Yamato's death as seen through Ban's eyes. Unrequited shounen-ai.
As he stood, staring at his hand, at the blood, Ban realized that he'd expected he wouldn't live through the experience, that Yamato, for all his words about necessity, would kill him in his final struggles. No responsibilities then, nothing but silence and peace. But the moment had ended, and Ban was left standing, amazed at the sound of his own breath, the blood, the emptiness.
Most of all the emptiness, the silence that had been filled by Yamato's breath and the small noises of his movements, the sudden lack of the presence that filled any room Yamato was in. Yamato was... strong, that's what Ban's grandmother would have called him. Strong and bright, filling any space so completely that Ban always knew when Yamato was there, even without the telltale sound of his footsteps and the everpresent smell of cigarette smoke.
Something inside him crumbled and cracked, and from the dark crumbling places he heard his own voice whisper to him, "You always wanted to touch him in a way no one else could. Be careful what you wish for, Midou." He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. He wanted to go to the body on the floor and kiss the lips that were parted slightly, almost inviting... Yamato's lips.
But the thing on the floor wasn't Yamato; it was meat and blood and bone, nothing more. And so Ban didn't laugh, didn't cry, didn't even move, letting the emptiness sink in and break him down further.
There were things to be done. He had to get rid of the body before Himiko came home, give the excuses so carefully prepared... But Himiko was there, in the doorway, and Ban watched her smile fade, replaced by shock, horror, and (did he imagine it?) disgust. There was no more time, and he took the one chance that remained, knowing he'd hate himself more for it later.
Ban removed his glasses, and met Himiko's eyes with his own, cold and ruthless-the eyes of a serpent.
He watched her run to the kitchen and grab a knife. He watched her rush him, watched his own body fall, watched her hacking madly at his still form, while he tried to remember how to walk, run, get the hell out. Finally his legs moved, and yet, not towards the window. He bent over Yamato (no, not Yamato, a corpse), tempted even in that moment to take the only chance at a kiss he'd ever have, but his courage (or maybe his perversion, whispered that insidious voice) failed him, and there wasn't time. His minute was almost up.
"I loved you, you bastard." He barely whispered the words as he turned away.
Ban vaulted out the window, hit the ground hard and started running. The last fragments of anything within him worthy of respect had finished their slow disintegration. As he ran, they flaked away, carried by a wind that felt far colder than it was.