes late to his date.

"And we also have codenames, Balinese. I'm merely conducting Weiss acquaintances. What you do with yourselves when you're not engaged with Kritiker is your own business."

Omi, as complacent as ever, waved Youji away, and offered Aya a beaming smile. "I'm Bombay. I hope we'll be able to work well together."

The redhead, looking taller than his stats indicated, gave a perfunctory nod.

Youji followed, "Balinese. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Wire."

Another nod.

Ken lagged behind, never having been all that good at making friends with quiet, dictator-like-looking individuals, and approached the man with hesitance. What was he supposed to say again?

"Siberian. Knock yourself out."

Damn it, but did he say the stupidest things.

Youji rolled his eyes from where he stood, and accepted the suitcase Manx placed in his hands with little complaint. The woman exited soon after.

"I'm Tsukiyono Omi."
"Kudou Youji."
"Ken."

"Your room," Omi began, studying the redhead curiously, admiring the man's pale, ivory skin and bright scarlet hair, "is on the second floor—with Ken-kun."

Amethyst eyes turned towards the mentioned man, gaze settling erroneously on Youji. The man waved him away with a smile, "This one—" he pointed at Ken, "is your overly temperamental roommate."

His eyes moved accordingly, coming to rest finally on the brunette, and he gave a bit of a nod. He was a tacit individual if he had ever seen one. "C'mon, I have things to do."

"Ken-kun!"
"What?"

"It's all right." The man's voice was soft…deep, but alluring. "I can find it on my own."

"Here."
"I didn't need you to take me here."

Ken turned, shrugging a little as he took in the man's overbearing form. His eyebrow twitched the slightest bit. "All right."

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't come by here unless invited."

Ken doubted he could have been any more incredulous than he was. "Excuse me?"

"I said," the man paused as he took a step forward, so as to intimidate the brunette out of his room, "that I'd appreciate it if you didn't come by here, unless invited."

"This isn't your fuckin' house."
"It isn't yours, either."

"What the hell!" Ken pushed himself back inside the redhead's room, temper flaring as was his custom. "Where do you come off with this attitude?"

"Where do you come thinking you can push me around?"
"Are you kidding me!"

The redhead glared at him, "Get out."
"Take me out."
"Gladly."

Ken wasn't particularly sure what the young man meant by that, but he had never been the type to react, so…he acted. He flung out a fist, arching it as though he were armed with his bugnuks, already quite accustomed to their path, and succeeded in slamming it squarely against the man's jaw. He'd be damned if that didn't bruise tomorrow.

The man reciprocated the blow easily enough, until their scuffling caught both Youji and Omi's attention, so that the two stormed up the stairs to hold them apart. It was one thing to have a fistfight between two men, and one entirely different to have a fistfight between an assassin and a new recruit.

"I'm sorry."

Aya was startled once more. "What for, exactly?"

"For hitting you. That day."

Lilac eyes narrowed slightly. "I would have been honored if I had been the only one."

"Yeah…but Youji deserved that one."

The brunette hesitated, as though he wished to say something, but remained silent.

"I'm not cold."

A smile came to Ken's lips. "Yeah, you are. Always."

"Not always."
"Always."
"You really think so?"

A shrug. "You haven't given me any evidence to believe otherwise."

The redhead remained thoughtful, fingertips still held captive within Ken's own tanned digits, and shifted forwards slightly. The brunette regarded him silently, with that solemn expression he tended to adopt at times.

Aya paused, feeling Ken squeeze his fingers in encouragement, and then launched forward, crushing the brunette against his lips.

Ken felt his lips quirk upwards at the cool, frosty sensation that flooded his body, and the smooth, chilled hands that settled at his cheeks.

Cold. Always cold.

((o w a r i ))

Eh…the usual. I do like the flashbacks, though. Break #4 from IFO. Not sure if Aya's stats are accurate. As usual, the formatting was screwed. Again.