He thought he heard him.

He thought he heard him cry his name in anguish, but his mind knew the truth and whispered to his already shattered heart that it was just an illusion, a fantasy. His voice does not exist.

He wished with all his heart it was not true.

But when he opened his eyes all he could see was the painted white ceiling, cracks already showing against the wood. He could feel the pain at his side tearing his flesh away, felt the blood seep through his clothes. He could imagine it: copper red against the blue shirt he wore. It was sticky and uncomfortable.

I thought I could stand

He heard the voice again. He couldn't bear it. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing�wishing--

I just wanted--

--him to say--

*

"Keys."

*

Youji blinked, trying to clear the remnants of thoughts that occupied his mind during his engrossing work. "Wha�?"

Aya stood before him, face as expressionless as ever. "Keys," he repeated. "I need the keys to the motorcycle."

Youji was puzzled.

"You know?" Ken prompted from the counter behind the cash registrar. "Keys to start the motor so Aya can deliver the flowers ordered an hour ago? So we can do a good job and get our pay?" As if to prove his words, the cash register opened with a little ring.

"Oh." Youji fumbled at his pockets before producing a ring of keys. He placed them on Aya's expecting palm. "Here."

Aya eyed him suspiciously.

Ken raised an eyebrow.

"WHAT?!" Youji shouted, throwing up his arms.

"Keys to the motorcycle, Youji," Aya told him quietly.

Ken added, "Those are the keys to the shop."

This time, Youji flushed and quickly fished out another set of keys from his pockets. "Here," he mumbled, shoving them into Aya's hand. Then, without another word, he took off running to the back.

Aya and Ken watched him silently before turning to each other and shrugging.

*

Body, a silhouette before him. Running, chasing the time, wishing with all his soul�

Flash. Lost ground.

Pain!

His name. He heard them scream his name, heard him gasp in surprise. Tears pricked his eyes behind the shades. Intense pain. His body bent over the immobile figure, the man's eyes staring up at him in shock, mouth forming his name, over and over and over and over--

Intense pain. Clenched teeth.

say my name say my name say my name
voice

No sound came out of Aya's mouth, yet his mouth formed his name. Youji Youji Youji

Youji bent over him, feeling the bullet penetrate his side. He touched Aya's face, wishing he could feel the smooth skin, wishing his hand was not covered by a glove, wishing his glove was not stained with blood. He should not touch Aya. Aya was pure, so unlike his hands.

what are you so scared of aya?

One small tear falls on Aya's face, then another. Youji closed his eyes. "I wish you'd say my name," he screamed silently before falling.

Behind him, Omi and Ken finished up the mission.

*

Youji

*

Stumbling over fertilizers. He couldn't see. Cursing himself for being so stupid. Who wouldn't fucking turn on the lights? In the dark, he should be able to see at least some things. But he couldn't.

He wanted to cry but he didn't know the reason.

There was no reason.

His insides felt ready to fall apart. fever His heart was pounding loudly against his ears. His body was dripping with sweat. fever Sides hurt, becoming wet. Not with sweat, but with the same--

He opened his mouth, wanting to hear someone's voice, anyone's voice, Aya's voice. He was crying, or was it the sweat? He sat beside the fertilizers, breathing the foul stench. He looked up. There was a window closed to keep the place "vacuumed". A single ray of light fell on the floor beside him. Dust danced before his vision.

He wanted to touch the light.

Youji? You in there?

Omi. Good old Omi. Omi Tsukiyono, the youngest of them. Still pure. He wasn't pure.

In here. Weakly.

The door opened. Dust formed a figure, a small person wearing a cap despite it being inside. Light from the background covered his face. Oh my god Youji what on earth are you doing there�?!

Hands reached out and helped him. Ken was there. Omi was there. Where was Aya?

*

Keys.

*

Aya was not there.

*

"You didn't tell us." Omi's voice was low and expressionless. "You never told us."

White ceiling, cracks on the paint. Youji smiled. "Stitches, Omi. Just stitches."

"Like hell." A frustrated bang on the wall. Ken. "You never fucking told us."

"I didn't know," Youji said quietly. Eyes focused straight ahead. I wanted-- "I want to go to sleep now, if that's okay with you."

Omi stood up quickly. Ken shot him a glare. Quickly, quietly, they left the room, the apartment, and gave Youji his privacy.

*

Back to normal.

*

"Youji?"

Hands trembling.

"Youji?"

Voice.

"Leave me alone," Youji told him quietly. Continue sweeping the floor. Dust waiting to be collected and thrown away.

"What happened a while ago?" Aya asked, unconcerned.

Is it too much? "Bullet penetration," Youji replied, frowning at the dust. He swept them again carefully before making a little move to dump it from the dustpan to the trash. He grinned at himself. "It's nothing. Just some stitches. It was from last night."

He could almost sense Aya's reluctance behind him. He turned to him, puzzled. "What?"

"I want to see it." Deadpan.

Youji raised an eyebrow. "Aya, it's just stitches. A wound closed with the use of a needle and thread. I even got the bullet out myself," he went on proudly. "So the doc won't be suspicious, you know?"

"I want to see it." Aya stepped forward, maybe out of morbid curiosity. "It was meant for me, right?"

Youji shrugged. "Yeah, well, don't thank me or anything."

"Youji."

Exasperated: "What?"

"I just want to see it."

Youji stared at him suspiciously before finally relenting and lifting his shirt. He pointed it to the other boy. "Hurry. I don't want Omi and Ken to come inside and see me lifting my clothes for you." He flashed him a grin.

Aya reached out and tentatively touched the stitched side. Youji's breathing stopped. Fingers slid over the side, over the stomach. Panic. Youji quickly pushed him away and hurried to pull down his shirt. He was grinning again. "See? Stitches."

But his body was trembling and Aya was frowning again.

*

"Hey, thanks for the lift," Youji muttered to himself as Aya jumped off the jeep towards his own apartment. He sighed and grabbed a pack of cigarettes at the dashboard, tapping it to bring one out. Fuck. The lighter wasn't there.

He sighed again and started the ignition.

Suddenly, Aya was beside him again, brows drawn together, lips pursed. "What do you want me to say?" he asked harshly.

Cigarette dropped on the lap in surprise. Youji stared up at him.

"Last night," Aya went on, "you wanted me to say your name."

I never said anything aloud. Youji was trembling again. He couldn't understand. He just couldn't.

"Youji."

"Don't," Youji told him quietly. "I'm sorry. It was selfish of me to want to hear you. It was nothing. Really nothing." He picked up his cigarette and brought it to his lips. But it never got there. Aya grabbed it and, with a crumple, threw it far away, to where the light didn't reach. Youji was stunned.

"Youji. Youji. Youji."

"Stop!" Youji begged.

Aya looked at him menacingly. Lips formed the words, voice said the name. Over and over.

Youji Youji Youji Youji Youji Youji

Arms wrapped around Youji's shoulder, head bending to bury himself at the crook of his neck, touching his hair and needing the feel of it. Youji was shaking violently. Aya was crying. Tears fell on Youji's sweater, ruining it completely.

*

Window.

*

Chair.

*

Table.

*

Carpet.

*

Hand reached out to touch hand. Smile lighted the darkness. Eyes searched and found. Whispers filled the silent room.

"Thank you for saying my name."