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Come As You Are	By : animegher Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 6971 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Weiß Kreuz, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Weiss Kruez and
Koyasu Takehito and whoever else

may apply…I,
however, own artistic license, so ha!

Aya stared
down the face in front of him, close enough that their noses might have been
touching. His expression was carefully schooled into something else besides a
glare, with no small amount of concentration on Aya’s behalf. It had taken him
long enough just to keep himself from looking like he was ready to kill
something all the time…so Aya finally decided to be happy with just trying to
seem calm and composed. He took a deep breath, tightened his fists, and tried
yet again.

“I
l…loveyou,” Aya stuttered out to his own reflection, glancing away to the
locked bathroom door halfway through as he became uncomfortable. He couldn’t
even do it alone in the bathroom, an actor trying out his lines before going on
stage and failing miserably each time. Yohji had said that it was okay when Aya
couldn’t express any sort of feelings out loud, was patient and didn’t expect
him to be able to say three dangerous, poisonous words with the ease that Yohji
employed every day. Aya just wasn’t like that. It had been years since he had
thought about love as something other than a duty as necessity of kinship, or
some sick bond between the criminals he’d once hunted in cold blood. The last
person he thought that he would ever find any sort of ‘affection,’ sanctuary, or
comfort- Aya stopped himself. Those were such mundane and unexpressive words;
but he found himself unable to think of anything else for what he felt with
Yohji. It was real love, and he had to
learn to be able to say as much to the focus of his affection. Yohji deserved
as much, the poor, touchy-feely bastard stuck with a rape victim who couldn’t
properly express emotions.

Fuck, Aya
couldn’t even comprehend his feelings having been numb for so long.

So, there
he was, locked in the bathroom practicing words that no longer held any meaning
for him…except when they were coming out of Yohji’s mouth, directed at him. Aya
sighed, shaking his head and sneered at the thin reflection projected back at
him. How strange his life was turning out to be. One day, Aya had been
suicidal, caught up in self-destruction and depression and bad, bad situations that he tried not to
reflect on. Then, just like that, Yohji had made it all go away like magic,
crammed each day so full of happiness that Aya felt sick at times from suddenly
being so content. Yohji more than made up for all the hurt that had happened
before, a balm for his soul in a person he had once considered his complete
opposite. Would Yohji laugh at him like his old cocky, playboy self, if Aya
could ever manage to express what he felt in just the right words? Aya knew
deep in that small, tainted, and used-up heart of his that though it would
never happen, the fear was still there. Fear that Yohji would laugh at him,
finally get fed up and leave. The mere thought alone was enough to make Aya’s
knees go weak.

Aya sighed
giving up on his daily verbal exercise of ‘love,’ running his fingers through
his hair to slowly gather up the length to put back in a ponytail. It was still
a little too short to braid such thick hair, but definitely long enough to get
in his way if just let loose. He had never once given any real thought to the
length of his hair; until Yohji had practically burst into tears when he saw
Aya administering his usual haircut with a sharpened kitchen knife. He, of
course, hadn’t been able to understand just why such a big deal was being made about
it. Yohji had been on the verge of tears, kept repeating over and over how much
he loved long hair, and that Aya should grow his out, and that Yohji would make
it worth his while if he’d just stop
cutting it…

Aya smiled
at the memory of Yohji’s childish whining, though it seemed a never-fail tacit to
get the older man anything he wanted as Aya fastened a cord around much longer
length of his hair at the nape of his neck. He’d let it grow without another
haircut to this day, not able to sit still when someone held a sharp object up
close to his face. He checked to make sure his hair was in place before backing
away from the mirror above the sink counter, smoothing the stiff, ironed folds
of the thin, white linen long-sleeved shirt. Yohji might laugh at Aya’s own
hypersensitivity and lie, saying that ‘he’d didn’t even notice them anymore.’ But,
there were still thick, dark purple indents around the puckered, hardened scars
on his wrists from injured flesh that refused to heal. Some parts were just
hollowed out, yellow alligator skin from when Aya str struggled too hard and
ripped out chucks of flesh. The last three fingers on his right hand still
looked strange; the joints not quite healed from the trauma of being stepped on
by some bastard Aya couldn’t recall. His legs were even worse, shorts impossible
for Aya with his gross shame over the scars. He didn’t even want to look at them. He wasn’t about to show off such
marks to strangers, to college kids lucky enough to come fresh out of high
school that didn’t have a clue as to the darker side of the world.

At least thoughts of Yohji would be able get him
through today. He couldn’t very well bring his boyfriend to his first day of
college classes- ever- thought it wasn’t for lack of begging on Yohji’s part. Aya
admitted that a very small part of
him would have liked it. He had learned not to be ashamed of requiring Yohji
with him at all times, since otherwise everything was much too threatening and
daunting. Strangers were now all the same faceless blur that Aya just couldn’t
deal with anymore unlabsoabsolutely necessary, like at the shop or accepting
the occasional package delivery. Aya swallowed heavily, butterflies with metal
wings scrapping the inside of his stomach when he thought about an enclosed
room full of strangers. It had been so long since he had been in a proper
education system, not one about the best ways to kill a man. Aya wasn’t even
sure how a class would go nowadays, his high school attendance so far in the
past that it seemed like a dream.

Now, for
the first time, Aya was going to drive his own car to school. For himself. He
had his class schedule and a map of the school printed out with Omi’s help; had
memorized the professional, color-coded sketch. He had only seen the campus of Tokyo
University the few times on a rainy
day when Omi couldn’t take his bike to school. He had even offered to give Omi
a ride today; not because he was too damn nervous to go alone. easteast his
hands weren’t shaking. It had been a good, long time since the last episode,
but Aya knew better than to think that his panic attacks were gone. That was
when they always hit the hardest. The
dread of an attack was almost enough to send him over that fine edge between
reality and complete hysterics. Aya wouldn’t have eaten today even if he had been
hungry; sure he was going to be sick.

Inhale.
Exhale. Shudder for a bit, and then repeat. Aya shouldn’t be thinking about
such things today. He was actually going to college, wanted to get a major in
one of those titles he had scrolled through trying to apply. There were too
many to even choose from, and so Aya had eventually decided on English
Literature after catching the small print that ‘majors can be changed at any
time.’ His first class would be today at ten
o’clock. He didn’t have time
to feel depressed, ashamed, and ‘get his panties in a bunch,’ as Yohji liked to
say every now and then. Aya adjusted the collar of the shirt, smoothed down the
front of the loose black jeans he had borrowed from Yohji in secret and ended
up keeping in his own clothes. He was sure that the man knew he had done it
long ago, but in a very Yohji-like manner, didn’t say a word. It was just
something that could remind him of the man today, not as noticeable as a shirt
or sweater would be, but something that still felt and smelt like Yohji. Aya wondered where the line between love and
perversion could be drawn, so confused about what was acceptable.

He tried to
smile into the mirror, but without Yohji there, it looked more like a grimace
of pain. Aya looked at the watch tightened carefully around his wrist, only an
hour left before class. An unexpected burst of panic shot up right then and
there, Aya suddenly not left with enough time to be prepared. Sixty minutes
just didn’t cut it. He had to drive there, wait on Omi to get ready, actually
say goodbye to Yohji… Thankfully, he had already foreseen this and prepared his
bag last night. Finally, deciding that he really couldn’t do anything else to
himself, Aya took one more deep breath to gather himself before opening up the bathroom
door.

He barely
managed to not cry out in surprise at Yohji waiting there in a pair of white
boxers and wild hair, holding onto the single shoulder strap for Aya’s side
bag. Yohji was grinning like a fool despite blinking his eyes heavily to adjust
to the morning light; never an early riser. Even though Yohji protested loudly
about having to wake up anytime before noon- despite doing it everyday since
he’d stated sleeping in the same bed as Aya- he always was his best first thing
in the morning. Fuck. Yohji looked good enough to eat. The bit of morning sun
that actually snuck past all the buildings and cement walls into their windows
made Yohji practically glow, his tan, caramel-colored skin and blonde hair all
catching the light. Muscles and bones shifted underneath that skin, the only disfigurements
on the older man being from two lucky bullets and the tattoo on his arm. Yohji
scratched at hair ruffled from sleep, but the messy locks appeared so perfect
that the blonde might as well of just walked out from a professional
hairdresser. Aya couldn’t explain why Yohji could look so whe when he was
yawning with his mouth wide open, like a big cat awakening from a nap. He
didn’t need a reason, just so grateful at the one moment that he actually had
the opportunity to stand there with the one person he actually loved.

Even if he
couldn’t say it out loud.

“Thought
you might want this?” Yohji drawled out loud before the breath got forced out
of him by Aya rushing forward and hugging the man fiercely. He could get some
strength from this, squeezing and burying his face into Yohji’s shoulder. Just
the closeness of another human being who loved him completely, despite how
fucked up and fractured Aya was. He even still smelled like that cologne Aya
had learned to love- because Yohji insisted on bathing in it every hour of the
day. It was much better than the lingering cigarette smoke, and was something
that had just become anotpartpart of the man to take in.

“Hey, it’s
gonna be okay. I’ll miss you, but I’ll be okay,” Yohji assured Aya softly, petting
the top of his hair in a soothing manner. Aya let go at that, plucking Yohji’s
hand off the top of his head before the blonde could mess his hair up any
further. He wasn’t about to look like some disheveled child off the streets for
his first day of class. Maybe he really should put on a tie? Yohji gave him a
questioning, puppy-dog face which he must
have learned from Omi, holding his hands back at Aya’s silent push. They
still didn’t separate, Aya’s hands on Yohji’s waist as the older man stood
there with his bag, smirking with that self-assured manner that made it hard
not to slap the man.

“Don’t
compliment yourself. Just don’t get any ideas while I’m gone,” Aya ordered coldly,
immediately forgetting that he had been holding Yohji close only a second ago. Yohji’s
face was one of utter innocence, but they both knew that Aya was referring to
the girls and women that tried to interest Yohji. Jealousy was a new concept as
well, but it erupted in full fury whenever he saw the girls hanging off Yohji
as was usual whenever they worked in the flower shop. Aya hadn’t been able to
stand it, up to the point where Ken and Omi had to make sure the other resident
couple didn’t share the busy shifts… ever.
More than one woman had been forcibly shoved out the door after it was clear
she wasn’t interested in buying anything.

“I’m more
worried about you going onto a campus full of other guys. You do know you can
do better than me, right?” Yohji twisted the conversation around easily.
Sometimes even Aya forgot that Yohji had his own worries and doubts as well,
despite how self-assured and carefree the man seemed. Yohji had his own
nightmares, old victims and things long past still coming to haunt him in the
middle of the night. The man could even worry about something as ridiculous as
Aya wanting to leave him. He would have laughed out loud, if Yohji hadn’t
looked so damn serious about it all. There was no way that anyone could replace
the older man, would have done the things that Yohji had done for him. Even if
Aya gave the man his eternal soul, if someone like him could still have one, it
wouldn’t be enough to show Yohji his gratitude.

“You’ll be
here when I get back, right?” Aya asked in what he hoped sounded like
uninterested repartee, instead of softly admitting that Yohji had become the
center of his universe. He’d only admit such a weakness to the man standing
there in front of him, but still found himself hesitating after how long they
had been together. There were some memories and fears that refused to let go
despite how much Yohji made him feel like he was worth something again. Enough
to actually try and make something of himself beyond an ex-assassin and mediocre
florist for the man. Seeing Yohji proud of him made Aya’s heart melt all over
again, for lack of better words.

“Are you
going to come back? I don’t know if I can stand you being gone that long. I can
still come with you, it being the first day and all.” Aya almost agreed before
catching himself. Damn Yohji for being so smooth. He could make it seem like he
was really worried when Aya knew that Yohji was trying to ask what Aya didn’t
have the courage to. He frowned at the doubt and over protectiveness, quite
ready to take care of himself for one day without Yohji. Or at least the few
hours his first classes would last.

“I’ll be
fine,” Aya promised finally, pushing Yohji away gently. Almost playfully, if
one could ever associate the woith ith a murderer like himself. Yohji smiled,
without another word because he knew anymore more would seem stifling to Aya. He
passed Aya his bag by the shoulder strap as Ken slammed open the bedroom door
down the hall. They both turned to face a groggy brunette, drool still
glistening down from the corner of his mouth as he stared at them. Aya took a
deep breath in through his nostrils, determinedly staring at Ken’s face as the
naked soccer player smacked his lips and scratched his sleep-tangled hair. It
was still hard to be in a household so at ease with nudity; Aya’s own modesty,
and little bit of muted trauma from
the past-not that Aya let it get to him. He had had to learn to just deal with
it, since everyone else had taken a redheaded nutcase’s relapses in stride. Aya
owed it to his only friends, and since Ken and Yohji were both fans of wandering
around without so much as a stitch of clothing, he just tried to keep from
screaming out loud. That original, mind-blanking fear was still there, but Aya
had better control on it, able to simply stand there and keep his gaze focused
on the brunette’s face.

“I’ve still
got an hour before the shop opens, right?” Ken asked in a pleading, forgetful
tone of voice. Aya was already marching down the hallway as Yohji laughed at
Ken full heartedly, trying to think about other things. Like making coffee
instead of bashing those two idiots’ heads out against the wall. They had too
much fun at Aya’s expense, the two men too sarcastic and teasing for their own
good. He heard Omi’s light voice join the confusion, but was already too far
down the stairs to comprehend it. Alone, Aya smiled at the sounds of the other
three laughing and insulting each other as brothers would do. He found much
more enjoyment just listening to them instead of actually participating. That
was still beyond his abilities right now.

Someone had
already seen fit to start the coffeemaker this morning, but it was between
Yohji and Omi. Ken was obviously still in the process of waking up, even worse
than Yohji when it came to actually rolling out of bed in the morning. Aya
poured himself a generous cupful, sipping on the too-hot liquid while he
started a piece of toast. He didn’t mind the way the black liquid burned his tongue,
enjoying the small bit of pain in his mouth first thing in the morning. A
small, quiet ritual all to himself before everyone else came down andrtedrted
to demand his attention.

He almost
got all the way down to the bottom of the cup before Omi burst in on the scene,
dressed and ready for school with a backpack on. Aya raised one eyebrow at the
boy’s choice of clothes: a plain white t-shirt that had seen better days and
tan shorts with matching straps hanging around his hips. He supposed the best
he could have expected was thct tct that Omi had combed his hair properly. Otherwise
the boy looked like it was any other day, perhaps even more than simply casual because
of the heat. Aya just sighed heavily and freshened up his coffee.

“I still
can’t believe you’re driving me to school, Aya-kun. This is going to be so.
Much. Fun,” Omi made it sound like
they were going to Disneyland. This day was something
Aya was taking very seriously…perhaps almost too seriously. How was he supposed
to pull off ‘normal’ if his nerves were being stretched so thin that it felt
like he was getting ready for a mission? This was going to be his first day of
a truly common, mundane life. Put the past back where it belonged: forgotten.
He did dwell, just like Yohji accused
him of, and needed to actually get the fuck back out into the real world. He
couldn’t live the rest of his life in the apartment behind the store of what
had once been their honest front, laying around in bed with Yohji all night
long, reading books and not accomplishing anything.

Why was it
so fucking tempting at the same time?

“Did you
say goodbye to Yohji-kun yet? I’m sure he’s going to be a mess for as long as
you’re gone,” Omi asked out loud, but he might as well have been speaking to
the air for all the response Aya chose to give that question. He tried to cover
up the silence by taking another long sip of coffee, not wanting to seem rude
to Omi; he was a good friend that Aya respected. Yohji might complain all the
time that Omi looked too girly and young for his own good, but Aya knew that
underneath that fragile exterior was a spirit just as jaded and strong as the
rest of them. The only difference being that Omi still actually felt something
and would openly express it. Even now, Omi was smiling widely with a sparkle in
his eyes that just couldn’t be imitated.

Aya
silently thanked Omi for excusing him from answering, absently running over
everything he had put in his bag in his head; just to be sure he hadn’t
forgotten anything. Omi started himself two pieces of toast for breakfast, humming
lightly without a single care. For him, it was just returning to campus after a
week break. Aya’s had been years. He couldn’t imagine the panic it would cause
if he got all the way to his first classroom before realizing he had left his
pens at home. Aya did his best to head off those small disasters that could
ruin his day, but they always seemed to happen nonetheless.

“Babe,
people usually look happy on days like this,” Yohji’s mocking tone of voice
broke through Aya’s thoughts as he glanced up at the man entering the kitchen
from the stairs. Whatever expression he had been making was gone, Aya unable to
do anything else but grin slightly, like a love-struck idiot, whenever the
blonde walked into the same room. Yohji was now wearing a pair of rumpled
jeans, likely from the laundry bin, but at least he was trying for something
half-modest beyond a pair of boxers. The only thing that would have made it
better would be if Aya could actually tell Yohji how he felt, but those words
stuck in his throat just like so many others. He glanced over at Omi, using the
boy as an excuse not to say anything…even though it was weak even in his own
mind. Aya just couldn’t access whatever part of himself he needed to in order
to say everything he wanted to say to Yohji.

He waited
for Yohji to come closer, impatient with the small detour the man made to the
cabinets to grab his own coffee mug before heading over to the coffee machine.
Yohji smiled warmly as he got himself a cup before walking over to Aya, common
and everyday as all hell. Aya couldn’t expect more out of life, not after everything
he had done and been through. It was still more than he had ever dreamed up,
quite surprised when he lived past twenty-five. Aya had assumed he would have
been killed on missions long before then.

“My college
student’s first day. You’re not allowed to fall in love with any of your
classmates, okay?” Yohji whispered softly for Aya’s ears alone as Omi watched
them quietly from the toaster with a smug, knowing little smile. Aya had to try not to glare at the way Omi watched
Yohji move in like usual. If only he didn’t enjoy the closeness of Yohji, the
bare chest in front of him wasn’t at all repulsive. The scar from a bullet
under Yohji’s ribcage and many others were beautiful, puckered disfigurations
that didn’t tan like the rest of that lean body. The worst was one faded line
that started above Yohji’s navel and wrapped around his hip from a bad mess
with his own wire. Ken still laughed about it, apparently being the one to cut
Yohji loose. It had been long before Aya had ever joined them as a professional
murderer being shuffled around the ranks. After first impressions, Aya had
never dreamed that one of these men would turn out to be the love of his life.

God, if
anyone could hear his thoughts they would likely gag. Everything was coming up
fucking roses for him now, the happiness almost sickening. A human being didn’t
deserve to live like this, not with Yohji making every day seem like a walk in
paradise. Aya forced himself to move away, stop himself from being overwhelmed
by the mere pleasure of being so close to Yohji. He took a few reluctant steps
back, making it look like he had been meaning to get his keys from the rack by
the door the whole time.

“Is it
already time? I can eat breakfast in the car, Aya-kun,” Omi offered in a rush
when he noticed Aya grabbing his keys. Aya snorted at that, not about to let
the smaller blonde into his Porsche with toast and it’s tendencies to become
crumbs stuck in his upholstery. Aya also had no intention of going any time
soon, not when he caught Yohji’s eyes widening in obvious disappointment. Omi
hadn’t been lying when the younger man had said that Yohji would be a mess
while he was gone. Aya hadn’t needed the boy to tell him that, of course, but
it was suddenly starting to sink in that he hadn’t left Yohji’s side since the
end of Friday’s shift. Work was the only thing that could really force him
apart from Yohji, beside the few times the man went off on his own without
telling anyone anything. Aya had grudgingly learned to accept that too, because
Yohji was the type of person that was too forgetful to leave a note or such
before he went off on his spontaneous jaunts through the city.

“We still
have five more minutes,” Aya decided, trying to sound put upon and impatient
when inside he was starting to regret the decision. Omi and Yohji faded away as
suddenly the enormity of today hit Aya like a ton of bricks. He wasn’t ready. Why did he have to do a
stupid thing and sign up for classes, pay the ridiculous tuition, and end up
with an obligation to go to college classes? Why the fuck did he sign up for a lecture class?! There were going to be
strangers surrounding him in an enclosed room and Yohji wasn’t going to be
there and everyone was going to look at him and know immediately that there was
something wrong with him. Worst of
all, people were going to talk to
him. That fear of socializing, of letting people in close enough to actually
have a chance of stumbling across his horrible secrets…and the rejection that
always followed haunted Aya even before it happened. He was going to fucking
scream.

Aya
realized he was chewing on his thumbnail nervously and yanked his hand away
from his mouth angrily. His hand was steady, however, and for that Aya was
immensely proud. He did not get the
shakes. One, two, three, big breath in and out. He would go to college, a real
campus with teachers and students, and not have a panic attack or think about
things that had already happened. As Yohji reminded him many times before,
there was nothing Aya could do about the past, but he still had all of tomorrow
and many days after that. He had never thought it possible at one time, but
Yohji had turned him into somewhat of an optimist.

“You have
your cell phone, right?” Yohji asked as he roped a hand around Aya’s waist, the
other holding up a cup of coffee. He arm was a warm, steady weight against his
back, and Aya shamelessly allowed himself to be drawn against Yohji’s side. Aya
nodded his answer, enjoying the feeling of his shoulder pressed against Yohji’s
side too much to speak. It was the smallest, slightest touches that Aya
appreciated more than anything else; the feeling of another person he
absolutely adored in every aspect merely being right there by his side.

The toaster
dinged and Omi stuffed one piece of toast in his mouth while he buttered the
other one. The boy starting chewing like he was in an eating contest, munching
on the toast without his hands as he worked. The boy scrambled to put the
butter back in the refrigerator and getting ready to shove the second on down
his throat at the same time. Aya and Yohji both smirked at the sight, their
adopted little brother about to suffocate himself on his own breakfast.

“Omi, why
don’t you try chewing? I’m not going to let Aya go for a while, so you can
relax,” Yohji suggested before taking a long sip from his coffee and sighing in
relief afterward. Aya grimaced, halfway between being complimented and
smothered, but that was how things were with Yohji. You had to take him in
large doses or not at all; and Aya couldn’t stand the second option, not even
as a small, silent joke in his own train of thoughts. Yohji had become Aya’s
family, his home, because wherever Yohji was, was where he wanted to be. At
first, Aya had thought such sentiments were irrational and silly, but now he
had come to accept them as much more than that. Yohji had shown him what it was
like to feel again.

Ken managed
to break the small, quiet morning they had all been enjoying by starting to
sing full-heartedly in the shower above their heads. Aya couldn’t even make out
the song, but he knew Ken was not hitting a single note right. Omi snickered at
that, obviously recognizing the song that the athlete was aiming for and
finding it funny. Yohji raised an eyebrow at that and checked to see if he knew
anything. Aya just shook his head and leaned in further to Yohji, appreciating
how he could still be that particular mix of cologne and cigarettes this early
in the morning. The lingering smoky scent of nicotine didn’t even bother him
anymore. Aya enjoyed it now, practically relished it.

“Well, I’m
ready to go now, Aya-kun,” Omi ancednced before he brushed off a few crumbs
from his shirt, and went to wait by the door. This also happened to be out of
sight; Omi thoughtful enough to give them time alone before Aya left. He
reluctantly drew away from Yohji, who let Aya go to set his coffee on the
counter before turning back around to appear in front of Aya again. He only hade che chance to inhale air to call Yohji by name before a hand slipped around his
neck and clamped his lips on Aya’s. Yohji’s tongue was already in his mouth,
swirling around and playing with his own. Aya felt himself melt in an instant,
his knees going weak as he merely held on and sucked in deeply, trying to
swallow all of Yohji whole. To think that it would be at least half a day
before he could enjoy this again was sobering and frightening all at once; but
it was worth it to finally be able to do something substantial with his life
that didn’t have to do with killing.

Thoughts
faded as the single focus of his reality became the feelings and sensations
Yohji could evoke through just the slightest contact of their mouths…though it
was more like a battle for ultimate possession, each of them wanting to make
their claim before they were separated for the day. They finally did have to
break apart when Aya needed air, needed to get away before he ended up staying
here with Yohji instead of leaving. The thought was not tempting, not the slightest fucking bit. Damn Yohji for making
him feel like some helpless seventeen-year-old virgin caught up in his first
love… Aya closed his eyes, wishing that wasn’t so close to the truth, that he
could have the courage to make it through this alone.

“I love
you. Have a good day at school, beautiful. Call me if you feel like it,” Yohji
tried to make it sound like an innocent enough suggestion, but Aya could tell
that even the usually confident player seemed anxious now about letting Aya
walk out the door. He probably would end up breaking down and calling Yohji
sometime during the day, but Aya wanted to see how far he could go without it.
He hadn’t always been so afraid of crowds, had even once worked as a waiter…and
he couldn’t always stay at Yohji’s side and let the blonde’s obnoxious blather
make up for his lack of conversation. Maybe if he could start talking to people
again, he could also tell Yohji exactly what he had wanted to for months now.

“Aya-kuuuun,
we’re gonna be late,” Omi whined loudly from the backdoor, making the both of
them grimace. Aya gave Yohji’s hand one last squeeze before finally having to
part. Omi was standing with the door open, doing his best to looking pleasant
despite starting to get obviously impatient. It was usually Aya that had to
wait around for everyone else to finally get ready. He gave Omi an apologetic
half-smile before following the boy out the door and to his car.

* * *

When Ken
finally came down from his shower in his usual work clothes, being a pair of
worn jeans and a plain black t-shirt, everyone else had already started their
day. Omi had already eaten his breakfast as evident from the pile of crumbs on
the counter and left for school, along with Aya. That was going to take some getting used to, and Ken wasn’t sure if
the public education system was ready for Aya yet. That man was smart in ways
Ken couldn’t even think about; had worked through that high-school degree
program like a rabid dog. It was strange to see Aya so passionate about
anything outside of murdering, both of them very alike when it came to the
sudden, inexplicable bloodlust that couldn’t be controlled. Ken had seen Aya
freak on missions, and he had freaked himself just as many times. He had to
admit that Aya just had a skill when it came to killing, making him double take
and wonder if they had a samurai on their team, just like in the movies. But,
since they didn’t do missions any more, Aya was usually cool as a cucumber, not
about to get flustered by anything- beyond what Yohji did to constantly get
under the guy’s skin.

Yawning,
Ken figured that Yohji would already have opened shop and turned to walk down
the hall and out into the main front. He opened up the door to find that the
door was already unlocked and propped open invitingly…except they had the
air-conditioning on for the flowers and to fight the fucking heat wave that had
decided to hit. There was a hose running on the floor, fallen off of whichever
pot it should have been watering. There was already a large puddle forming
where the floor slanted down to a grilled drain pipe. Sighing, Ken walked over
the spiket and shut the water off, tiredly pulling the rope back and coiling it
in its proper place.

“Look,
Yohji, we all knew you were going to be pathetic, but not this fucking bad,” Ken tried to reason with the Yohji-shaped lump
of misery sitting behind the register. The man was barely on his stool, draped
over the counter with his face buried into it. If the half-American was trying
to act as though a bullet had gone through that thick skull of his, he was
doing a convincing job of it. All Ken got for an answer was a soft, painful moan
that sounded like something in its death throes… or ‘Aya.’

Ken poked
Yohji experimentally in the head. It lolled between stretched out arms, but
Yohji didn’t even start to yell or tell Ken to fuck off like usual. He just
made a whining, plaintive noise followed by a few dry sobs. Thank God they
weren’t actually busy today, because there was no way Yohji was going to do anything
but sit there and wallow in misery. Ken had never been this bad, not even when
Omi had gone on that weeklong class trip to a National Preserve.

So, he
reached underneath the counter, pulled out an extra sheet of white paper, and
uncapped the big permanent pen sitting next to the register. He folded the
sheet in half, than out again before propping it up next to Yohji. ‘Out of
Order’ was written across the whole length of it, and Ken figured that should
do it for now. There weren’t that many schoolgirls filling the shop every day
now that school was out, except for the occnal nal cram student; and it looked
like the heat had killed off the usual string of summer weddings they were
bombarded with around this time. The shop was empty even now, and Ken had a
whole day of more of the same to look forward to. Beyond a few housewives and
old women, they rarely got business between work hours. It was usually after five o’clock when assholes started coming in to
finally buy their girlfriends flowers because they had screwed up yet again.
Being a florist, Ken got to see his fill of sleaze balls roll in the store to
buy a woman’s love. Too bad it seemed to work so damn well.

Ken decided
that he might as well put some of the potted plants outside for display while
the door was still open. It seemed the time of day when everyone had already
started driving, cars parked up and down the street and stuck bumper to rear in
each direction, but there were a few people walking down the sidewalk. Ken
whistled while he lifted up a potted lemon tree that had accidentally been
ordered because of Yohji’s sloppy handwriting. Needless to say, it hadn’t been
sold yet, so he put it out on the farther corner of the storefront. Maybe
they’d get lucky and someone would steal it.

It was
between yelling at Yohji to finally get his ass up and do some work and
bringing out a rosebush that their first customer came up. It was an old
geezer, balding and dressed in a traditional kimono, all in a severe black for
this time of the year. He had a taller man wearing sunglasses and a gray
three-piece suit, looking suspicious as all hell. Ken wouldn’t doubt if the man
was part of the yakuza or such, but he didn’t care as long as the man ended up
buying something. It was hard when he thought that this man might have once
been their target on a mission, but Ken smiled welcoming as the old man came
hobbling up slowly with a hunched back.

“Good
morning, sir,” Ken went with honest politeness, nodding to the geezer’s
‘assistant’ as they passed. The balding, shuffling grandpa didn’t so much as
toss him a second look; the working class clearly below his notice. Ken
resisted the urge to choke something. He noticed that the younger guy was
taller than him by a lot…and that
behind those sunglasses; he was getting glared down at. All of sudden the
atmosphere changed, Ken certain that this was no longer the usual old man who
really liked his flowers. He set down the pot, standing up and slowly turning
around as the pair stopped in front of the open store door. The old man peered
in underneath a set of shaggy grey brows, clearly looking for something besides
the miserable blonde in there now.

Which meant
he was searching for Omi…or Aya.

He didn’t
like either of those conclusions. Ken’s eyes narrowed, concentrating on making
his feet stay still while the old man scoffed at the blonde inside the flower
shop. If Ken moved right now, he knew he would probably be unable to stop
himself from trying attack the old man. Remember
that you’re paranoid. It’s broad daylight. The guy’s over eighty. He hasn’t
done anything yet. Ken tried a path of reasoning, and when that didn’t
really do a damn thing, he counted to ten slowly while the old man finally
continued his walk down the street. So much for being a customer. Ken couldn’t
bring himself to go inside until the man was out of sight, his gut telling him
something was up. Ken wasn’t about to ignore that.

Ken backed
up slowly into the shop, kicking the doorstop up and closed it, suddenly not
caring if the place appeared inviting or not. He had the creeps, chills coming
down his spine, and that didn’t usually lead to smiles and rainbows. Frowning,
Ken looked up and down the sidewalk through the glass door, just to make sure
that old guy wasn’t coming back. If it wasn’t store hours, Ken would have
locked it and pulled all the blinds just to be safe. He was suddenly very happy
that Aya and Omi had gone to school. Just because it was their shop and home,
it didn’t mean that bad guys weren’t going to come and do bad things, even if
they looked like harmless old men.

“Yohji,
stop fucking around. I think-“ Ken started to berate the sad sack of shit before
a cell phone started ringing. Immediately the blonde was sitting up and digging
into the front of his apron pocket. Out came the little electronic like a magic
trick and Yohji was already yelling Aya’s name onto the other line. Ken knew
that if he even tried to say something right now, it would be ignored in favor
of the man on the line. So, he waited while Yohji finally calmed down enough to
hear what the man was trying to tell him through the earpiece.

“No, he’s not!”
Yohji snapped suddenly with a whole lot of rage, killing the connection with a
sharp jerk.

“How the
fuck do you get a wrong number with a cell phone?!” he demanded of Ken,
mumbling on further about clumsy assholes with fat fingers under his breath;
curiously picking up the sign Ken had made and reading it in the middle of his
tirade without missing a single beat. Then, the man snickered and crumbled it
up into a paper ball, proceeding to toss it at Ken’s head. He caught the
projectile in midair, squeezing the paper down further in a tight fist as he
tried to impress on Yohji that this wasn’t the time to dick around.

“Yohji, seriously. This old man just walked by
outside,” Ken started, pointing back at the door.

“No fucking
way! Really?! I haven’t seen one of those in years,” Yohji cut him off with far much more sarcasm than was
necessary. Ken threw the paper back at the blonde, which surprisingly enough
bounced off his forehead and fell onto the counter. They both stared in equal
shock that Yohji’s reactions had been that bad, below even the usual low
expectations Ken held for his friend. Yohji just stared down at the crumpled
projectile with eyes that were starting to water, making Ken wonder if he had
really hurt the guy somehow.

“I miss
Aya,” Yohji finally whined out, whimpering on each syllable like a dog getting
kicked. The blonde’s forehead slammed back down onto the counter and he was
back in the original position Ken had found him in. He promptly forgot about
the old man, more fed up with Yohji’s whining. Omi had gone to school just
about every day for years now, and Ken hadn’t raised such a fuss about it. Of
course, Omi was all fine and eager to go out on his own, whereas Aya had only
poked his head outside the door under the most extreme of circumstances. Yohji
had worked had to cure the man of his newfound terror of stepping outside the
house after his ‘accident,’ as they liked to refer to it. Omi had even helped
out too by forcing Aya to go to a coffee shop down the street every weekend.
Ken had finally done his part as well; going on jogs with Aya in the morning
since he was about the only other person in the house who worked out regularly.

So, Aya had
definitely improved from the anti-social hermit with a katana and temper to
match. He had gotten accepted to the college of their resident boy genius. What
Ken couldn’t understand was why Yohji couldn’t be happy with it. Love was a
strange, fucked up thing. Really, how was Yohji expecting to get away with
marrying another man? Ken was happy just being with Omi and telling him that he
loved him everyday. That was enough, wasn’t it? Ken didn’t see any reason to
change things. He hadn’t thought about changing things anytime soon. Weren’t
they all just trying to get back on track with normal lives?

Ken chewed
on his lip as he thought about Omi, and how the boy was going to be graduating
in just a few more years. What might happen then? Would he get a job and just
start coming home at later hours, unlike school? What if he wanted to move? Omi
was still a fresh, wet-behind-the-ear minor when it came to living like
everyone else. He had a bunch of things to do, like try renting his own
apartment. Ken was basically a freeloader, since Aya just told him how much
money he owed for the bills once a month and filed Ken’s taxes once a year. He
didn’t have a head for such things, but Omi did. Ken suddenly hated how smart
Omi was; wondering if that just might take the kid away from him. Was this how
Yohji felt? He suddenly understood the desire to fall into a puddle of misery.

“Excuse
me?” asked a soft, female voice. Ken glanced over his shoulder to see a girl
blinking up at him, the first real customer of the day. Ken promptly started
smiling and forgetting what it was he should be thinking so damn hard about. Even
paranoid ex-assassins still had to make a living.

“Welcome to
Kitten in the House!”

Jesus
Christ. He hated the name of the place.

* * *

Nagi was
already running late for the first day of the new term. Damn Farfarello for
insisting on playing ‘tag,’ which apparently included knives in the Irish
version of the game. He had been about to break Farfarello’s fingers
psychokinetically before Schuldig had come along and had held the Irishman back
long enough for Nagi to get out the door. It wasn’t a daily thing, since not
much could ever be regular with the insane, but Farfarello had attacked early
in the morning often enough that Nagi had to talk to Crawford about it
beginning interfering with classes. One just didn’t ask Bradley Crawford nicely for something… Nagi ran a hand through
his hair, trying to forget about what awaited him the second he returned to the
safe house. He only had a few hours of actual freedom to attend classes with,
to bask in the feeling of being among normal
people. He had to enjoy the little time he got alone as much as possible.
He was lucky he got to attend a college at all. If Esset hadn’t wanted their
agents well-educated and groomed for any sort of mission, Nagi would have never
gotten a chance to actually learn about something he was actually interested
in. History was a lot more fascinating than how long you had to pump someone
for information before they died from blood loss. Sometimes Nagi was even
allowed to go to the library, if he showed Crawford a copy of the assignment to
prove that he needed books for research.

As long as
he got good grades, Nagi could continue in academics instead of missions unless
all members of Schwarz were required. It was such a small miracle that Nagi was
sure this term would be his last. He was the only one so lucky to be let out of
the house unsupervised for more than a few hours; pretty much by grace of
Schuldig and Farfarello being too crazy to let loose in public. His situation
was a lukewarm one now, his teammates not his dearest friends and not allowed
to meet any others. If Nagi tried to run, Esset would have him recaptured in no
time and the punishment would be much, much worse than how things were now. Farfarello
was proof enough of that.

So, Nagi
just told himself that things would change eventually, even as he started
growing up through ‘the best years of his life’ killing and helping organized
crime on the weekends. He should be going out with friends, even though Nagi
didn’t like speaking with people. Not everyone found someone with ability to
move things around with his mind alone interesting, let alone anything beyond a
freak. Nagi just kept his eyes trained on the ground, cutting through the crowd
as he made his way to his first class.

He found
the room he was supposed to be in with ease, having taken a lecture in the room
last year. He entered through the back door of the large lecture hall, standing
at the top of stadium-like seating descending all the way down to the front.
Luckily, it looked like the professor also hadn’t arrived yet. The large hall
had a few open chairs scattered through the class, the front were already
mostly full. Nagi decided that the nearly empty back row would be just fine;
his vision a little extraordinary and his patience for other people invading
his personal space small. He took a seat, ignoring the appreciative look from
the girl sitting next to him. Nagi pulled out his notebook from his side bag,
fished out a mechanical pencil, and settled himself in for two hours of
lecture.

He wrote
the date neatly at the tope of his paper before finally looking up and around
the class. It was a liberal mix between boys and girls, men and women,
determined intellectuals and a few ruthless punks, some in suits and others in
miniskirts. There were even a few laptops being used as note taking devices.
Some people had normal black hair, others were dyed and bleached. There was even
a girl with a strange purple-colored hair tied back in ponytail, turning and
shifting uncomfortably in- his…seat.

Weiss’s Abyssinian
was taking the same class as him.

Nagi
resisted the urge to duck down in his seat, doing his best to not make any
sudden movements and just blend in while his heartbeat suddenly pounded in his
ears. Just what the hell sort of karma was this?!
They hadn’t heard anything about Weiss or much on Kritiker’s part after that
last big explosion, so the team had been announced dead and the organization
harmless now. But, there was Kritiker’s number one assassin, alive and
attending Tokyo University.
Nagi desperately tried to remember the information they had on the team,
hunkering down in his seat as he tried to stay hidden from the man sitting
three rows down from him. Abyssinian had a history of being a crazy bastard,
more than likely to jump up and charge Nagi if he was noticed. How the hell was
Nagi supposed to handle this?!

Ran
Fujimiya, if he correctly remembered the personal files Esset had on Weiss’s
top team. Well, the man certainly didn’t look like he used too with those
distinctive ear tails gone in favor of grown-out hair. Nagi didn’t know that
the man needed reading glasses, already in place before class had started. He
was sitting next to the wall with a bag placed in the chair next to him,
clearly keeping other people at bay and looking more than a little out of
place. It was hard for a ruthless killer to settle into a humble, everyday
identity; that much Nagi knew very well…and by the way the man was fidgeting in
his seat; it looked like it might be the former Kritiker operative’s first day.
Nagi was almost ashamed for mistaking the man for a girl at first, having it
happen to himself on many occasions. It was not a pleasant experience in the
slightest, especially when some boys got too assuming of what they could do to
a delicate-looking shrimp like himself. He had dealt with the same sort of
assault from Schuldig and Farfarello everyday, and usually didn’t even have to
use telekinesis on the fools that mistook him for easy prey.

Nagi
sighed, staring down at the blank page in front of him and hoping to God that
his somewhat grown out hair would help keep him hidden from view. He had grown
up a little bit in the time that the Weiss team had gone missing after that
final battle and relative chaos that had followed, but probably not enough to
be unrecognizable to the ex-assassin. What was he going to do if he was spotted
by the man? He should probably leave this class before he was compromised in
public. Nagi didn’t want to have to deal with his ‘business’ life at school.

Thankfully,
the professor entered from the front door, drawing everyone’s attention as the
somewhat over-the-hill man shuffled into the room. He was wearing a tweed
jacket and baize slacks, clearly the classic image of a brilliant and somewhat
well-to-do professor. The elder man didn’t even have a briefcase, just finally
chose to stand behind the desk at the front of the room and waited for everyone
to come to attention. Nagi promptly forgot about having the former Abyssinian
in his class, turning his attention to the man up front. They could always kill
the operative later, but right now Nagi had to make sure he passed this class
if he wanted to keep this relative freedom of college.

“I’m
Professor Long and this is Classic Literature, for any of those not sure what
class they’re in,” the older man boomed out in a loud voice clearly used to
public speaking. He sounded like a voice on the public radio stations Crawford
loved to listen to. The teacher had already earned a few chuckles from the
other people in the classroom, smiling with his hands in his pockets. Nagi
found himself liking the professor, leaning forward in his seat to pay more
careful attention.

“I won’t be
taking attendance, because if you came to class I’ll know on the test. All I
ask is for two hours and we’ll make sense out of these writings, I promise.”
Even Nagi laughed at that one, though it was in complete relief that at least
his name wouldn’t be announced. If he was very, very lucky –and careful- he
just might manage to avoid notice from Ran Fujimiya. Nagi was just trying to go
to college, not engage in the typically insane battles that had happened
between their respective teams before.

* * *

Aya’s hand
started to shake after a while. He noticed it while trying to write down every
single word that dropped from the professor’s mouth. His handwriting started to
tremble and writhe on the page as well, thin black lines wavering into gray as
his fingers began to cramp. It was still hard to write for very long,
especially when he was rushed. He was too excited; almost overwhelmed at the
sheer amount of knowledge this teacher was just giving out in a lecture class.
Aya couldn’t get the words down fast enough before the man was already talking
about another book and explaining the meaning behind the work that Aya had
never considered before.

Aya had to
put the mechanical pencil down and clasp his left hand over his other, cold fingers
digging into sore tendons. The professor continued to expound on some foreign
author called Conrad as Aya listened, massaging his cramping hand before it got
too bad to even write. He absently glanced over at the fellow student sitting
one seat away from him and found that the man was already looking at him as
well. He was just a normal jock, well-built with arm muscles bigger than Aya’s
head shown off by a tank-top. He would have reminded Aya of Ken; if it wasn’t
for the fact the man was actually attending a class and had a shaved head. They
both glanced away nervously, but for Aya it was much, much worse. The
professor’s voice faded into a buzz and panicked thoughts whistled around in
his head.

Has he noticed something? What if he saw the
scars on my neck? Can he tell they’re teeth marks? Is he looking at me and
thinking that I’d be a good fuck? I hope he doesn’t talk to me. Does he notice
that I’m nervous as all hell? Can he smell how fucking filthy I am? What if he’s seen me before and is trying to
place me from one of those nights? He
might have seen me ‘working’ before and is waiting until class is over. There
could be more enemies in the hallway.

I think I’m going to be sick…

The trembling was getting so bad
that Aya leaned up against the wall, hopefully hiding the way his body refused
to listen to his demand to just stay still. The poisonous shaking that had
started in his hands had already spread up his arms to his shoulders. Aya
couldn’t even try to look around to see if anyone else had noticed yet, too ashamed.
There was nothing to be freaking out over, it had just been a moment of
accidental eye contact, right? Why did that slight grasp he had on control
always slip whenever he really needed it? Aya bit the bottom of his lower lip,
not hard enough to bleed, but a little bit of pain to focus himself.

“William
Blake is another writer we’ll be going over,” the professor’s voice broke
through his thoughts like a train. Aya sat ramrod straight in his chair, the
tenseness not allowing any shaking of his disobedient muscles. He took up the
pencil again, forcing himself to look forward and print out the name of the author
before he forgot. Aya underlined that as the teacher continued to give further
details about on this foreign author from the 19^th centuries, making
this Blake sound like the inventor of poetry as it was today. It had been a
while since Aya had thought about poetry, finding his taste for it dying off
more and more each day as he realized just how sad and miserable the real world
was. Or at least his participation in it was.

It was
before lifting his pencil off the paper that he noticed the jock was look at
him again, except this time it was at his notes. Aya arched up one eyebrow at
the man, a fine, hair-triggered temper already starting to come alive. The kid
didn’t notice, a few years younger than Aya and well-off in a name brand
tank-top and shorts. There had obviously been no hard times in the past for
this nosy little bastard. Aya was halfway ready to grab the man by the collar
and take him outside for a good lesson in whom to stare at like a fucking
pervert when the man noticed him looking fit to kill. The skull head smiled
nervously with his black eyes showing his discomfort at being caught.

“Hey, you
write in English. Cool, man,” the man whispered softly in a deep voice twas was
obviously more accustomed to being loud as he pointed at Aya’s notes. He looked
down at the paper filled with Japanese characters only broken by ‘William
Blake’ in English. Aya wasn’t even aware he had wrote it down as such, just had
done it because it would be easier when he wanted to look up the ar lar later.
The irritation was gone, replaced by a fierce attempt to not blush. He finally nodded, not about to attempt to outdo himself
by talking or something similarly stupid. The fact that he was still looking in
the other man’s direction was improvement. That seemed to be good enough answer
for the jock as they both turned their attention back to the class.

Aya still
couldn’t help himself to a small, prideful grin as he continued writing
excellent notes. It was enough to make him ignore the twinges of pain shooting
up to his elbow every now and then. He had just been successful in carrying out
somewhat of a dialogue with another person that didn’t involve him killing them
at the end or running away screaming.
Aya had dealt with that quite easily, comfortable enough to finally
relax his shoulders even though he was in a roomful of strangers. He was
getting more and more normal by the day. Would Yohji be able to tell just how
much of an improvement this was from when he had last tried to go out of the
house on his own? Now Aya was attending a lecture class all by himself, was
already being complimented on something other than his looks.

Despite the
feeling of success, Aya couldn’t help scratching at the back of his neck. It
felt like someone was staring at him, but in a class this big it couldn’t be
helped. What was strange was that it felt like something bad was going to be
happening, very soon, because of it.

* * *

Nagi was
out of his chair and through the door as the professor completed his long-winded
farewell for the day. Hopefully, he would manage to slip out before Abyssinian
had had a chance to turn around and see him. Nagi was safe once he was out the
hallway and around the corner, damn sure that the Weiss operative wouldn’t be
in his computer lab. Fujimiya had not been known for his skills with electronics,
whereas Crawford had ordered Nagi to take a programming class to brush up on
his skills. It wouldn’t do to have their best hacker becoming rusty, though
most of the courses were extremely juvenile. There had been a few interesting
programming classes, but that was it.

He
navigated the usual mess of other students going to and from their own classes,
some by themselves and others moving in large groups down the hallway. Nagi
somehow managed to make it through without being too badly jostled and was
marching down the stairs. He exited out the big glass doors by slamming the
iron bar across it and walked across the small paved roadway between to another
large university building. Then, it was back up three flights of stairs and a
stroll around half of the classrooms on the story before Nagi was at the
computer lab. He had a nice fifteen minutes or less between his classes, thanks
to Crawford insisting that he schedule them as closely together as possible so
he wasn’t on campus all day with free time. He might actually get around to
thinking, and their cold, distant leader certainly didn’t want that. He
demanded all Schwarz members think of nothing else but furthering Esset…A
thinly veiled personal ambition behind it all, but Schuldig didn’t care and Farfarello
was insane.

Nagi sighed
heavily. School had been a good place to get away from that horrible group he
called his team. Being locked up in his room for personal privacy and safety
wasn’t cutting it anymore. He rarely got the chance to speak freely or do
exactly as he pleased because no one was watching, and now he had Kritiker
coming in to ruin it all. They really should have killed that damn miserable
team when they had the chance. They had survived like cockroaches and now Ran
Fujimiya was going to be on the verge of ruining his life every Monday,
Wednesday, and Friday. It wasn’t fair that an ex-assassin could destroy everything
by mentioning Nagi being a killer or having psycho telekinesis.

Gritting his
teeth and telling himself that the next class would be better, Nagi opened up one
of the two large, tinted doors. Just as he had hoped, it was quiet in the
darkened computer lab, heavenly with the air-conditioning on to cool the
machines. Just as his last class had been, nearly all the seats were taken. People
were already in front of the monitors, checking e-mail or already working on
projects for their new classes. Nagi strode in slowly, checking around for an
empty computer when-

“Nagi-kun?
Is that you?” The voice wasn’t familiar, and Nagi was pretty sure there would
be no one in this class that he would be on friendly terms with. He searched
around the computers set up on the tables, trying to find just who had called
his name. Sure enough, a hand was waving at him from the end of a table, the
person already drawing everyone’s attention except
Nagi’s. It took a moment to place the baby face and blonde hair, noticing
gold hoop earrings before he actually placed the person. When Nagi did, it felt
like his jaw had become unhinged.

Mamoru
Takatori was grinning like a complete and utter fucking idiot, so openly happy
and bubbly that Nagi felt like he was looking at those giggling teenaged girls
that hung out in front of the shops in Shibuya. The desire to drop his bag and
simply run out the door was very, very strong. He was looking at one of the
last remaining Takatori, much worse than the simple ex-Kritiker Nagi had come
across in his last class. Just thinking of Reiji Takatori made Nagi shudder. He
had been too young for their former employer’s tastes, but Schuldig had been at
the receiving end more than once. Nagi had to patch the German up before, and
the Takatori sons they had worked for looked no different the morning after a
visit from their father. Mamoru had managed to avoid that family grace by being
picked up by Kritiker after his kidnapping. He didn’t even resemble his father
with that sweet baby face that completely belied the number of how many agents
had gone down with darts in their necks.

It was like
a fucking infestation of Weiss.

“There’s a
seat by me,” they boy yelled out across what had been the once quiet computer
lab. Nagi looked around desperately, knowing that he couldn’t ignore the former
Weiss member in front of all these people; many staring at him now since the
youngest Takatori had been so kind as to make a spectacle out of him. Trying
not to look as angry as he felt, Nagi slowly walked over to the empty computer
console next to the boy. He blinked up at him with big blue eyes that reminded
Nagi of a kitten, the hopelessly innocent and sweet face disarming him
completely. The kid had once been called Bombay;
Schuldig had made more than a few inappropriate jokes once they had found out
Weiss’ codenames. It made sense now that Nagi was actually this close to the
boy and not trying to kill him, as per usual.

“Listen,
Taka-..” Nagi started as he took his seat.

“Ah ha ha!
That’s so funny, Nagi-kun,” the
blonde suddenly laughed loudly, covering up what Nagi had been trying to say.
Then, the younger-looking man leaned toward him, almost uncomfortably close to
his face. Nagi had to repress the urge to jerk back as the boy started to
whispered something into his ear.

“Don’t call
me that! It’s Omi. Tsukiyono Omi,” he insisted softly, checking Nagi’s face for
untandtanding, then nodding eagerly at whatever he saw there. Nagi suddenly
wondered if the kid had a couple of screws loose as he went back to sitting
normally in his chair. Nobody could possibly be that happy. Not even kids who
had grown up on the farm with their two loving parents and older brother were
this cheery. A former assassin had plenty of reasons to turn off emotions
completely- unless you were Weiss, apparently.
It was the only way to survive for Nagi. Just what the hell was this Omi on to be this happy? He wouldn’t
take the boy for a drug-user, but there were few other explanations.

“What are
you doing here? Is all of Weiss taking classes now?” Nagi demanded, not sure if
he should try e-mailing this information to Crawford with a Takatori sitting
right next to him…Or a Tsukiyono, as the boy was insisting. “Omi’s” face turned
into a mask of pure horror, suddenly waving his hands and making loud shushing
noises at him. It only brought more attention to the two of them, which was
exactly what Nagi was trying so very hard not to do at school. A girl was
turned around completely in her swivel chair to watch their fight, either
irritated or entertained. Nagi was so close to snapped and blowing this whole
room up that it wasn’t even funny.

“What do
you mean? Did you see Aya-kun?” Omi asked, like they were good friends and had
the common ground to be speaking so casually like this. As if Nagi even wanted
to risk associating with Kritiker! The boy might of well of been speaking Russian
for how much sense he was making right now. The name didn’t ring any bells and
only served to further infuriate Nagi. His questions had been brushed aside
like paranoid delusions when it was clear what Weiss was up to. They must be
trying to scout out a target in the universiNagiNagi stopped that conclusion,
sounding outrageous in his own panicked mind.

“Abyssinian
was in my last class, and now you’re here. What’s the hell is going on?” Nagi demanded,
not about to be fooled by that guiltless expression on the other’s face.
Kritiker was up to something, they had to be if they were going through all the
trouble of placing agents in Nagi’s classes at Tokyo
University. It didn’t make sense
though, if they were just planning to knock off some professor. They had never
shown an interest in Nagi’s abilities before, so maybe this was now personal
revenge. Would Balinese and Siberian be waiting in the parking lot for him?

“Shh! Geez,
could you at least pretend like we
didn’t do that sort of thing? We’re at school, you know,” Omi snapped back,
like it was Nagi who was trying to blow the cover on things. They were the ones starting to push in
on his life! All he wanted was a few hours on campus without having to think
about that part of his life, not
Esset or Kritiker or some loser team that shouldn’t have caused them so much
trouble in the first place. Nagi could still never understand why to this day
the Weiss team had been able to create so much grief when the members’ skill
had been poor at best. It shouldn’t have even of been a competition between
their teams, but Weiss had always managed to make themselves a thorn in Esset’s
side.

“So, you do have Aya-kun in your class. Ken-kun
is going to flip when I tell him
this,” Omi sounded almost too excited at the prospect, directing his
conversation to Nagi, but it couldn’t really be considered talking. Not when Nagi
was doing his very best not to channel psychic powers to choke the little brat.
He hadn’t found a voice this annoying since Farfarello’s, when the Irishman
went berserk in his holding cell with no victims. If there weren’t so many
witnesses around them, Nagi could have even been able to pretend Omi had asthma
or the like. It could be so very easy.

“’Aya-kun?’”
Nagi finally couldn’t resist asking, curiosity getting the better of him when
he should be doing his best to distance himself from the Kritiker member. He
should just collect reconnaissance and then get the hell out of here. But, Omi
was just being so damn friendly,
speaking to him even if Nagi still had yet to do anything to invite such.
Picturing himself walking out just seemed damned rude, all of a sudden. The boy
stared at him, blinking in confusion before his face lighted up in a sudden
realization to what Nagi must be talking about.

“Oh, we
call Ran ‘Aya.’ Yes, it’s his sister’s name, but we all just got used to it,”
Omi shared such staggeringly personal information with him easily. Just because
they needed to keep up the charade of normal students didn’t mean that their
real identities disappeared. Nagi was a member of Schwarz. Surely Omi realized
that anything he said would likely be used against him? What kind of trusting
idiot was he dealing with now?

“Nagi-kun,
what’s with that face? You need to calm down. Aya-kun and I are both attending Tokyo
University now. It’s a big campus,
so no wonder we haven’t run into each other before!” Omi actually sounded happy about this. Nagi was beginning to
wonder if this just might be the real thing. It certainly didn’t seem like an
act, those wide eyes looking incapable of deceiving anyone. Was it possible for
a boy like this to even have the slightest drop of Takatori blood in him? Omi
had already made it feel like they had been good friends for a long time. Nagi
just stared blandly at the kid beside him, feeling much older and jaded than he
had in a long time. Hadn’t they both killed the same amount of people?

“Why are
you taking this class? Are you good with computers too? What year are you?” Omi
asked before silence could grow between them and any conversation would have
just been awkward. Instead, it had just turned into Omi babbling, but the boy
didn’t seem to mind that one bit. Nagi was sure that his face couldn’t have
looked anymore disgusted at the moment, wondering if the ex-Weiss was really
that clueless. Did Omi even look at
their most formidable enemy’s personal files? Just how had they managed to make
things so hard when the member that had once been the information agent didn’t
have a clue to Nagi’s proficiency with computers?

“Crawford
ordered me to,” Nagi finally shot back, making it as cold as possible. That
seemed to affect Omi for all of one second while the boy looked truly hurt and
crestfallen. For a moment, Nagi felt bad that he had upset the kid, trying to
think of something to say before he recalled that he was a member of Schwarz. He
shouldn’t even be caring!

“You still
live with your teammates? I do too!” Omi recovered easily, like a rubber ball
bouncing right back at his face. Nagi sighed heavily, feeling a headache coming
on. Class hadn’t even started yet and he was already in hell. That was going to
be impossible this term, trying to
hide from the cold-blooded Abyssinian, whom he was sure wouldn’t hesitate to
murder a former enemy if he found of Nagi was in his class. Just to top things
off, Bombay seemed insistent on
being best friends. This wasn’t some daytime sitcom about ex-murderers. Nagi
was still on the job and he was sure the moment he told Crawford about this,
there would be an order issued to kill the formerly MIA Weiss team.

Nagi was
silent, not about to fill up the conversation void that was his responsibility.
Omi pouted as would any five-year-old; his lower lip sticking out and eyes
narrowing down in discontentment. Nagi shifted in his seat, finding that the
boy being upset affected him more than it should. He just couldn’t help
squirming and glancing back at Omi, suddenly feeling like he should actually
try since the other boy was doing his
best to be nice. Omi had said that they were at school right now, not at each
other’s necks. He would prefer if they had no contact at all, but he supposed
it would be necessary to extract any sort of information.

“If you
call it living together. We all have separate living quarters and Crawford has
the keys to all the rooms. Sc is is the only time I’m allowed outside,” Nagi
admitted slowly, figuring that if he told the brat just how horrible his life
was, Omi wouldn’t want to talk to him. He looked like the type to avoid and
ignore the tings in life that made one sad. Instead, the boy’s face turned sad
and thoughtful, looking truly upset over something. Nagi realized that it must
be sympathy. He shook his head in utter shock at the Weiss assassin feeling
sorry for him, a former enemy.

“So, I
guess that means you couldn’t come over to study,” Omi said with real regret in
his voice, making Nagi eye the boy up and down. Just what was going though this
kid’s head? When had they become study-buddies? When had they even become
friends?! Was Omi like this was everyone? Nagi couldn’t understand why the boy
hadn’t already been slapped around the block for being so damn naive. He looked
like nothing more than a sheltered, spoiled little brat. If Nagi hadn’t seen
that face glaring down the sight of a crossbow for himself, he would have never
believed that the kid before him could kill in cold blood.

“Could I
come over to your place, then?” Omi asked innocently, blinking up at Nagi like
a newborn deer, all trusting and dewy-eyed. It was an effort to not grab the
boy by the shoulders and start shaking some sense into him. Did he think that
he could just stroll into their own house, in front of Schuldig and Farfarello,
and not expect any trouble? Hell, Nagi wouldn’t be surprised if the boy showed
up with cookies- if Nagi was even permitted to give out their address. Nagi
wasn’t sure if it was comical or just himself slowly falling into hysterics.

“You’d walk
into our headquarters?” Nagi had to ask, had to make sure that Omi was really
aware of what he was saying. Maybe it just needed to be repeated back before
the boy could realize what madness he was considering. Even if they were
enemies, it would be like leading a lamb to slaughter. Omi looked back at him
with round, clear, sky blue-eyes, making Nagi find it very hard to believe that
this boy was a Takatori.

“But we’d
be doing homework, right? Just tell them it’s a time-out,” Omi suggested with a
wave of his hand like that would take care of things. Just when had he decided
to come over to Nagi’s house anyway? This was a computer class! What sort of
computer would they need to work together on? He doubted there were going to be
any group projects for this class.

“’Time-out?’”
Nagi echoed back helplessly as the rest of Omi’s words sunk, the proposal
stunning him. He couldn’t even picture telling
that to Schuldig or Crawford. It would be out of the question to speak to Farfarello,
since that sort of reasoning was beyond the Irishman. Omi nodded, clearly
thinking himself quite bright for coming up with the idea all by himself. He didn’t
seemed bother by the fact that Schuldig would try to kill him and let Farfarello
violate his corpse afterward- and that would be if he was lucky. fordford would
try to use him in much worse ways, as a Takatori and Kritiker member.

Nagi found
himself starting to reconsider how he would wind up reporting this… or, at
least, whom he said was attending Tokyo
University. Abyssinian could not be
ignored, but as for Bombay… Nagi
would feel like a true monster then, just as emotionless and uncaring as Esset
wanted him to be. He still remembered the pain he had felt when Tot died, the
agony that burned even today. Time couldn’t heal all wounds. Even if he was the
bad guy, it didn’t mean that he couldn’t do the right thing some times.

“Aw man,
there’s no eating in the lab! How am I supposed to survive like this through
lunchtime?” Omi moaned, suddenly pitching forward and slamming his head down by
the keyboard. Nagi glanced at the clock in the corner of the monitor; five
minutes before noon. Well, it was about
lunchtime, but Nagi was only allowed food that had been packaged, sent, and
prepared by Esset staff. He hadn’t once had lunch on campus, nothing beyond
bottled water that he brought from ‘home.’ Nagi raised an eyebrow at Omi,
easily seeing that this must not be the case with the boy. Just what kind of
life did this former assassin live, to whine like a child and throw a small
tantrum over food?

“Are you
okay?” Nagi finally forced himself to ask when Omi didn’t move from his hunched
over position on the desk. He had to assess if the boy had really just kicked
off before class had even started. If Bombay
was already dead from starvation, it would save him a lot of work in the end.
However, his voice seemed to have some sort of affect on the kid, making Omi
jerk and twist his head over to Nagi’s direction. He had a self-satisfied smile
on; blinking up at him with what was too much familiarity and kindness.

“I knew you were a nice guy,” Omi said it
like he had suspected as much all from the beginning, wheny hay had first met
and Nagi had been using his powers to murder and maim. If only Omi knew just
how wrong he was. Nagi shook his head at the unwavering innocence and naivety
looking right back at him with a set of shiny, wet blue eyes. He could have
killed Omi without the boy being any the wiser. Hell, he might apologize for
saying something to make Nagi kill him. Nagi started to rub at his temple with
his fingers, trying to ease off the headache that was coming in full throttle.

“Aspirin?”

Nagi found
it hard not to fall out of his chair as Omi held up a bottle of Advil that he
had in his bag. Just how was he going to make it through a whole class with
someone as nice as Omi right next to him; without trying to kill the annoying
bastard? Nobody was this kindhearted, not these days! Certainly not with as
much blood as that was on this boy’s hands. What could he be expecting out of
life, out of attending this college when he had no hopes of legal employment?
Nagi wouldn’t ever be able to get an ID card on his own, not even a library
card.

Still, he
accepted the pills greedily and tapped out a small handful while Omi suddenly
squealed with excitement and pointed at the teacher coming in the door. Nagi
rarely, if ever, was given medication; and the two children’s chewable aspirin
was a joke when someone with psychokinetic got a headache. Migraines would be a
dream compared to the pain he fell into at times. Nagi swallowed four quickly
without any water and shoved the rest into his pocket, having no other choice
in the manner. He capped the bottle and held it out for Omi to take.

“Oh, our
teacher’s a woman! Can you just hold onto that? My bag’s already getting so
cluttered and it’s just the first day,” Omi just waved his hand at Nagi,
staring as the well-dressed, raven-haired professor walked into the classroom.
He stared at the boy, realizing that Omi must have seen him slip the extras. The
boy wasn’t as simple minded as Nagi had first assumed, and neither did he make
an embarrassing mess of giving Nagi something as small as aspirin. The boy had
made it seem so trivial, but it had clearly been well-thought out.

Sheepishly,
Nagi reached into his pocket and dug out all his stolen pills to put back in
the bottle, feeling embarrassed and ashamed that he had done so in the first
place. Omi had just let him keep the medication the medication in the end. He
put them into his own bag as the professor politely coughed and called
everyone’s attention up front to call out the enrollment sheet.

* * *

Schuldig
fucking hated waiting most of all, a
few minutes away from finally grabbing one of these pretty civilians walking by
and beat the utter shit out of them. He had to sit there like a good dog until Nagi
got out of class, leaning against the car and forced to be awake during the midday. Crawford had kicked him out of bed and
sent Schuldig off to be the babysitter first thing in the morning without
another word. So, after rolling out of bed, Schuldig had changed into a tank
top and pair of black, baggy shorts. He tied up his long, bright orange hair in
a high ponytail to keep it off his neck since this damn hwasnwasn’t letting up.
Even rushed, Schuldig didn’t have to try very hard to look damn good. If only
Crawford wasn’t so damn staunch about there being no loose ficken with anyone...

The German
had known immediately that there had been a premonition, but he wasn’t about to
dig deep. Brad was a cold Hurensohn,
and it was like torture to figure out anything personal about the man. Schuldig
smirked at the thought of their beloved Kolonnenfuehrer,
so stiff in a business suit and glasses that he was almost like a completely
different person whenever Schuldig found the man riding his ass. He had figured
they had something when Bradley actually got naked for one of their bouts of
sex. Still, Crawford didn’t favor him- in fact, seemed that hate Schuldig even
more for the fact despite what went on behind closed doors. Schuldig didn’t
care, wasn’t about to be so stupid as to get attached to anything. Schuldig
would have liked nothing more than the chance to give the American his just
desserts, if Brad wouldn’t know about it hours before Schuldig could actually
work up the courage to try anything against the seer.

Schuldig
tisked as he turned around and reached through the open window of his car,
grabbing the pack of cigarettes on the seat. Not even Farfarello was there to
lighten up the mood. The Irishman was always good to take on car rides,
screaming and launching himself against the window when there were victims
walking around freely outside. It was a riot to see the albino smash his face
against the glass, and the people walking down the street usually screamed or
jumped. But, his favorite psycho was back at home, drugged up and restrained
until the next mission. Schuldig lit up his cigarette, checking his watch
again. Nagi should be coming out any moment now, ordered to always wait at the
front of the school for one of them to come along. Usually Brad took care of it
himself while out on business, or sent one of their operatives to fetch the
boy. Schuldig was rarely ever given the task since they all knew he’d use tchanchance to cause some trouble, but today was special for some reason.

Schuldig
hated the feeling of being manipulated.

It was even
worse than his current boredom.

Die Fotze walked around in short skirts
and tops, sluts begging for someone to fuck them up real good. Some of these
girls were plain bitches, rubbing up against their boyfriends in public as they
walked off campus for some fun. The sort that Schuldig couldn’t engage in right
now because Crawford had insisted he go to get Nagi after school. He could just
rip into their minds and they would think they wanted it for a minute or two…at
least long enough for Schuldig to get her all ready, spread out and already
riding der Schwanz. Schuldig loved
their pretty, shocked faces when they came back to their senses in the middle
of ficken. Damn classic.

He would
have been doing it too, except Crawford demanded that he reserve his mental
powers for ‘only when needed.’ As if that was even possible. Just like the
noise of the conversations people had as they walked past, cars driving by,
dogs barking in the distance, Schuldig also heard the mental noise roaring
around. It was with minimal effort that he managed to ignore the static
thoughts most of the time; having learned from in his youth when someone else’s
desires had taken over him. So, he respected Bradley and follow his orders by
keeping his powers restrained and under control…despite the desire to just rip
apart and swallow up one of these little sheep wandering around. Their innocent
minds were like pieces of chocolate, y toy to break open to a soft chewy center
of their fears and self-doubts that Schuldig loved. A person’s reaction to
having their deepest fear, greatest humiliation brought front and center, gave
Schuldig a rush that he sought after everyday. Though the average Japanese went
comatose before that point. His victims’ breaking point had shortened cderaderably
after coming to this damn island, not at all like the women back home. They
were used to hardships and a life more painful than most, unlike the population
here. People didn’t survive there without doing and seeing things that no
person should.

>The sky
was a clear blue, a few streaks of clouds left behind from jet-engines
criss-crossing the wide expanse. God, the weather was absolutely splendid. For
a moment, she simply stared up and was lost in the amazing depth of that
expanse, cut off only by the building towering up, reflecting off one another.
For a moment, it felt like her feet could just lift off the ground-

Verdammet! Schuldig ripped his mind away
from the thoughts of some dumb der Hure that
was projecting too loudly. If he wasn’t careful, he found himself listening if
he wanted to or not. The residual sense of wonder from the woman’s mind felt
like a thick coat of sticky honey inside his skull. He hated it, being stuck in
some bitch’s poetic thoughts for a moment. If Schuldig found out just who was
staring up at the sky without another care, he’d choke her right under it. He
couldn’t stand romantic girls,
usually falling apart far too easily or not even attractive in the first place.
The German focused to make his thoughts his own in the flowing foot traffic
coming off and on campus.

It didn’t
even take a second to find something more to his tastes. A fine Gertrud swaggered past him through the parking
lot on four-inch heels with her backside shaking invitingly. She wore a dress
that must have been painted onto her skin, and was begging for a knife to pop
all those luscious curves out from contcontainment. Schuldig focused a bit,
listening in on her thoughts as she passed. Ryuichi
is going to flip when he sees this
dress. He’ll definitely go all the way, then. Her own unconfident,
scattered thoughts blasted out, making Schuldig grin predatorily. So, her boy
wasn’t being a man, hadn’t actually appreciated the fine piece of female body
he had right under his nose. She’d look good with her back torn open; if
Schuldig ripped her skin off layer by layer and started ficken her until she bled to death.

But
instead, he just had to watch her go since Crawford wouldn’t forgive him if he
came home smelling like sex and blood, as was usual for his favorite hobby. There
had been more missions lately, and he had to be on call 24/7. Nothing but petty
businessmen or run-down shits with debts to be paid, the occasional gang and yakuza popping up to keep things
marginally interesting. Overall, it was a pain in the der Arsch. He couldn’t find any fun on the missions, having no main
adversary to deal with anymore…unless he counted the few times Farfarello got
so confused with bloodlust that he had attacked Schuldig. Besides having to baby-sit
a psycho, Crawford didn’t even give them time to fuck around after the mission;
the precog very acquainted with their perversions after seeing Farfarello drag
victims out in separate bags. /p>

It wasn’t
any fun, Schuldig so geil that his
groin was actually starting to hurt. He hadn’t had any fresh victims for over
two-nights now, since Crawford had been having him run around on ‘purely
business’ like a fucking dog. Being on a campus didn’t help at all, full of
smart, shy, good-looking pretties that would be delicious to smash into a
hundred pieces. He was even looking at die
Tunte, the delicate boys who were needed someone to really rough them up
bad. Schuldig could find enjoyment in that,
men able to take more damage before they died- unlike the women. Schuldig did like how women bruised better, soft
white flesh swelling and blossoming into harsh reds…

Perhaps he
had enough time to fuck up one of these girls before Nagi finally decided to show up.

Schuldig
relished the moment before his victim died, that moment of pure, utter,
complete and devastating terror that couldn’t be recreated any other way. Even
Farfarello could sense the ‘moment of departure’ with his underdeveloped
empathy, fed off it, jerked off to it, liked to lap at the blood when it was
present. Schuldig still preferred abbekommen
inside a fresh, unwilling body instead of his hands. Was that the difference
between their insanity? Farfarello just liked to maim and kill, and Schuldig
took more pleasure in the destruction of the person, not the body. It worked
out with Farfarello always getting his leftovers, but the albino wasn’t picky
as long as they could still scream.

Sheisse.

It was at
the end of his cigarette that Nagi lly lly decided to show up; his frail,
sorrowful form distinctive in any crowd. Sad-looking little fucker, but the boy
wasn’t as freely inclined to violence and death as the rest of them were. Hell,
he was so subdued and introverted that Schuldig wouldn’t have known what to
make of the youngest member of their team if he hadn’t dug through Nagi’s mind.
Depressing and dull, a little soldier for Crawford, so there wasn’t much he
could do but cause constant irritation for the two stiff bastards.

Schuldig
tossed the burning filter out onto the hot pavement while Nagi looked around,
noticed him, and came jogging over. The boy knew better than to make him wait
up, understanding that as long as he stayed out of Schuldig’s way, the German
wouldn’t kill the kid. Still, Nagi had a strange expression on his face as he
came up to the car, one that wasn’t surprise at Schuldig being there. It was
more thoughtful, as if he was trying to recall a particular moment or such…No,
something was on die Tuntes mind.
Schuldig licked his lips, finally able to exercise his mental abilities. The
was

>Nagi, how was school? < Schuldig
directed the words in, but instead of
pulling away as usual for a simple mental message, he stayed inside and clung
to neurons. There was the small delay of having to warp around to Nagi’s
thought pattern, but Schuldig was familiar with it and dug into the biggest
worry lying on top. He pried into the thought, letting it open up and show
Schuldig just what was on Nagi’s mind. He saw the back of pretty’s head, exotic
and long maroon-colored hair pulled back in a ponytail. There was something
familiar about the person, the type that Schuldig liked to fuck around with
mentally, because it hurt them so much more deeply…Schuldig wondered if he
should pry open Nagi’s few, vague memories of his parents while he was in the
boy’s mind. That would be entertainment and revenge for having to waist so long
all in one.

“Get out of my head, Schuldig!” Nagi
didn’t have the same kind of telepathic power as Schuldig, limited to merely speaking
when it came to the finer techniques of mental abilities. Shoving things around
with the strength of your mind alone didn’t take too much finesse. Nagi was
stronger at moving things with his mind, but Schuldig was much better and using
his. Still, Nagi’s ability was enough to have his brain clamp down and close up
like an steel egg; keeping all the good stuff inside. Schuldig jerked back,
long since accustomed to the nausea and dizziness that always hit after
returning to his own mind frame when he was forcibly ejected from someone’s
mind. Crawford had done it many times before, not about to have any patience
for someone playing around in his head.
```
            “Well?” Schuldig asked, waiting for the explanation. Nagi looked away for a moment, obviously trying to figure out which memory he had pried into and not about to guess. That would give away too much. Schwarz was such a close team, after all, everyone sharing with each other... Schuldig simple smiled and waited, knowing that their little agent would eventually answer. Nagi had been trained better than to try and hide anything. He was a good boy, very ergeben. Brad demanded loyalty and unquestioning members for his teammates; had drilled that in from day one. After a few trips to a Kritiker doctor, one just didn’t fuck around anymore.
```
“Abyssinian is taking my Classic Literature class,” Nagi finally reported softly. Schuldig paused in the middle of digging wax out from his ear with his middle finger; the act of complete lack of interest was suddenly interrupted by that news. Abyssinian? Was ?” Schuldig tried to make it sound like
he was completely uninterested, but Schuldig was practically shaking with
excitement. He practically had free reign here…it would be beyond his wildest
dreams, his best luck if Balinese was alive as well. Schuldig could screw
around with them all to his heart’s content. He could barely hold in his
excitement at the thought of the Weiss team, all disarmed and accustomed to
civilian life, and him just showing up in the middle of it. Schuldig would
finally get some payback for all the delays, failed missions, angry employers,
and Crawford getting pissed at Weiss
thwarting their plans once again. Absolutely fucking perfect!

“Schuldig,
I don’t understand German, but I do know you’re being offensive,” Nagi snapped
out smartly, walking around to the other side of the car. Schuldig made a face
at his younger counterpart, scanning the campus once again…except this time it
was for a certain familiar prey. He stretched out his senses to feel around at
all the open minds within his range; searching for one in particular.

It is
fucking hot. I can’t believe we got
assigned a three-page paper on the first day. Where is he looking? I’m hungry. Do you… you know- wanna come on over to my place? Where is he? It’s already
been five minutes! Shit. I should
just kill myself, nobody will notiche fhe flowers are still in full bloom
despite the heat. Amazing. I wonder if Dad will still be home. I wonder if she
knows I’m staring at her breasts. The
scattered thoughts and anxieties of the people around him didn’t match that hateful,
determined energy typical of Aya. Schuldig pulled his mind back from that mess,
sniffing at the lack of really good, juicy prey. He liked the ones that
struggled.

“Schuldig!”
Nagi snapped irritably, but not with too much heat. He knew better than to
actually raise his voice to any of them. Crawford had put the kid in the
hospital for a couple days, but it was nothing compared to what he’d been through.

“Es tut mir Leid, Nagi-dear,” Schuldig
apologized as he unlocked the car, but Nagi only glared harder at him. The boy
didn’t know the difference between insult and apology, but Schuldig wasn’t
about to enlighten him. They both climbed into the car, Nagi looking rather
upset while Schuldig couldn’t help grinning from ear to ear. So, Abyssinian was
attending classes at Tokyo University?
Maybe he hadn’t been able to catch the man today, but he now understood why Brad
had sent him to pick up Nagi. Schuldig would likely start doing more of the
same soon, until he found Aya Fujimiya again.

Gott, this was the first this he was
going to looking forward to in years.

* * *

Aya waited
for Omi out at the front of the campus, close to the large marble sign for the
university. It was their agreed meeting spot for both once their classes got
out, with Aya’s ending ten minutes earlier than Omi’s. Aya checked the time off
his cell phone, showing that Omi was indeed, five minutes late. Aya let his arm
drop back down again, heart rate drumming wildly out of control. His hands were
trembling, badly, barely keeping the grip around the small electronic device.
He couldn’t have even been able to use his cell phone if he had wanted to call
Yohji in such a state. He wasn’t even quiet sure how he had gotten outside; he
just was here now with birds chirping over his head while cars honked in the
street. That rare mix of urban jungle, the sounds of cars in the distance with
soft, innocent and carefree voices from people walkin hel helped Aya gain a
little bit of peace. He would have preferred Yohji to be there, to be wrapping
him up in his own warmth and- Aya groaned. He really couldn’t last four hours
without Yohji. His chest still hurt from that debacle in the hallway, the panic
not about to slow down anytime soon even though he was out in broad daylight,
in public.

Everyone
staring at him hunched up against the tree, shivering in fear.

It had been
simple enough; at the end of class, Aya packed up his notes and pens, got up
and left whils cls classmates buzzed around and talked to each other,
complaining about the class or planning to go drinking afterward. Aya wasn’t so
interested in making friends as he was in getting an education. Besides,
talking to strangers was still something beyond him. The relentless press of
bodies had been horrible, all day long as people got way too close. Some didn’t
seem to know how to fucking walk,
hustling around and cutting across other people’s paths; while some just stood
in the middle of everything gossiping with their friends. Aya had been about to
walk around one such group to make it to the door when he got slammed hard by a
much taller man going the opposite direction. Aya had stumbled back while the
offender just walked past without even apologizing.

Not that it
would have matter much at that point.

The
violence mixed with the unfamiliar faces, swirling around him and fading into
something much worse, darker. Painful. Things that weren’t really there but had
happened before. Aya brought a hand up to his mouth, swallowing hard to keep
the bile down at the memory. Of things he tried so damn hard to repress every
morning. Aya had suddenly found the air intolerable. He couldn’t breathe in the
hallway for a second longer, choking on his own breath as he forced his way around
the other people- faces turning into blurry shadows that were too close, too
many- he merely felt the wind of someone passing and flinched away heavily,
touch no longer an option- out the door- blindly into sunlight and fresh air
that didn’t have any place in his memories. Not about the ones wiockeocked
doors and closed windows, the lights turned off and all hell about to break
loose.

…Which led
Aya to where he was now, trying to calm his mind and uneven breathing. The
jostling that dumb-ass behemoth had caused had shaken Aya badly, as much as he
didn’t want to admit it. It reminded him of other things, of other men using
force when Aya just couldn’t find it in himself to cooperate a moment longer.
Couldn’t stand what he was doing even though it had all been for money. Whoring
hadn’t been that much different from killing; just shut down whatever function
of his mind was still sensitive to the horror of what he was doing and move
forward. Just turn dead inside until it took over. Underneath the scars around
his wrists were ones Aya had inflicted himself, suicide yet another thing he
had failed at. He wanted Yohji to be there, to remind him that those things
were in the past and they only had the future to look forward to.

Aya took
deep breath, let it out, and forced himself to take another. It hadn’t been a
panic attack. Close, but he had somehow managed to keep it from exploding into
a full-blown episode. He wasn’t about to have one of those on campus- to come
to senses in the middle of a crowd staring at him for screaming his head off
even though no one had touched him. Sometimes, it only took the right smell at
the wrong time to have Aya fully freak out. He would like to think that it was
under control, that he had done well by not actually panicking- but it wasn’t
good enough. The fear was still there, would always be brewing right under the
surface to burst out and ruin his life. How was he supposed to be ‘normal’ when
he couldn’t even attend several regular college classes? He hated himself so n mun much, just wished that-

There was a
sudden coldness, the saying ‘walking over your grave’ coming to mind as Aya
felt a chill run up his spine. His head snapped up and looked around so wildly
that his ponytail whipped him in the face. Aya tried to find something
suspicious in the brightly-colored and diversely dressed crowd, average people
laughing and going about average things. It was like being trapped inside a
cage with a wild animal. Aya could feel a predator, the same kind of blood
thirst he had gotten from the worst of the criminals they had ended up facing.
And yet, no one else seemed to even notice the danger filling the air, Aya the
only one looking for the threat. It reminded him of the moment before his
parents’ office building had blown up. Then, the presence faded and was gone
just as suddenly as it had come.

He really
was paranoid. Was he just as bad as Yohji accused him of being? Aya had always
thought that when Ken had been making fun of him, it had been exaggeration.
Were the two of them right, after all? One little bump and suddenly Aya was
certain that there was a serial killer on campus. He couldn’t shake the feeling
even as he tried to belittle it, forced himself to recognize his own irrational
fear and disregard them. It was hard, very hard to not break down and start
crying until Yohji got there. Over nothing. Aya shook his head at his own
stupidity, wondering just how the man might be able to know that he was
freaking out after attending his first day of school.

“Aya-kun!”
the familiar high-pitch of Omi’s voice was enough to make him jump up straight
and swirounround on the boy before the blonde could even dare try to hug him. Sure enough, Omi froze seconds away from him
with arms outstretched in greeting. Aya wasn’t about to be caught dead hugging
someone in plain sight, no matter how much he felt exposed and vulnerable. Aya
did
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Come As You Are