(no subject)
Fandom: Weiss Kreuz
Rating: G
Characters: Ken, Aya
Word Count: 122, 72, 93
Author Notes: See what happens when you can't sleep (future'll eat me) and you go reading fanfic.
Flowers. If he'd believed in God, which frankly he didn't, Ken Hidaka was fairly sure this was proof that He (or She or It) had a twisted sense of humour.
The flower shop was overflowing with vibrant plants that glowed with life; a sharp contrast with the four murderers that tended them. He was the only one awake this morning. The previous night's mission had been hard on them all; A druglord who had been expecting them...to die.
He twisted the tap, lugging the heavy watering can out to tend to the various blossoms. It was obnoxiously bright and he squinted, trying to avoid watering the floor again. The roses were a sea of red petals, heralding Valentine's Day. Ken stopped, staring.
All he could see was red. Red blood. The jowly, greasy little waste of humanity clutching his arm where Omi's dart gleamed silver in the dim light. The gun. Omi's momentary inattention. The fear-panic-anger-hate! His claws tearing through flesh. Blood spattering like red rain on the grubby carpet. The final exhalation as the soul fled.
Red blood staining his claws, his skin, his white coat. Red hands, red clothes, red nightmares. Red...hair?
Ken blinked, surprised to see Aya standing in front of him. And now his cheeks were red. He looked away, silently praying to a non-existant God that Aya would just go away. Don't talk, he begged, Don't look. Don't see. Let me alone until I'm ready to come back.
He couldn't look and see pity. Not from Aya. Not now, not ever. He jumped at the tentative touch on his arm and turned to look at his team leader.
He can't read those cool eyes. It isn't pity. It isn't contempt. It's ...Weiss.
Rating: G
Characters: Ken, Aya
Word Count: 122, 72, 93
Author Notes: See what happens when you can't sleep (future'll eat me) and you go reading fanfic.
Flowers. If he'd believed in God, which frankly he didn't, Ken Hidaka was fairly sure this was proof that He (or She or It) had a twisted sense of humour.
The flower shop was overflowing with vibrant plants that glowed with life; a sharp contrast with the four murderers that tended them. He was the only one awake this morning. The previous night's mission had been hard on them all; A druglord who had been expecting them...to die.
He twisted the tap, lugging the heavy watering can out to tend to the various blossoms. It was obnoxiously bright and he squinted, trying to avoid watering the floor again. The roses were a sea of red petals, heralding Valentine's Day. Ken stopped, staring.
All he could see was red. Red blood. The jowly, greasy little waste of humanity clutching his arm where Omi's dart gleamed silver in the dim light. The gun. Omi's momentary inattention. The fear-panic-anger-hate! His claws tearing through flesh. Blood spattering like red rain on the grubby carpet. The final exhalation as the soul fled.
Red blood staining his claws, his skin, his white coat. Red hands, red clothes, red nightmares. Red...hair?
Ken blinked, surprised to see Aya standing in front of him. And now his cheeks were red. He looked away, silently praying to a non-existant God that Aya would just go away. Don't talk, he begged, Don't look. Don't see. Let me alone until I'm ready to come back.
He couldn't look and see pity. Not from Aya. Not now, not ever. He jumped at the tentative touch on his arm and turned to look at his team leader.
He can't read those cool eyes. It isn't pity. It isn't contempt. It's ...Weiss.