This is the sequel of my fic "Bridges." If you have not read it, I doubt this will make much sense.
While this follows the storyline of Gluhen, the plot of the series isn't as important as the relationships of the characters. Many points for the Gluhen plot will be only mentioned in passing, as they are unimportant, for the most part. Any changes were made on purpose.
Warnings: This fic is darker than the first, and painful. Just keep in mind that the story isn't over yet. In addition, there seems to be a trend toward more vulgar language, as well as violence. Of course, as always, there is yaoi.
Rain beat down in angry torrents from a sky painted a dull and flat gray. Cigarette smoke billowed lazily under a cheap umbrella.
Low-slung leather pants were tight enough to have been poured onto the slender form that sauntered down the street, the darkness of the pants fully emphasizing the dramatic jut of slim, angular hip bones andthe smooth plane of a flat belly exposed by a midriff-bearing top. Short golden hair curled atop his head, bringing attention to a face that could have belonged to Adonis himself.
The man walked with the swaying grace of a stalking feline, exuding sexuality with the same ease with which he blinked or drew breath. So natural was it that he didn't seem to notice the heads of those few on the street turning toward him – the bike messenger who nearly pulled out into traffic, the high society ladies who stared at him through the windows of their favorite brunch-time café.
If anyone had bothered to look past the strong, well-toned chest, the smooth, bronzed skin, and the gently erotic sway of those angular hips, they would have noticed his eyes, and all lustful thoughts would have flown away.
Those eyes, a dark and deep green like the finest of emeralds, held a look which no normal person would have ever associated with sex.
As the body sauntered down the street like a walking advertisement for a wet dream, as a golden hand languidly drew a cigarette up to sensuous lips, the eyes stared out of that perfect face like caged animals.
Like an animal, there was little logic to the emotions that played through those windows of green glass, a new nuance shown with every slight change in the light.
Fear and anger, hatred and hope.
Loathing and vulnerability.
If anyone bothered to look close enough, even the greatest of fools would realize he was looking at a man perched on the brink.
A man who had been broken by life and circumstance and was blindly searching for a way to end the pain.
Reaching his destination at last, the man took one last drag from his cigarette before tossing it down. He collapsed his umbrella and left it sitting by the door as he entered the little restaurant.
He found the one he was supposed to meet quickly enough, eyes catching the vibrant flash of red in a corner booth near a window.
Ignoring the two-cheerful hostess who offered him coffee, the man headed to the waiting table and slid into the seat. He and his companion stared at each other for a long moment before he gave a small, shaking laugh.
"Well, I'll be damned," he said at last. "You're the last person I ever thought I'd see again."
"I'm sorry it's come to this," the redhead answered quietly.
Emerald eyes narrowed.
"What do you want?"
Manx leaned back in her seat, sighing.
"How do you feel about a job, Kudoh?"
He entered the room, and felt his heart sink low into his belly.
"So, they got to you, too, huh?"
The young man lifted his head from where it had rested atop his arms, displaying eyes that were far more weary than either of them would have previously imagined possible.
"Hi, Yohji," the young man greeted, voice nary much more than a rasp. He blinked at the blonde slowly for a few moments, processing thoughts. "You cut your hair."
Ignoring the comment on his shorn locks, the lanky man pulled out a chair and sat down, straddling it.
"Shit, Ken. You look like hell."
"Eloquent as always, Yohji," a voice said in fond amusement. Omi entered the room, so changed as to be barely recognizable. He was followed by a woman with short, dark hair. "How are you both?" the young man asked with a gentle, familiar smile.
Grumbling under his breath, Ken lowered his head to the table once more.
Omi's eyes shot to Yohji, and the welcoming expression on his face quickly turned to one of scolding as the blonde lit a cigarette.
"I thought you quit," the smaller blonde accused.
Yohji shrugged lightly.
"We all think things," he answered glibly. "Doesn't make it true. For instance, I thought we were all done with this shit – but here we are."
"Re-forming the Weiss." Omi nodded, eyes darkening. "I'm so sorry, guys."
"Life was getting boring, anyway. We gonna start this, or what?"
"I guess he's not coming. Good." Omi took a seat, casting an unreadable smile on his two former teammates. "Before we begin anything binding, are you guys sure you're both willing to do this? To return to a life of killing?"
"Why not?" Yohji gave a flippant shrug, bowing smoke high into the air. Ken only nodded, not bothering to lift his head.
Before Omi could continue, the door opened.
At first the young man who entered the room seemed a complete stranger.
His hair was a dark, deep crimson that hung in a neat braid nearly to his waist. His face would have been lovely if not set into such stern lines of displeasure. His form was small and delicate.
Then Yohji noticed his eyes.
Dark, violet, unreadable.
But he remembered those eyes bright with wicked laughter, or darkened with love and passion, or even wet and glimmering with tears.
Nevertheless, there was no doubt that those cold, almost dead eyes were the same ones he remembered.
"Gods," he breathed, standing so quickly that his chair toppled over. "Aya?"
Those eyes flickered to him for the briefest of moments, and he almost thought he saw something pass over the man's expression.
Then it was gone, Aya's attention fully on Omi.
"I'm sorry I'm late."
Ice water coursed through Yohji's veins at the sound of that voice. He had never expected…never dreamed to hear that voice go so cold and emotionless again.
"Aya," he whispered. "Aya, what's happened to you?"
So many questions running through his mind and that was the first one to come out of his mouth?
The time, the red haired man didn't so much as glance his way.
"Sit down, Kudoh."
Yohji continued to gape stupidly. Ignoring him completely, Aya pulled out a chair and sat.
"Omi," he asked coolly, "Can we get on with this?"
"Yes, yes, of course. Eh…Yohji?"
He was shaking and terrified and…
What the hell was wrong with him?
Yohji righted his chair and sat back down, fixing his eyes on Aya. Later, he promised himself. There would be ample time to talk to the man later – and Aya would never forgive him if he forced a confrontation in front of the others.
He forced patience on himself, and tried to pretend the man he loved wasn't ignoring him.
"I've been offered the position my uncle held as Persia." Omi told his friends quietly, taking a deep breath. "I've decided to take it. I…I won't be returning to my position on the team."
He paused, waiting for an explosion.
Either his friends hadn't heard him, or they didn't care as much as he'd thought they would. Ken wouldn't lift his head from the table, Yohji wouldn't take his eyes from Aya, and Aya…
Omi repressed the urge to shudder. The gaze fixed on him was steady and cold and unreadable. It was almost as if nothing human remained living behind those frightening eyes.
"In any case," the youngest Weiss continues unsteadily. "Krittiker has authorized choosing one or two new agents to replace me on the team. Aya, that choice will be mostly up to you. Rex will get you the files as soon as this meeting is over."
"Hn." Aya agreed.
"I don't have any kind of specifics for you at this time, so there's really not all that much left for me to say." Omi continued. "The base of operations will be the old flower shop – any of you who want to live there are welcome to it. You won't have to worry about actually working there, of course, because there are regular employees now, but…"
No change in his friends. Ken's head remained on the table, Yohji continued to stare at Aya.
And Aya continued to glare at Omi.
"Does anyone have any questions?"
"Just one," Aya answered, startling him.
"Okay."
Violet eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.
"What the fuck is Kudoh doing here?"
"Excuse me?" the lanky man demanded, rising from his chair once more.
Aya ignored him, eyes like darts pinning Omi to his seat.
"You weren't supposed to call him." the redhead continued, a thin strand of anger seeping into his cold voice.
"He volunteered." Omi answered, embarrassed as his voice actually squeaked a little. He had forgotten how frightening Aya would be.
For the first time since entering the room, Aya really looked at Yohji. Whatever he saw in his former lover's eyes made the blonde's face turn ashen.
He rallied himself quickly enough, however.
"You got a problem with me, babe, you're gonna have to talk to me in private."
"Hn." Aya answered, accepting the challenge.
His gaze returned to Omi.
"Anything else?"
"Can we go now?" Ken demanded.
"All right," Omi decided. "We'll be in contact."
"Fujimiya, if you will follow me, I'll get you the applicants' information that you will need." Rex offered with a smile.
As Aya made to go with the dark haired woman, Yohji hurried to follow.
Once again, Aya's glare was directed on him, making Yohji's blood run cold. Aya's eyes hadn't looked like that since the original days of Weiss, when all that kept him alive was a thirst for vengeance.
Where was the sweetly vulnerable man who Yohji loved so desperately?
He had been devastated when Aya had left him, almost three years ago. The flowers Aya had left had given him hope, but as time had passed without word from the man he loved, that hope had slowly begun to die.
He'd put all of his recourses, all of his expertise as a PI, into trying to find his lover – with no success.
Aya had not left him willingly – Yohji had no doubt about that. Slowly, however, he had begun to lose the hope of ever seeing him again.
After a year without even a hint to his whereabouts, the depression had nearly consumed him. Yohji had been filled with a loathing for himself, and his inability to find the one he cherished.
When Manx had come around trying to re-recruit him into Weiss, he had known immediately that that was the reason Aya had left him. Yohji had sworn to protect the man but Aya, ever the stubborn one, hadn't allowed him to.
Self-loathing had slowly begun to consume him. He had found himself smoking again, drinking more – despite the harm he knew he was doing to himself. He would have begun sleeping around again, but sober he couldn't bear the thought of touching anyone but Aya, and drunk he couldn't stop talking about the man for long enough for anything to happen.
Yohji had at last succumbed to Krittiker's advances, hoping that by doing so he would one day be able to find Aya again.
It seemed to have worked.
"This isn't a task which involved two people, Kudoh." the redhaired man informed him in a voice of ice.
"I follow you until we get to talk." Yohji answered unflinchingly.
Aya made an irritated noise and turned away. For a moment Yohji thought some trace of emotion had passed through his former lover's eyes, but it had been too quick to catch.
Aya ignored Yohji after that, following the woman Omi had referred to as Rex down the corridor and into an office.
"You can look at them here, or you can take them with you," the woman said, placing a box of files into the arms of the Weiss leader. "We would like a decision by the end of the month though. Otherwise, there's no rush."
"Thank you." Aya nodded.
Rex glanced back at the waiting Yohji, hesitating only a moment before leaving. She was nice enough to close the door after herself, leaving the two in complete privacy.
"Aya," Yohji whispered once they were alone.
The man closed his eyes, a pained expression crossing his face.
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't say my name that way."
Yohji moved forward before anything could stop him, taking Aya into his arms. With a small gasp, the long haired man dropped the box he held and Yohji pulled him closer, their bodies melding together in one smooth, perfect line.
"Aya," he whispered again. "Oh, Aya."
He caught a whiff of his shampoo, and suddenly he was transported back in time. Back to nights spent in each others arms – late movies and too much takeout. Laughter and teasing and smiles and tears.
"Aya…"
"I'm so sorry, Yohji."
"It doesn't matter. Nothing matters but this."
Aya drew back, and the ice had left his eyes, replaced by wetness.
"You have to understand, Yohji," he whispered. "It can't be the same. Nothing can be the same ever again."
"Aya…"
"I'll never escape Krittiker, Yohji," he whispered. "They own me completely…can you even begin to fathom how much worse their hold over me would grow if…we can't be together, Yohji. Not like we were. Not with Krittker involved."
"Don't talk like that." Yohji drew the smaller man as close to him as he could, nuzzling his neck – taking in the warm, familiar scent of him. "You're back. I don't care why you left or what Krittiker would think; all that matters is that you're back in my life."
"Whatever we could have now would pale in comparison with our past."
"I don't care. I don't give a shit about anything."
"You don't know what you're saying, Yohji."
"I'm asking you to be with me, Aya. Don't you want to be with me?"
Silence was his only answer. Yohji smiled to himself, closing his eyes.
"It'll be fun sneaking around," he promised quietly. "As long as we're alone, I don't see why everything can't be the same."
Abruptly, Aya pushed violently away.
He was once more the frightening, unapproachable man he had been so long ago. Yohji had learned that that man was nothing more than an illusion. A wall.
But that wall was firmly in place once more, so strongly that Yohji suddenly doubted he knew how to scale it.
"No." Aya said firmly.
"No?"
"I don't want to sneak around with you."
"Aya, love…"
"I don't want to be with you, Yohji." Aya picked up the box of files once more, using it as a physical barrier between them. "If you can't accept that, then our friendship, too is over."
"You can't honestly believe that, bunny thon - !"
Aya shoved the box into Yohji's chest hard enough to make him grunt.
"Never," the smaller man hissed fiercely, "Call me that again!"
To Be Continued