"We've shared a memory..."

The low, gentle voice peters out. The CD player hums a few times, before grinding to a halt. It clicks off, the sound like a gunshot in a quiet room veiled with morning light.

On the nightstand, an alarm clock- the cheap sort, encased in black plastic, that sound like a car crash when they go off- silently flashes. The LED numbers read 5:04. It is not time for the alarm to go off.

Kyou Aguri sees those lights flashing 5:04 more often that he'd like to. At 9:10 in the evening, he puts his schoolbooks away. At 9:15, he goes next door and wishes his young neighbour a good night. At 9:20, he brushes his teeth, and by 9:30 he is asleep. He doesn't know what time he has the nightmare, but he knows he is always awake by 5 AM at the latest.

With the discontent sigh of one who knows he is not going to get any more sleep, he reaches out and turns off the alarm, before dragging himself out of bed and getting dressed. It is a dreary grey morning. Outside, mist shrouds the city. At 5:08, Kyou is dressed. By 5:12, he has brushed his teeth, and pulled on his shoes. At 5:15 he quietly shuts and locks his door (he can't bear the thought of waking his young neighbour) and heads off for his morning run.

The mist outside makes it hard to breathe, and condensation quickly beads in his neatly trimmed black hair. He likes this time of day, when everything feels crisp and cool and clean. His feet make a satisfying slapping sound against the pavement as he forces himself up a particularly steep hill. The quiet of the suburb in the early hours and the soft grey that covers the world like cobwebs reminds him of a morning like this two years ago, when he wasn't a killer and when the voices in his head were quieter.

At the top of the hill is a park with a water fountain. Like every morning, he first turns the fountain on, then splashes some water over the mouthpiece and handle. Then he drinks, washes one hand, then the other, drinks again, then heads back down the hill.

Unlike two years ago though, when he arrives home at 6:14, Kyou returns to an apartment block, not a house. The music filtering through the walls of his room is cheerful J-pop, rather than Suzumu's elegant piano playing.

He showers, and washes himself three times. Kyou is ill-suited to the life of an assassin, and tolerated the dirt of the track team at his old high school, simply because of his need to be better than Suzumu at something was stronger than the voices in his head. He feels blood covering him every day, and no amount of soap or water can erase it. It is maddening.

At 7:00 he knocks on his neighbour's door. On the other side, the music halts abruptly, and the door opens to reveal a boy with wild brown hair and brilliant blue eyes.

He asks, only because he always does, "What was the music?"

"It's a piece called 'Jesus bliebet mein freunde'. Isn't it beautiful? I love to play it. What do you think, big brother?"

"It's called 'We used to have so much together' by See-Saw. Isn't it great? I love listening to it before school. What do you think of it, Kyou?"

He smiles at Sena. "I think it's beautiful."

"Isn't he awfully big for a Japanese boy?"

"Gaijin blood. Apparently his mother was enormous."

"You wouldn't think someone that big would be so fast on the track though!"

"Yeah, sports genius. You should've seen his younger brother though. One of the brightest kids this school had ever seen. Too bad he...died."

"Oh, really? It must be hard for him, living in his little brother's shadow."

"You bet. The kid never showed any aptitude for sport though. That's probably why Aguri picked it up."

He pretends to ignore the conversations teachers hold about him in the halls. He really couldn't have asked for a better cover- as the older brother of Suzumu Aguri, no-one blinked when he enrolled in Koya.

If he wasn't Weiss though, Kyou would've picked a high school as far away from the memory of Suzumu as possible. Australia. New Zealand perhaps.

"He has a few...quirks though. He'll only participate in the relay if he holds the baton first- and the baton has to be clean. He won't participate in long jump. Oh and in gym he doesn't play basketball with the group, though he shows quite a lot of potential."

"That's strange. Do you know why?"

"A few teachers have some ideas. Oh well, guess the good genes could only go to one child."

"Shh! He'll hear you!"

It is days like this that Kyou is glad he can remember the feel of Suzumu's small, elegant hands against his own broad ones, and can remember the way the voices stayed quiet for Suzumu when they wouldn't for anyone else. Otherwise, he thinks he might hate his brother.

He hates bullies. He hates cowards who hide their true selves behind a strong exterior. Really, he reflects it's no wonder that his hands feel dirty as he slams his fist into another nose. The cartilage breaks with a most satisfying noise, and the bully howls in agony.

Coolly, Kyou flicks little bloody flecks off his knuckles. His hands are covered with filth, blood, sweat and cowardice.

Behind him, Suzumu whimpers quietly in terror. He didn't leave as he was instructed to. He can only imagine how he must look to his younger brother- a blood-stained monster, wreaking havoc and terror. He dislikes appearing so unclean to his brother, and he rubs his hands against his pants distastefully.

"Kyou, watch out!"

He doesn't even see the fist that strikes him. He is aware for a moment of the voices in his head screaming angrily, before he hits the ground. The sound of clumsy feet crashing through the undergrowth lets him know the bullies are gone.

"Kyou!" Small, long-fingered hands reach out to delicately probe his face, and he flinches away in reflex. He prepares for an onslaught of mental cries about dirt and germs, but as always with Suzumu, the voices never come. As tapered fingers run across his swelling cheek, he is aware of hot splaches against his face.

"S...Suzumu?"

"Why did you come!" the younger boy blurts out. "I could have handled it! Now you're hurt, and it's my fault. Why did you come?"

He smiles weakly through a split lip. "Because you always come home between 5:15 and 5:26 on Tuesdays...and you weren't home by 5:39."

It is with this memory in mind when Kyou interposes himself between Sena and the S-Class girl.

"Kyou! Why did you come?!"

His heart wrenches, and the lines between reality and memory blur for a moment. "It doesn't matter! Go!"

Behind him, Sena doesn't move, breathing laboured and harsh in the still air. "Sorry." He mutters, and runs away towards the school.

He relaxes his hands, and rubs them against his thighs. "I am the other Weiss." He announces levelly.

He never feels white though. He's always dirty, covered in blood that doesn't wash away.

As he stares down the girl and her warriors, he can hear his watch ticking painfully slowly. He almost laughs when the continuously nagging voices let him know that he should be in science now.

His back is on fire. He can feel the tiny lacerations all over it rip and tear as he struggles painfully to sit up.

Overhead the Z-Class girl sneers, the expression marring her pretty features. "Hey dolly. I hear the experiment is over."

Kyou twists his head slightly, painfully. He rubs his hands on his shirt once, twice, three times. Beside him, Todou is crying.

"I hate it Kyou! Everyone wants something from me. I'm like some...puppet, or doll. I don't want to be 'elite' any more."

"The chosen elite?" Todou laughs weakly. "It makes me laugh."

"I don't want to be 'elite'..."

She kicks him again, shoes leaving a dirty print on his shirt. Before he can recover her hands (dirty, dirty, DIRTY!) are around his throat, squeezing. Then she backhands him (Oh God, dirty) and he can see in the corner of his eye, that Todou is about to die.

"NO!"

The boy with the knife.

The boy in the tree.

A white face in a white morgue on white sheets.

White cloth stained with blood.

Kyou reaches out and touches the still body gently. Reality and memory blur as his fingers make contact. There are no voices. For the first time in over a year, the voices are silent, and he wants to sob with joy as memory and reality melt together.

"Suzumu?" he can feel the rough rope burns around his neck, and can still feel the warmth of his skin. Even his tears are still warm. "Suzumu..." Don't leave me again. I can't take it if you leave me again. I'm going insane.

And then, there is always the knife.

A/N: Apologies in advance for the disjointed nature of this fic, and to any people who actually have OCD. All my drabbles seem to turn out...strange. *sigh* I wrote this at the last minute for the contest, and didn't have time to research Obsessive Compulsive disorder properly. I will go back and fix this one day.