Author's Notes: OK, I don't own Weiss, or Schwarz, or anything like that at all. Weiss Kreuz belongs to Koyasu Takehito and Project Weiss. I make to profit from these works, please don't sue, blah, blah.
OK... Warnings for this fic: Shonen-ai, language, depression, reference to self-mutilation, and psuedo-non-consensual situations (perhaps it is better to call it sexual harassment).
Yes, this is one weird, screwed up little ficlet. On that note, I just wanted to mention what inspired this. As I'm fairly new to WK, I was studying Weiss and Schwarz, trying to think how their members matched up. Sort of a who's so-and-so's evil twin?' thing. And looking at Farfie and Aya, I was sorta struck by... I dunno, something.
Please excuse the overuse (abuse) of the trailing off, or the ...', at the end of sentences. It get like this sometimes.

- SnM

Continue at your own risk!

He stepped out of the shower, and pulled a towel from the rack. Leaning against the basin of the sink, he dried his face and hair, leaving the towel over his face to keep stray water from running down his neck. Not that it really mattered, but he had become fastidious in actions that could separate him from the other man. Something methodical, something logical, to set them apart...
They looked nothing alike. But the man had set some strange fear in him when they had last met. This fear ran so deep that every time he looked in the mirror, he thought he saw some long, white scar folding across the skin of his face. In his worst nightmares, he no longer dreamt of his sister, nor of his parents, but of a tiny white scar that started, innocently enough, on his cheek and spread until his entire face was swallowed up by white, puckered scar tissue and he could no longer speak.
Damn it, he hissed, slamming his first into the sink. A little harder, and he probably would've cracked the porcelain.
Ne, Aya, come to bed...
Damn Yohji, he thought, his hands holding the towel in place over his face. He repressed an anguished scream. Finally, disgusted with himself, he threw the towel onto the floor worked up the courage to look himself in the mirror. In the split-second before he did, he was afraid that he wouldn't see Aya, or even Ran, only - he shuddered - Farfarello.
He couldn't believe it, that he had been so weak as to allow that Schwarz bastard to get into his head, but... The similarities were so striking...

When he arrived, a few moments late, the others were all engaged in their own battles. Omi was locked in an uncharacteristic fistfight with the brown-haired Schwarz boy, and Ken and Yohji were putting up a good fight against the other two members.
Aya had been about to jump in to help them when he felt arms encircle his waist. He froze. He couldn't reach his katana, the position of the body behind him assured him of that. One of those pale, long-fingered hands ran smoothly up his abdomen, the other remained wrapped around his waist, a small knife in hand.
You bastard, he hissed.
If I am, came the reply, a damp, sickening warmth against his ear, then so are you.

He could feel lip lips that were pressed against his cheek break into a sick smile. You and I, Abyssinian, we aren't so different...
Shut up. Don't you dare say that.
Oh, but it's
so true... Don't you see it? The lunatic had let his tongue caress the inner shell of Aya's ear, and the Weiss agent shuddered in absolute disgust. Farfarello hissed in what might've been a seductive tone, had Aya not hated the man so much, am what you might've become... What you still might become, if you're lucky...
He was still paralyzed with shock as he'd felt the hand with the knife slide up to his shoulder. Farfarello stabbed him in the shoulder just in time to follow Crawford out as the Schwarz leader had snapped, Farfie, get a fucking move on, we're leaving! Then the madman had waltzed off, leaving Aya in revolted shock, a knife in his shoulder.

When they got back to the Koneko no sumi ee, Yohji had bandaged him up, and Ken and Omi pretended like their leader hadn't been caught off guard. It was hard to do, no doubt about it.
Yohji had tried to talk to him, up in Aya's room. It felt as though a strange calm fell down over him. That, however, was misleading, for in the next instant, he had interrupted Yohji's coaxing, screaming Get out! at the top of his lungs. Yohji had scuttled out, looking more hurt than he'd been trying to let on, and Aya had collapsed onto the floor.
I am what you might've become... What you still might become... The worlds rang in his head, over and over again, like some strange chant. He'd put a hand over his mouth to stop himself from vomiting. This was bound to happen, he told himself, taking his breaths in forced, painful gasps. The stress was bound to get to you eventually and then - But no, that wasn't it.
The more he thought about it, the more it seemed to make sense... Hadn't Farfarello killed his family, even if he didn't remember it? Hadn't Aya killed his family? Perhaps not directly, but the redhead could not help but blame himself for his parents' deaths. Hadn't Farfarello, just like Aya had, lost his faith in what he had believed in in his youth? Farfarello welded a a blade, so did he. The madman felt no pain. Aya felt emotional pain, but he suspected that emotional pain had driven the Irish lunatic to his current state of nervelessness. Aya wondered sometimes if he was becoming stone himself, if he was losing physical sensation. Every once in a while, when he was alone, he would try to drag a blade across his skin. Perhaps the Irishman was simply braver in that regard, more ready to accept, than Aya was... It seemed that the white-haired Schwarz member lived perpetually in the dark, painless abyss that Aya often found himself tempted to leap into.
What you might still become... Who was to say that Aya was strong enough to resist the seductive blackness? Who was to say that one day soon, he might just leave everything behind and fall into that bottomless depth?

Oh, gods, not this again. It was Yohji's voice... Yohji... Where was he?
He felt strong, warm arms lift him up. Presently, there was a sort, giving surface beneath him, which he realized was his bed.
Aya, open your eyes. You spaced out again, man... He felt Yohji's long, strong fingers on his cheek. He felt his eyelids twitch, but the darkness that enveloped him was so warm and inviting, that he couldn't bring himself to awaken fully. No way, Aya... C'mon, you're not getting out of it that easily... I gotta know you're OK... Wake up...
His eyes opened, forming thin slivers of amethyst colour. Yohji...? What happened?
The green-eyed man winced at how disoriented his lover sounded. He hated it when Aya was weak in any way; to see Aya helpless pained him. The redhead wouldn't say what that one-eyes bastard from Schwarz had said to him, but it was enough to make Yohji spitting mad, just for how adversely it affected Aya. He'd been doing this a lot lately, meaning, he'd been finding Aya passed out on the floor. He screamed in his sleep, too... Rather, he tried to scream. Yohji, who was often awake as a result of his own nightmares, would lie there and listen to Aya's nocturnal struggles. It always sounded like the redhead was gagged and trying to scream for help. Yohji didn't often wake Aya up because he knew Aya's be angry when he was finally cognizant. That was the other problem: During his waking hours, Aya had become even more snappish and disagreeable than usual. And they hadn't had sex in, what, three weeks? Aya, it seemed, couldn't bring himself to touch Yohji anymore, for some reason. Every time the brunette would try to initiate something, Aya would become still as stone and stare harshly at his hands, as though they were covered in filth... It wasn't that he minded a break from their usual routine of screwing like rabbits, but that disgusted look Aya gave him every time their eyes met was the bit that really killed him.
You were crumpled on the bathroom floor again, Aya. He took a deep breath, and kissed his lover gently on the forehead. You've gotta snap out of this. Whatever he told you... It doesn't matter. You've gotta come back to us, Aya. We're all worried about you.
His eyes widened a little, then slitted again as he tried to focus on Yohji's face. Oh, yeah, the curly-haired man thought, he's out of it.
Yohji... I don't... He took a breath, and it tore at Yohji's heart to hear how helpless Aya sounded. I'm not Farfarello, am I?
exclaimed Yohji, sitting up straight as a board.
He said... Uhhn... I'm confused, Yohji... What's going on?
whispered the brunette kindly, stroking Aya's soft, red hair, his lover's head resting against his chest. Nothing's going on, Aya... Everything's just fine...
Nnn... Love you so much... But... He said we were alike... That, if... If I was lucky, I'd become like him...
No, no, Aya-koi, Yohji whispered into Aya's hair, his throat feeling a little thick, his eyes a little hot. Sleepiness, pain medication, and the after affects of his fainting spell were conspiring to make Aya say things he could never normally say... Like, what the hell Farfarello had told him that day he'd been knifed, or even expressing affection towards his own lover... It hurt Yohji's heart to associate that Irish bastard and his beautiful swordsman... Not mine, so much, he corrected himself. But still... He's nothing like that fucking loon.
Ohh, Yohji, Aya murmured, his hand snaking up to stroke the brunette's cheek. Sometimes I think... Sometimes it seems like Farfarello's really the stronger of the two of us... He's accepted his pla -
No, Aya, Yohji corrected affectionately, placing an upside-down kiss on Aya's mouth. There's no doubt about it that you, my dear, are the strongest one of all...