Written by Eternity's End, edited by Felicity Honenburg. A/N: This fic was extremely difficult to write; much time and effort has been poured into it. The tenses may be confusing, as the fic progresses from memory to reality. Please review; I look for your honest opinion, in the hopes that it will improve me as a writer. This is my first yaoi. Please tell me what you think.

I really appreciate everyone's reviews. I've never had such an immediate positive response! THANKYOU!

//This is a memory or dream sequence.// 'This is thought.'

Warnings: This fic will contain yaoi, meaning m/m relations. (Yay!)

Disclaimer: I do not own Weiss Kreuz. Regrettably.

Chapter Three:

Aya felt ill, and it wasn't because he was sick. No, Aya rarely got sick. This was more of a disgusting bile, churning in his stomach, intent on punishing him for his actions.

And it wasn't that self-loathing was an unusual feeling for him. His opinion of himself was rarely high. But still, this feeling persisted, unique, taunting him. He didn't know why.

Or rather, he did know why. He just refused to acknowledge it.

It was because of this sick feeling that he was headed towards the bathroom. He was by no means headed to check up on Youji. It was just convenient that Youji's room was on the way to the bathroom.

He did not care about Youji.

It didn't concern him.

At all.

At least, that's what he told himself.

So Aya found himself trudging down the hall, at a pace unusually slow compared to his typical determined stride. And he found himself straining his hearing, unconsciously intent on knowing whether Youji was still up.

'Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid.' Youji was plastered against his door, silently chastising himself for his move. 'Why'd you go and do that? Idiot! They don't care. You know that. Why'd you go looking for pity? Huh? Did you think that he'd comfort you? Did you think that he'd open his arms and tell you everything was all right? Really! He doesn't care. None of them do. You discovered that right after you got back, didn't you? Really, Youji. You're a glutton for punishment.' As Youji broke away from one chain of thoughts, another, more destructive string weaned its way in. 'Stupid, what are you sitting around miserable for? Are you waiting for them to save you? Weakling! You just want sympathy. You're just looking for pity. My God! Look what you've done to yourself. You're worth nothing! At least before, you had your looks. But what are you now? What are you, honestly, without sex? Nothing. You're just drawing out the inevitable. How much longer do you think you can last?' Youji vaguely recognized some of these words. Something from the dreams was seeping through, melding itself with his conscious, no longer content to dominate only reveries. Every small doubt he'd had was being multiplied.

"Stop it!" The scream broke him away. Youji looked around for the source, trying to find the one who had come to save him.

There was no one there. It took another few minutes for Youji to realize that he had been the source of the noise.

He was alone. He was safe. Things were going to be fine. Youji relaxed against the door. Things would be fine. He was back in his old mindset. Things were definitely looking up.

'Oh, where's the fun in that?' A voice came in his head. Unlike the previous voices, this one was not of his own creation. No, this one had a definite accent. This one had an identifiable tone. He knew this intrusion all to well.

"Where are you?" Youji asked, suddenly desperate. He stood, stepping away from the door and slowly turning to inspect his surroundings.

He was still alone.

'Hmm. That's a little better, but I like your first idea better.' The voice intruded again.

"What are you talking about? I don't have any ideas! What do you want?" Youji called out into the room.

'Oh, I think you know.' A scene unfolded in his mind, pictures concocted by a foreign imagination. A photograph of his room, his long, frail body sprawled across the wood floors. A lone wire was unraveling from a tight hold around his arm. A large tarn of blood pooled around his figure. 'I think you know, only too well.'

"Get out! Get out!" Youji gasped, panic tightening around his ribs. "Leave me alone. I don't want that." He threw his arms around for emphasis. He succeeded in knocking a clutter of objects from his dresser.

'You don't. You don't want it?' He sounded disappointed. He sounded a bit annoyed. But most of all, he sounded cocky. 'Tsk tsk tsk. Denial!' Youji had bent to rescue the sprawled goods. To his horror, he found himself grasping one of the fallen items.

"Stop it! I don't want this! Stop!" Youji screamed in vain. His fingers were already grasped possessively about the small spool. One hand was pulling the thin, shining strand away from its ravel.

'You don't want this?' Schuldig chuckled, causing Youji to shudder at the familiar feeling. 'If you don't want it, then don't do it. I'm not forcing you.' Youji gasped, increasing Schuldig's amusement.

"No. I wouldn't do this. I don't want to do this!" Youji barked out, his eyes widening as the wire wrapped its way around his upper arm. 'Fine. Fine. Fine. Blame it on me if you must.' Schuldig shook his head from his undisclosed location. Internally, Youji felt the gesture like it was his own. 'Just don't get carried away.' He hissed. 'We don't want you dead next time we come to play. We're not necrophiliacs. Or, at least, I'm not.'

Schuldig's voice faded, just as Youji tightened the wire. By the time his presence had faded completely from his mind, blood was oozing out of the new slits, pouring down his arms, and absorbing in the material of his torn shirt.

"Shit, Youji," he muttered quietly. "Look what you're doing to yourself."

Aya had paused outside of Youji's door when he heard noise. Straining his hearing, he could hear Youji talking to himself.

"Stop it," he whispered; his voice was strained. Almost a hushed scream. "Where are you?" The whisper this time was panicked. Was Youji on the phone? "What are you talking about? I don't have any ideas! What do you want?" No, he wasn't on the phone. The phone hadn't rung, and he wouldn't be asking that if he'd initiated the call.

"Youji!" Aya raised his hand to knock on the door. He wasn't sure if he'd heard.

"Get out! Get out!" Youji's voice was stronger, obviously directed at him. Nodding to himself, Aya dropped his hand. 'Whatever,' he thought, moving to continue on to the bathroom.

"Leave me alone. I don't want that." Aya shook his head. 'I already left.' He mused for a moment before taking a few more steps.

"Stop it! I don't want this! Stop!" By the time Youji's whispered shouts were enunciated, Aya was in the bathroom, the running water blocking out any noise.

Schuldig sat back in the huge bed, a pretty smirk growing on his face. "Mmm. That was nice. That was really, really nice." Nagi sat up beside him, quirking an eyebrow. "Not that you weren't," he said with a teasing smile. Nagi smiled slightly and picked up a cigarette and a lighter, toys he'd stolen from their pet kitten.

"You do good work." The barest hint of a tinge appeared on Nagi's cheeks. "Bet he thinks he's out of control." Schuldig chuckled again and Nagi's shoulders drooped. He was complimenting his performance with Youji. "You sure he'll live?"

"Not to worry. I just broke a few veins. No arteries or anything," Nagi responded, lighting up the cigarette. Schuldig chuckled, wrapping an arm around the slim boy's waist, pulling him towards him.

"You do really good work," he confessed, referring to another form of performance. Nagi blushed. Schuldig moaned. He was definitely satisfied, mind and body.

To Be Continued.

Author's Note: I know this one was pretty short, but I'm so busy. I don't have time to write. And this chapter did not want to come. I think my imaginary muse died. In case anyone was wondering, Youji only thought he was screaming. ^ ^ Ja!