Fic: Separated By More Than Glass
Prompt: Sick
Title: Separated By More Than Glass
Fandom: Weiß Kreuz
Pairing: Past Aya/Yohji
Beta: whymzycal
Rating: R
Notes: Based somewhat on this drama CD.
Aya stood in front of the observation window as he had for over 48 hours now, hands on the glass. He felt like hell from too many cups of strong coffee, too much pacing, and too little sleep - the kind of sleep he got while sitting in the chair in front of the window that had been provided for him. But all of this was nothing compared to the hell that Yohji was going through. Aya had known the withdrawal would be bad; it was another thing entirely to watch someone he knew and cared about go through it but not be able to do anything to help them. This was the help, though. And Yohji would make it through, or he'd end up dead on the street somewhere. It was his choice.
Aya regretted (and not for the first time) his abrupt departure from Yohji's life. Things had been bad - really bad - for quite some time before Aya just walked away and took that plane to New York. Weiß had been falling apart, each one of them spiraling down into a darkness that Aya had never thought they'd reach, and it took everything he had to simply walk away and not look back. Shion's defection had shown Aya the path he could have gone down if things continued the way they’d been going, and Aya had taken the easy way out: he ran.
A nurse opened the door from Yohji's room, pushing a cart full of soiled linens that she’d just removed from his bed. She paused briefly to put a comforting hand on Aya's shoulder. "This is the worst of it," she said. Her voice was soft and gentle, full of understanding that Aya could only sit there and watch helplessly. "Once he goes through this, it'll all be uphill from there." Aya nodded. "Are you sure you don't want to talk to him?" she asked, but Aya shook his head. Yohji wouldn't want to know that Aya was there, might even hate him for it later when he regained his senses.
Once Aya had agreed to get Weiß back together for Mamoru, he'd been told where he might find Yohji - and what condition he was likely to be in. Mamoru had kept tabs on Yohji, who had gone to see doctors from time to time, but Yohji hadn't gotten the help he needed when all he really wanted was to be left alone to turn a blind eye on the past and, more importantly, on Aya. The clean slate he wanted, however, was not so clean.
Aya picked up the newspaper lying on his chair and sat down, rubbing his temples before glancing down at the article he'd read over and over countless times. Ken had brought it to him, an article circled hastily in bright red marker. Thirteen Slaughtered, Killer Unknown, the article said, the details below spelling out in black and white what Yohji had done only days before Aya's return. It wasn't a quick and efficient killing like Weiß had been trained to do; it was a bloodbath.
"I should have tried to talk to you instead of leaving," Aya whispered against the glass, his warm breath leaving condensation behind. He wanted to run his finger through it, to leave some sort of message, but nothing so real that it would leave a trace behind once the fog had evaporated away. Three little words could possibly change lives, but Aya was too late, and there was no one here who would listen.
Yohji was sleeping now, a hand thrown over his face, blocking out the dim light overhead. His hair, once long and beautiful and honey blond, was now bleached almost white and cropped close to his head. It was drenched with sweat like the rest of him, his skin no longer tanned and warm but sickly pale as he shivered under several thick blankets. He had always walked a fine line between his vices and addiction, and finally, Yohji had crossed to the wrong side. Aya had been able to keep him in check when they were together, to keep Yohji out of the after-hours bars and seedy clubs, to take away the pain of his life and everything that he had lost. But it had all gone irrevocably wrong one night when they had been living out of the trailer. In a drunken and drug-induced stupor, Yohji thought he had murdered a woman - a woman that he'd spent the night with after he and Aya had argued. It was more than the infidelity that turned Aya away in the end: it was the secret that Yohji had kept when he chose to drink his fears away instead of asking for help. Aya hadn't been big on forgiveness back then. Now it was Yohji who wasn't big on forgiveness.
Aya knew that this was likely a bad move, but Yohji had stubbornly insisted that Weiß would be good for him and help him get himself back together. Besides, he'd said, it wasn't Aya's decision to make, it was Persia's. If Yohji continued down the road he was currently on, he and Aya would most likely cross paths one day soon, and this time, it would be Yohji's name on Wieß's mission briefing. Aya felt his insides grow cold at the thought. He already felt that he had died a little inside himself the past several hours as Yohji screamed and thrashed about, retching repeatedly though he had nothing left in his stomach. Aya made sure he didn't look away. He was determined to be there for Yohji, to go through this with him, even if Yohji would never know he had been there.
Yes, maybe Aya could help him this time after all. Sighing, Aya put the paper aside and closed his eyes, knowing it wouldn't be long before he was woken by Yohji on the other side of the glass once again.
***
"What are you doing here?" Yohji asked with a scowl as he signed his release forms from the Kritiker clinic. He was pale and thin, but drug free, his eyes clear and green, unlike the last time Aya had really gotten to see them.
"Getting a physical," said Aya, the lie slipping easily off his tongue.
Yohji snorted and slipped on his sunglasses, deliberately turning his back on Aya. And Aya just watched - again… still - as Yohji walked out of the clinic without another word or glance behind him.
Title: Separated By More Than Glass
Fandom: Weiß Kreuz
Pairing: Past Aya/Yohji
Beta: whymzycal
Rating: R
Notes: Based somewhat on this drama CD.
Aya stood in front of the observation window as he had for over 48 hours now, hands on the glass. He felt like hell from too many cups of strong coffee, too much pacing, and too little sleep - the kind of sleep he got while sitting in the chair in front of the window that had been provided for him. But all of this was nothing compared to the hell that Yohji was going through. Aya had known the withdrawal would be bad; it was another thing entirely to watch someone he knew and cared about go through it but not be able to do anything to help them. This was the help, though. And Yohji would make it through, or he'd end up dead on the street somewhere. It was his choice.
Aya regretted (and not for the first time) his abrupt departure from Yohji's life. Things had been bad - really bad - for quite some time before Aya just walked away and took that plane to New York. Weiß had been falling apart, each one of them spiraling down into a darkness that Aya had never thought they'd reach, and it took everything he had to simply walk away and not look back. Shion's defection had shown Aya the path he could have gone down if things continued the way they’d been going, and Aya had taken the easy way out: he ran.
A nurse opened the door from Yohji's room, pushing a cart full of soiled linens that she’d just removed from his bed. She paused briefly to put a comforting hand on Aya's shoulder. "This is the worst of it," she said. Her voice was soft and gentle, full of understanding that Aya could only sit there and watch helplessly. "Once he goes through this, it'll all be uphill from there." Aya nodded. "Are you sure you don't want to talk to him?" she asked, but Aya shook his head. Yohji wouldn't want to know that Aya was there, might even hate him for it later when he regained his senses.
Once Aya had agreed to get Weiß back together for Mamoru, he'd been told where he might find Yohji - and what condition he was likely to be in. Mamoru had kept tabs on Yohji, who had gone to see doctors from time to time, but Yohji hadn't gotten the help he needed when all he really wanted was to be left alone to turn a blind eye on the past and, more importantly, on Aya. The clean slate he wanted, however, was not so clean.
Aya picked up the newspaper lying on his chair and sat down, rubbing his temples before glancing down at the article he'd read over and over countless times. Ken had brought it to him, an article circled hastily in bright red marker. Thirteen Slaughtered, Killer Unknown, the article said, the details below spelling out in black and white what Yohji had done only days before Aya's return. It wasn't a quick and efficient killing like Weiß had been trained to do; it was a bloodbath.
"I should have tried to talk to you instead of leaving," Aya whispered against the glass, his warm breath leaving condensation behind. He wanted to run his finger through it, to leave some sort of message, but nothing so real that it would leave a trace behind once the fog had evaporated away. Three little words could possibly change lives, but Aya was too late, and there was no one here who would listen.
Yohji was sleeping now, a hand thrown over his face, blocking out the dim light overhead. His hair, once long and beautiful and honey blond, was now bleached almost white and cropped close to his head. It was drenched with sweat like the rest of him, his skin no longer tanned and warm but sickly pale as he shivered under several thick blankets. He had always walked a fine line between his vices and addiction, and finally, Yohji had crossed to the wrong side. Aya had been able to keep him in check when they were together, to keep Yohji out of the after-hours bars and seedy clubs, to take away the pain of his life and everything that he had lost. But it had all gone irrevocably wrong one night when they had been living out of the trailer. In a drunken and drug-induced stupor, Yohji thought he had murdered a woman - a woman that he'd spent the night with after he and Aya had argued. It was more than the infidelity that turned Aya away in the end: it was the secret that Yohji had kept when he chose to drink his fears away instead of asking for help. Aya hadn't been big on forgiveness back then. Now it was Yohji who wasn't big on forgiveness.
Aya knew that this was likely a bad move, but Yohji had stubbornly insisted that Weiß would be good for him and help him get himself back together. Besides, he'd said, it wasn't Aya's decision to make, it was Persia's. If Yohji continued down the road he was currently on, he and Aya would most likely cross paths one day soon, and this time, it would be Yohji's name on Wieß's mission briefing. Aya felt his insides grow cold at the thought. He already felt that he had died a little inside himself the past several hours as Yohji screamed and thrashed about, retching repeatedly though he had nothing left in his stomach. Aya made sure he didn't look away. He was determined to be there for Yohji, to go through this with him, even if Yohji would never know he had been there.
Yes, maybe Aya could help him this time after all. Sighing, Aya put the paper aside and closed his eyes, knowing it wouldn't be long before he was woken by Yohji on the other side of the glass once again.
***
"What are you doing here?" Yohji asked with a scowl as he signed his release forms from the Kritiker clinic. He was pale and thin, but drug free, his eyes clear and green, unlike the last time Aya had really gotten to see them.
"Getting a physical," said Aya, the lie slipping easily off his tongue.
Yohji snorted and slipped on his sunglasses, deliberately turning his back on Aya. And Aya just watched - again… still - as Yohji walked out of the clinic without another word or glance behind him.