“Took you long enough…” Ken mumbles as he rings up a girl from Omi’s highschool.

“Sorry Ken-kun!” Omi cries, stuffing his backpack under my counter. I long to run my hands threw the spun locks of caramel that frames his face, kiss those flower-soft lips. But of course, we’re in public. Not even I’m crazy enough to touch him then. We’d lose half our customers.

“Omi, we need some more of those white roses quick!” Aya cries from across the room. I can tell he’s stressed, he never talks above a normal conversation voice unless he’s about to rip one of those teenage girls’ heads off.

“All right!” Omi slips on his apron and heads into the back room. I finally rid myself of my customers; the rest of the girls fawning over us probably spent their money yesterday. After a few minutes, Omi doesn’t come out of the storage room. I frown lightly and turn to Aya. He nods and I see him tense up. Ken is already reaching to where a pair of bugnuks are hidden under his counter. A spare katana is locked in a small hidden area in the freezer where the roses are and I see my leader reaching into it. None of the girls notice our odd behavior as I slip into the back room, reaching for my wire.
       I hear a sick gurgling sound and burst round a small shelve. Omi is lying on the floor, a large gash across his small chest. His midday eyes are wide and he’s barely breathing.

“Call an ambulance! NOW!” I roar, knowing the whole block probably heard me. I hear Ken grab for the phone and Aya tear into the room. God…The blood is everywhere and Omi’s looks so shocked. He probably didn’t even see his attacker.
       My mind snaps back to the present. Aya is already searching the room, katana drawn. The schoolgirls are ether near tears, screaming or, like a select few, actually helping to calm everybody down.

“QUIET!!” A usually calm girl named Mireko shouts. The shop goes silent except for Ken telling the operator where we are and Omi’s labored breath. “Everybody out, the medics aren’t going to need us in here.” Her tone is authoritative and her stance tells nobody to argue. The girls file out quickly, ending up across the street.
       Omi’s upper body is in my lap, his blood leaking onto my pats, down my legs like a gutter. Where’s the fucking ambulance!? My angel is dying in my arms!

>>>>

       A few hours later at the hospital, Omi was just out of surgery when Persia and Manx arrived.

“How is he?” Though he tried not to show it, Persia was totally scared shitless. Ken had to agree with him. They had fought freakymonsters, psycho bitches, mad scientists and loads of other stuff and survived. Now Omi might die from something he received in broad daylight? But maybe that’s what made it so great.

“We don’t know.” Yohji’s voice was flat and hollow. All his charm had faded, his hair seemed to shine a bit less and his eyes refused to be the brilliant jade the normally were. He was sitting hunched over in a chair; his elbows propped up on his knees, holding his chin in his hands. Aya sat next to him, leaning against the wall, arms folded against his chest tightly. The soccer player could tell he was pissed. Their stoic leader was very protective of things he cared for, and thought he loathed to admit it, the three people who he cleaned blood from his car with on a regular biases weren’t just his partners. They were his friends. And Ken himself was far more than that. He loved Aya with his entire being, and knew the red head loved him just as much even if he couldn’t admit to himself.
       Ken was busy pacing a small area of the hospital room. There were a few other people there, scattered about, worrying over their children or friends. Persia dropped into a seat, worry almost hanging over him like a dark cloud. Manx sat down next to him, a haunted look in her emerald eyes.
       They all looked up when a doctor walked in. Her wavy brown hair was barely held back in a ponytail, wild strands caked to her face, framing dark blue eyes.

“Persia.” She nodded curtly at him. Ken raised an eyebrow at his boss.

“This is Korat, who was assigned as your public hospital doctor in case you couldn’t get to a Kritiker hospital.” Manx murmured.

“How is he?” Yohji asked, his voice eerily calm. It clearly started the doctor, she knew of Balinese’s reputation.

“He’ll be fine.” She folded her arms across her abdomen. She was tall and well built for a woman, but not overly muscular. Sort of a countryish look. “He’s asleep, but you’re welcome to see him.” Yohji stood slowly, as if he was having trouble making his body react. Aya moved stiffly, all his fluid grace emptied from his form. Ken moved like dead weight, like water, but in a dazed way. Frankly, it frightened Manx and Persia both. They had never meant for the Weiss team to get so close to eachother, even though it was inevitable.
       Korat lead them threw the hospital and onto the fourth floor, down the hall and outside a stark white door.

“He’s in here, but don’t wake him.” She leveled them all with a hard stare. “He had quite a shock, I want him to sleep it and the drugs off.”

“All right.” Persia nodded curtly. Korat nodded back and left to assume her normal doctoring duties. Numbly, Yohji took hold of the doorknob and turned it, pushing the door open. The site that greeted him twisted his heart in a million directions; anger, regret, sadness and love merging into a ball of emotion that threatened to consume him.
       Omi’s face was pale from blood loss; his caramel hair was limp and lifeless. Midday eyes, always so sunny and bright, were hidden behind closed lids. His slender body was barely moving and he was hooked up to so many machines you couldn’t tell if he was alive or not.
       The wire-wielding assassin slowly plunked over to his young lover’s side, emerald eyes turned to pools by tears that swashed in their beds. He seemed to melt into a chair, falling bonelessly into it. Ken and Aya stood behind him, the soccer player’s chocolate eyes filled with tears of rage. Aya’s slender body was shaking with repressed anger as he watched Yohji take Omi’s hand into his own.
       It churned the red head’s soul. Just as these two were finally happy, finally found the love they both longed for, somebody had to come along and screw it all up. While yes, Omi was going to be fine, it would take weeks before he was up and around. Weeks they could have spent together. In their line of work, they needed all the time they could get. Sensing Ken’s anger and sorrow boiling over, Aya reached over and locked the brunette into an embrace.
       Yohji finally broke down, the events of the day flooring him. He lay his head next to Omi’s trim waist, sobbing in fear. He knew he was being silly, crying even though Omi was going to be fine was dumb. Crying in general was stupid; it didn’t fix anything. But that’s all he wanted to do, sob and cry. Manx wrapped comforting arms around the lanky blonde, letting him weep into her blazer. Persia stood on the other side of Omi’s bed in another chair, a look of deep thought planted on his face.

----------

Broken White Glass Part B: Blood of the Dark Angel Smeared Across the Grave

After about a week and a half Omi was released, but he couldn’t move around much with all the stitches in his chest. He was getting tired of lying around doing nothing one day when Yohji walked in.

“Five minute brake.” The taller blonde smiled gently and sat down next to his lover. He pulled the small body into his lap slowly, mindful of Omi’s stitches.

“Are the girls still bothering you about what happened?” Omi murmured, leaning his head in the crook of Yohji’s neck.

“Yeah.” The older assassin let an annoyed sigh kiss the air. “Aya told them what he’s been telling them for the past couple days, a burglar tried to attack you.”

“What have the police said?” The teenager in his arms asked worriedly.

“They think it was the same guy who murdered that kid a couple days ago.” Yohji’s arms tightened around the small blonde and he kissed the top of the teenager’s head. Yohji loved the way Omi’s hair smelled. It smelled of honey and innocence, of love and caramel. It was a sweet mixture that was natural; no shampoo could ever compare to it.
       Omi sighed heavily.

“You’re going to have to find him if he does it again.” He mumbled. “And I can’t help.”

“Nope.” Yohji smooshed their lips together in a rough kiss that left Omi breathless.

“Hey Yohji!” Ken called from the stairway. “I’m getting swamped down here!”

“Where’s Aya?” Yohji shouted back.

“Because we’ve been so distracted we forgot to get more supplies! He went to get them!” Ken sounded really annoyed. “Get your ass down here!”

“No need to order me around Kenken!”

“Oh shut up!”

Grinning crookedly, Yohji kissed Omi’s cheek and set the small body back onto the couch. “See you later.” He turned and walked off, leaving Omi to sigh and being channel surfing.

>>>>        Aya grunted lightly as he slung bag of potting soil over his shoulder. Due to Omi’s attack/accident they had totally forgotten about supplies. They needed them desperately during the after-school rush hours so Aya volunteered to go. He also decided to stop by his parent’s gave on the way back, since he hadn’t been there in a while.
       Walking out of the store with two economy size bags over his shoulders, earning him a surprised glance from the burly men working in the Home Depot, the assassin headed out to his car. He dumped the bags into the back seat, which was covered, with a trash bag. The last time he had done this, the bag had a small tear in it. It happened to break just as Ken was putting it into the car.
       He snapped the door close and tucked his left eartail behind his ear because it was annoying when caked to the side of his face. His violet eyes narrowed when he felt somebody’s stare burn into his skin. He looked to the side and briefly caught a flash of black clothing and pale skin.
       The assassin turned back to his car and jumped. There was a note taped to the bag of potting soil. He walked around to other side of the silver vehicle and got in, moving with watery grace. He grabbed the note and tore it open.

Dear Abyssinian

Is what you care for really safe? Can you be sure it won’t be taken? Are you aware of the danger it is in? Can you honestly say your parents are barried from the harsh reality of your bloody business? Are you sure they are safe?

Broken Angel

       The red head’s violet eyes were full of an unnamed emotion when he was done reading it. He started up his car and headed straight for the cemetery…

>>>>

       Ken looked up when something heavy clomped into the room. It was half an hour after the store had closed; two hours after Aya had left.

“Aya!” The red head was soaked to the bone, and mingling with the rainwater on his fingers were blood from the cuts that seared those elegant limbs. “What happened!?” Ken jumped over the counter and ran to his lover. Aya’s passion red hair was caked to his face, hiding endless violet eyes that were simmering with an angry fire, fire burning brighter with the dull drumming of his heart.

“I got a strange note when I was done putting the potting soil in my car.” His voice was tight and laced with acid; it made Ken wince. “I went to my parents graves.” His pale hands clinched into tight fists, drawing more blood. “Somebody tore them down, leaving nothing but rubble.” He handed Ken a slightly damp envelope from his inside pocket. “That is the note.” With that last remark he walked off to get changed. After rereading the note a couple times, Ken’s vision was full of rage. Even if Aya had seemed angry, the brunette knew when it wore down, the red head would be nothing but a pool of depression always growing in depth. Whatever happiness Aya had managed to claim was gone, struck down just as it was being born.
       Ken ran up stairs, leaving his arrangement half finished and hurriedly slipped into his knee length coat. He grabbed his keys, helmet and headed straight for the cemetery. Whoever damaged his lover’s fragile happiness was going to get hurt in a very big way.

Ken never saw his attacker. By the time anyone had arrived, he was covered in his own blood, crimson fluid forever staining the Fujimiya’s graves. He was quickly taken to a hospital.

He died on the operating table.

Broken White Glass: Part C: Define the Meaning of Insanity

       When Aya heard the news, he finally shattered. Omi could almost see his once cold and contained leader crumble into a million shards of broken love. The red head fell into a heap on the floor, his emotions over-flowing and breaking the dam. Hot tears of pure agony seeped down his cheeks and he sobbed helplessly. Omi could do nothing but hold him tightly, with Yohji rubbing his back. Even after Aya had cried himself to sleep, they knew the tears would never really stop.
       Persia knew then that somebody was after Weiss. They weren’t just random attacks; somebody wanted the four assassins dead. Somebody who was much more experienced than Kritiker. He had the three remaining Weiss members moved to a safe house in a rather small town. Everybody knew everybody and welcomed the three full-heatedly, the small group of teenage girls offering to show them around.
       Weiss themselves were all in shambles. Yohji tried to bring the mood up, tried to mask his bitterness, but failed. His rage was unstoppable and he often drank himself to sleep. Omi’s once cheerful and unwavering midday eyes were full of sadness, lurking behind an agony that was carved right into his heart.
       Aya refused to eat and had to be force-fed or sweet-talked into it. He never really left his room and his fire engine hair was duller than before, just not its natural color. Whatever walls Ken had been able to break down to get to the red head’s heart were up at full force now, he wouldn’t even speak to anybody but his teammates. He was painfully thin and he didn’t sleep, always having the same nightmare of his lover’s final moments over and over again like a sick broken record.

>>>>

       Aya was sitting in his room on a dark evening, the rain pattering against the glass like the beating of a dove’s wings, accenting the depressing mood that wafted about the room. He was cross-legged on his bed, a dark brown jacket held in his slender hands, pressed against his chest. He breathed in deeply, the sent invading his nostrils and sending fresh tears to his eyes. The jacket was Ken’s.
       It smelled like the young soccer player once did, when he was alive. It smelled of milk chocolate and love, of the pure adoration the brunette had for Aya. A fond memory wafted threw the red head’s mind…

       The two young lovers were barried in Aya’s blankets, protected by the bubble of warmth that shielded away the harsh storm outside along with the harsh bitterness of their last mission. Ken was half lying on Aya, absently braiding and un-braiding the red head’s eartails, then repeating the process.

“You know what?” He asked off-handedly.

“Hm?” Aya murmured, taking in the attention like a cat.

“We remind me of chocolate covered strawberries.” Ken grinned peachily. The violet-eyed man raised a fire engine eyebrow.

“Why is that?” He asked.

“Well, you say I smell like chocolate, and my hair is brown. You smell like strawberries and your hair is red.” Ken shrugged non-chalantly before nuzzling lovingly into Aya’s neck.

       A sob racked his long slender body almost painfully, tugging on the very corners of his heart as he held the jacket close to him. In his world of darkness and hatred, of sorrow and regret, Ken was the only beacon that kept him sane, kept him alive. He felt dead on the inside, like he was just a shell now. He had no reason to live now that his sister was awake and Ken was gone. Revenge had been the only fire in his world, now it was like a tidal wave had smashed threw his mind, leaving nothing in its wake but grief.
       A shriek broke threw his agony, shattering the fogged glass of depression.

“Yohji!” It was Omi, screaming his lungs out. The red head’s heart stopped. Too lose somebody else was something he wouldn’t be able to handle. He threw the jacket down and tore down the hall and jumped over the railing, landing in the small dinning room.

The sight that met his violet eyes sent him crumpling to his knees.

Omi was sobbing hysterically, Yohji’s head cradled in his lap. The playboy’s jugular was missing.

Broken White Glass Part D: Truth of the Broken Angel

       Aya quickly ran a comb threw his left eartail, a hollow barren look echoing endlessly into the ponds of violet set in his face. He seemed dead, moving limply and choppy. It was a week after he had found Omi clutching Yohji’s body, the small blonde’s tears refusing to end even after he had cried himself to sleep.
       Nothing seemed to matter anymore to the stoic red head. Whoever was killing Weiss knew exactly what they were doing and how to do it. Omi or he would die next and Kritiker could do nothing, it was all so simple. Aya didn’t care about dying or living anymore, nobody would miss him.
       Without warning, something slammed into the side of his head and sent him flying into the bathtub. He cried out in agony as his elbow slammed against the corner, sending shrieks of pain threw his body. His head smashed against the shower wall, leaving him barely conscious. All his saw of his attacker were midday eyes framed by wheat bangs.

“I’m surprised I had to do this.” A sweet boyish voice murmured. “Here I thought you’d kill yourself.” The red head’s vision cleared to reveal the childish face of Omi, the youngest Weiss member’s brow scrunched into a frown. A look of shock broke threw Aya’s barriers. “Oh don’t look so shocked o’ fearless one.” Omi playfully ruffled Aya’s hair. His small mouth worked into a feral grin, his canines glinting in the empty bathroom light. “Look at it this way, like was empty anyways.” The teenager shrugged and it all turned to darkness.

Broken White Glass Epilogue: Suicide Seaside

       A cool, light breeze wafted threw his wheat hair, changing the direction of his pearly tears. Below him waves crashed against the cliff’s side, quieting the small sobs that periodically shook his slender form. The sent of the sea mixed with the sent of dried blood, his sweaty body caking his clothes to his skin even more.
       With a steely resolve, he decided this was the best choice.

And walked off the cliff.

       A few meters away, two figures stood hidden behind the darkness, their navy blue clothing only hiding them further.

“You knew it would end like this, didn’t you?” The fiery haired one asked, turning smirking emerald green eyes at his leader.

“It was a hunch.” The dark haired American replied.

Schuldich laughed and motioned for his leader to move ahead of him. Crawford smirked and adjusted his wire frames.

~END~