Work Text:
Every night he lied down and he saw red.
He saw that bitch standing on her - weak, crooked, breakable - working legs, how she pushed him over the edge. He pictured all the ways she could have done it: a simple push, not lending him a hand when he needed it, tripping him up... What felt like a memory festered and took its hold on him. He wanted to sob. When had he last cried? Before Kiseia had come along?
Aguero let the image of his best friend being skewered by the Bull run through his frantic, sleep deprived brain as though it were a broken record, clearer and clearer with each time it flashed in his head. The chilly night air suffocated him, the stillness of a time dedicated to rest and recovery stifling his lungs, and the only thing he saw and felt was red.
As Bam fell, Aguero always seemed to somehow be able to see the light in his eyes go out. Whatever the scenario of his fall was, however injured he'd been, no matter what his expression was, he always saw Bam falling, falling, and falling, and he saw his light go out as he was swallowed up by the deep sea.
The ligthbearer felt tears running down his face as he stared at the pitch black ceiling, the sensation foreign, after the sea had long engulfed his - dead, gone - best friend. As much as the crying didn't seem to stop, he didn't feel much aside from all encompassing exhaustion. His insides felt numb, his head heavy, and he felt like he was somewhere else. Did his chest ache?
The night usually devolved into him kicking off his sweat soaked sheets and getting to work in his lightouse.
The test was tomorrow - tomorrow tomorrow, his mind helpfully supplied as he scanned the time on the corner of one of his screens, which read 4.03am - and he was pretty much done with planning and organising the whole shebang (had been since before he'd been kicked out, before he'd met Maria, as this test was laughably mundane and had been easily prepared for by the Khuns), and had long added his personal twist into it. At that particular reminder, his mouth instantaneously turned bitter. He swallowed, quickly shutting the taste out. His throat felt dry.
He had been pulling up every bit of information on other regulars that his brain could afford to memorize, and he'd long since memorized the files of the most interesting ones. But no one actually stuck. There had been one guy who'd been a remarkably strong anima for being a 2nd floor regular, but unfortunately he also seemed to be remarkably stupid, managing to not display the slightest bit of intelligence in just about anything he did. Aguero doubted he'd make it past the next few floors (and he wasn't sure he would've lasted a day with the guy, either). Another regular seemed to be an undeniably skilled scout, a thief as flighty as he was swift. An uncomfortable feeling had settled in his spine. He immediately dismissed the idea.
Fishermen, spear bearers, scouts, wave controllers... None seemed to be enough. He wasn't sure whether he ought to be impressed by his current team or annoyed that they'd raised his standards when compared to the other useless pawns in their floor.
Regardless, he kept looking. It wasn't before the sun rose, before his 6am alarm rang, that he found someone of interest. The pale rays of the sunlight had made their way through the tiny space between his blinds and the window, momentarily blinding him. It was a small, fragile thing, and it didn't feel the slightest bit warm. His surgically organized room brightened the slightest bit, though, as his heart stopped. His pale hand hovered over his keyboard, sore from the pace he'd been typing at for hours now. He felt his pulse in his head as it throbbed.
There was a knock on his door which broke him out of his stupor. Aguero stilled for a split second, and then sprung into action. He quickly put his lighthouse to sleep, in an attempt to look as though he'd slept. A glance at his bed made him sigh as realised he wouldn't fool anyone on that end. His heart still hammered in his neck as he walked towards the door. Only the regular's name had stuck, but that's all he'd needed.
R A N
Shibisu was smart enough not to comment on his trademark dark circles and his sick appearance as he came around for breakfast. Unfortunately, the others... not so much. Aguero still took care of his appearance mechanically, dispassionately, but no amount of care for his skin, hair and attire could cover up the utter mind numbing tiredness he seemed to wear like a second skin. So, when he sat down at their shared table at the lodging they'd rented (daily event which for him had become a meek attempt at routine social contact as he dutifully chugged his morning coffee), his teammates - friends? - apparently couldn't keep their mouth shut.
"You look even more gross than usual, earrings."
A hushed silence fell over the previously bustling table. Even Endorsi and Anak now kept their sharp comments to a minimum, their edge having grown noticeably softer and quieter. It had just irked him more, and they'd grown quieter and quieter until they'd stopped altogether. Some hadn't taken the hint.
"Hak..." bit out Shibisu, a clear and sharp warning in his tone, to anyone who cared enough to listen.
The swordsman didn't. He looked Aguero straight in the eye.
"You're taking the test like that?"
Even the gator sat blissfully quiet, something akin to shame, pity (maybe even guilt) in his countenance. Aguero didn't need to stare at him to tell.
Blue eyes held Hak's unflinching gaze with as much veiled anger as they could muster. He sensed yellow eyes on him - dull, lifeless, murky, disgusting. His head throbbed violently. He felt like throwing up, and knew he had to get out of there immediately before he did or said something he would regret. Aguero sat up rigidly and, looking the swordsman straight in the eye, flipped him off. He then turned on his feet and left through the door he'd come from without a word. His coffee lay forgotten on the table.
The next day, A.A. was on the third floor, alone with the burning piece of tash he hated more than anything, a hatred rivaled only by that which he felt towards his father, and he barely remembered the last words he'd said to the friends he'd left to fail on the last floor.
The next few weeks were hell.
Sleep never came when it should, as though mocking him. His own subconscious couldn't provide him with a nightmare any more terrifying than the one he was living right then and there.
Rachel smiled beside him, as ugly as she was fake. He pictured all the ways he could snap her neck, break her limbs, puncture her lungs without killing her so she'd suffocate--
He took a step forward instead. His head screamed at him, his body howled, but he ignored them, like he'd been used to, back home. Before he'd met him. He'd been left alone again, except this time the person he'd loved had left him with company even worse than his own.
She once complimented his beautiful deep blue hair tie, the one that donned his family crest. He'd seen red.
A.A. gave it to a pack of stray dogs the next day.