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Torn	By : sweetchaos Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 1101 -:- 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-Prologue
- 2-Chapter 1
- 1
- 2
Disclaimer: Don't own it.

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It was dreary and grey when Yuki awoke the next morning. The sun was making a failed attempt to break through the clouds and dim light pooled on his bed, filtering in through the blinds.
The American rolled over on his stomach, fingers scrabbling on his nightstand in search of his glasses. He hurt. His entire body ached, which was not an uncommon occurrence the morning after a mission. Propping himself up on one elbow, he slid his glasses up his nose and yawned. Time to get up and make himself presentable. Mission or no, he still had school.
The dark-haired boy rose, stretching and scratching his stomach through his tee-shirt. He hated mornings. He hated school. Why couldn't he just stay in bed?
"Because," a voice in the back of his mind echoed, "Aya expects you to go to school and you would never disobey Aya."
Right. He ran a hand through his unruly hair and turned back to his bed. The rumpled comforter looked so warm and inviting, while the scene outside his window promised only a damp, chilly October day. He made a half-assed effort to tidy the bed, tossing the pillows back where they belonged and pulling up the blankets.
Then he turned towards his closet.
There was no speculating over what to wear. Yuki and Michel attended a private school -Saint Justin Martyr School for Boys- which required they wear the same uniform everyday: brown plaid trousers, a white button-down shirt, light blue tie and a navy and tan sweater. In warmer weather, the sweater could be exchanged for a vest and the boys were allowed to wear any footwear of choice. Yuki preferred a well-worn pair of navy Converse All-Stars, while Michel opted for brown boots.
Having showered after returning the night before, Yuki began to mechanically pull on his clothes. He hated the uniform. His school in New York had been one of several public institutions in the neighborhood and he'd worn nothing but jeans and tee-shirts for the duration of his enrollment there. Alison hadn't cared what the children wore, so long as they were attending school.
In a state of half-dress, the spectacled boy padded out of the room to wash his face and brush his teeth. His hair was a lost cause; it would do as it pleased no matter what he did to it, but he did need to perform the rest of his morning ritual.
Free was gone from his post outside Michel's bedroom door, the blanket Yuki had covered him with neatly folded and out of the way against the wall. He could hear the scuffling sounds of Michel getting dressed and was in the middle of brushing his teeth when the slightly-smaller blond burst into the bathroom, comb in hand.
Michel was in a similar state to Yuki. His shirt was un-tucked and he was wearing only one sock. His hair was damp and he smiled a greeting at Yuki as he ran the comb through his unruly blond curls.
"G'morning, Yuki. Did you sleep well?" He questioned. Then, without waiting for a response, he plowed on, "I'm sorry about last night. I wasn't feeling my best. Probably should have stayed behind, you know? It won't happen again."
Yuki spat his toothpaste in the sink and looked up at the younger boy. Michel seemed okay, but he had locked himself in his room the previous night, not even allowing Free in. "Don't worry about it." He turned on the water, absently rinsing his toothbrush, "You didn't, you know, hurt yourself last night…did you?"
Michel was silent for a moment, his hand stilling, the comb tangled in his hair. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, then slowly pulled the comb through the snarl in his curls. "My arm," He replied casually, as if he were talking about the weather, "But it's okay. I patched it up this morning."
"Michel!" Yuki groaned, "It is not 'okay'! I don't know how long it will take for you to understand that…" Michel couldn't seem to get it through his head that hurting himself was not acceptable. "Free slept the entire night outside your door, didn't he?"
"Yes. But I don't understand why." The blond picked a few stray strands of hair out of the teeth of his comb.
"He was worried about you!" Yuki was starting to get exasperated.
"He doesn't need to worry so much. He's climbing up walls over nothing. I'm fine." That said, the smaller boy padded back out of the room to finish dressing.
-----
Free was seated at the kitchen table, a mug of tea clasped between his hands, when Yuki wandered in for breakfast. The teenager took one look at the man and knew he'd hardly had any sleep, if the dark circles beneath his eyes were any indication. Yuki stared at him for a moment, watching as Free peered down into his mug as if divining all the answers to the most puzzling questions of man. Then he made his way over to the cereal cabinet in search of a suitable breakfast.
"Michel says you're wasting you time worrying." He commented as he pulled out a box of Lucky Charms, "He says he's fine."
"He's not." Came the quiet response.
"I know." Yuki set the box on the table and stretched upwards, fetching himself a bowl from a shelf both he and Michel had trouble reaching. He fished a spoon from a drawer and the jug of milk from the fridge, wrinkling his nose -skim; it was the only kind Chloé would drink- when…
"Tuck your shirt in."
Ah, Aya was up, of course.
"Why bother? I'm just going to pull it back out again the second we leave." Yuki sighed. Aya could make him go to the damn private school. Aya could make him wear the stupid uniform. Aya could not, however, force him to wear it properly. He would leave his shirt un-tucked, tails hanging out from the bottom of his sweater. His tie would remain loose and the top button of his shirt undone. As for the hideous plaid trousers, well, nothing could be done about them. Yuki had learned long ago to simply grin and bear it.
"Tuck it in." Aya was busy at the stove, his back to the table, preparing his own tea. How he knew Yuki hadn't, for once, tucked his shirt in was a mystery to the teen, one he didn't suppose he'd ever solve.
Mumbling under his breath, Yuki set his bowl and the milk on the table and began stuffing his shirt into the waist of his pants.
It was at this time that Michel made his appearance in the kitchen, his entrance not at all as grand or exuberant as usual. He padded in, silent, neatly groomed and somehow looking far better in the damn uniform than Yuki ever could. "Good morning." He said pleasantly, retrieving his own bowl and reaching for the Lucky Charms.
"Michel…" Aya began, but the little blond cut him off.
"I'm sorry, Aya! Truly, I am. I had no excuse for my failure last night and I promise it shan't happen again. I wasn't feeling my best and should have requested to stay behind, but I didn't. It was my fault; I accept the blame." Michel chattered, spouting off roughly the same speech he had given Yuki, sounding almost as if he had rehearsed what to say.
Aya stared at him a moment while Yuki and Free exchanged a complicated look. The two had decided it wasn't their place to inform Aya, Ken or Chloé as to what Michel had been doing to himself since it hadn't affected his performance on missions, prior to the previous night. They had felt that between the two of them they could handle it, but Yuki was beginning to suspect they were in way over their heads.
"It had better not happen again." A sigh escaped Aya's lips as he turned back to the tea kettle, a sure sign that the topic had been closed. He knew that, given the opportunity, Michel would keep talking and hoped that his body language alone was enough to shut the boy up.
Michel took the cue and settled himself at the table, sloshing milk into his bowl and digging into the sugary bits of cereal and freeze-dried marshmallows. He wrinkled his nose as Yuki started peeling a banana, then busied himself making hot cocoa with the water left in the tea kettle.
"Did you both get your homework done, or do either of you need a written excuse for your teachers?" Aya questioned as he seated himself, sipping from his mug.
"I got mine done yesterday," Michel chirped, "when we got home. It was easy, just a couple math problems and some reading for literature."
Aya glanced at Yuki, who remained silent. The boy knew that mission or not, his work would not have been completed. Yuki was intelligent, but he hated the English school system. Too many tests, too much reading, too many annoying people in his classes. His classmates liked to rub it in his face that, not only was he a Yank, but he was a poor Yank as well. He didn't have parents who came to open houses, didn't get picked up in a fancy car. He had an after-school job, something that the school forbid, but Krypton had intervened and he and Michel had been allowed to attend the school and work in the shop. They were probably the only people in the whole damn place who didn't have rich parents and they were duly teased for it. Yuki found a smug satisfaction in knowing that, between himself and Michel, they earned far more money as assassins than those punks would ever see in their lives.
"I'll write you a note this time." Aya's cant was all too familiar at this point, "But I will be supervising as you do your homework tonight."
Yuki nodded, finishing his breakfast and taking care of his dishes. He went to gather up his books, stuffing them in his standard-issue, over-the-shoulder school bag, and trotted back in the kitchen just as Aya finished writing the promised excuse. He stuck the slip of paper in his pocket while Michel rounded up his own things and the two set off for school.
-----
The walk the two blocks from the underground to the campus was made in silence, a rare and somewhat unusual occurrence in itself. Michel usually rambled on about classes or homework or anything else that crossed his mind and Yuki usually only half-listened as he didn't often care. He wasn't quite sure yet if Michel was some one he'd classify as a friend, but then, he wasn't quite sure he'd ever had any one he'd truly believed to be his friend.
"Yuki…?" There was a hint of hesitation in the Irish boy's voice and Yuki turned to find Michel gazing up at him through haunted green eyes.
"Yeah?" He blinked behind his glasses. Up until a couple months ago, he hadn't known Michel could be so serious.
"I really, really am sorry…You could have been terribly hurt because I wasn't paying attention." His voice nearly deteriorated at the end of the sentence, but he managed to steel his emotions.
Yuki blew out a breath. "I'm fine, Michel. Really, it's no big deal. I've come out of gang fights worse than that, so don't go beating yourself up over it." What he really wanted to do was tell Michel how worried he was. The smaller boy's face was slightly pale and he looked as if he hadn't been getting enough sleep. He also appeared, if possible, thinner than usual. Yuki tried to remember if Michel had been eating properly; he had poured a whole bowl of cereal that morning, but how much had he actually eaten? He would have to talk it over with Free when they got home. In the meantime, he would make sure Michel ate lunch.
As they passed through the school gates, Yuki took a step closer to Michel. There were clusters of boys here and there on the yard and they had no problem with pestering the tiny blond. Yuki himself was no longer the subject of direct taunting, due to an unfortunate incident his second day of school which resulted in a boy from an old-money family finding himself in a dustbin while Yuki found himself -joined by a very displeased Aya- in the Headmaster's office.
Michel, on the other hand, was still victim of verbal and occasionally even physical abuse, provided Yuki wasn't around to protect him. The American teen found himself wondering idly (for the umpteenth time) why they weren't just transferred to another school, but he knew better to ask. Saint Justin Martyr's was the best school in the area and Richard Krypton wanted nothing but the best for his men.
As he ushered Michel towards the school, he glared menacingly at the gaggles of boys, daring them to say anything nasty or make a move towards his companion. Michel might have been annoying at times, but he certainly didn't deserve cruel words from the other students. And they certainly found a never-ending list of reasons to torment the poor boy - his height, his accent, his nationality, his femininity, his alleged homosexuality…In Yuki's opinion, these rich bastards were far worse than anybody he'd known back in the hood.
There was one other person at the school who stuck up for Michel: Betsy Ebert, the guidance counselor. Ms. Ebert had intervened on more than one taunting session in the hallway between classes and the fact that, no matter how many times she informed the Headmaster of Michel's poor treatment, nothing was being done to stop the bullying was beginning to get on her nerves.
Yuki, however, did not count Betsy Ebert as an ally. Rather the opposite in fact. She was always calling Aya and telling him that Yuki wasn't working to his potential; that he had gotten in another fight or his homework was turned in late. It was Yuki's firm belief that it would have been better if the woman didn't meddle in their affairs; she had never lived like they did, so how could she possibly be of any help?
"Hey." Yuki paused where they would be separating to head towards their individual homerooms, "Be careful, okay? Don't go hurtin' yourself or anything. If you have a problem, come find me or talk to your teacher or something." He jammed his hands in his pockets, staring at the wall.
Michel smiled, touched. This, he knew, was Yuki's way of expressing concern. "I'll be okay." He replied softly, resting a hand on Yuki's arm, "But it's sweet of you to worry."
Yuki felt his face heat up. "I'm not worried!" He snapped, a little pissier than he meant to sound. He instantly regretted his tone, afraid that his companion would think he really was angry about what happened during the mission.
But the blond simply smiled again, patting his arm. "I'll see you for lunch, yes?"
The other boy nodded, a small, half-smile tugging at his mouth, "See ya," then the two parted for the morning.
-----
Michel's science teacher had made the mistake of seating the blond near a window. When he didn't care about a subject -like science- he would stare out the window and his mind would wander. And it always inexplicably wandered to the same subject, whether he liked it or not.
Free. His mind always settled back on Free, no matter what course it took when he began to daydream. The man's presence in his life could be considered paradoxical at best - he encompassed everything Michel both hated and loved.
It had been confusing, at first, equating the person who killed his parents with the person who had carried him to safety that same night. He hadn't wanted to believe it the first time Krypton told him; he hadn't been able to wrap his young mind around it. That man…That man who had come like a thief in the night had stolen his parents' lives. But he had also stolen Michel that night. He had stolen him away from an inevitable fiery death. "All because," KR had said, "they hadn't been ordered to kill the child. You, Michel. He hadn't been told to kill you."
Growing up, the boy had been confused. Should he hate Free for taking away his normal life; for kill his parents? Or should he worship him as the hero he had originally seen him as when he pulled him from the house? Krypton told him time and again that he could only answer those questions himself; that he had to find his own truth.
But it was so damn hard.
He had spent the better part of eight years pondering over whether or not he hated the man. It was the fateful day they went on the mission to rescue Free that he finally found truth in himself. His answers had come in that split second when Free -pumped full of drugs and not at all conscious of who any of them were or really what the hell had been going on- had made the choice to embrace rather than kill him. He had remembered…
The hate had slowly ebbed away over the weeks following the incident as Michel tried his best to live up to his vow to always be Free's friend. He had promised and he wasn't about to break that promise, especially since Free had needed so much help relearning English after his ordeal and who better to teach it than one of the native English speakers on the team? There were other limitations that needed to be worked around as well and through this roll reversal, Michel finally made peace with the circumstances of his life. Hating Free would not bring his parents back. Hating Free, who had done precisely as he had been ordered to, -something Michel was now able to understand- would not change a thing.
Besides, it was so much easier to love the man instead. The man who he later learned had been secretly watching over him all those years was such an enigma. Unraveling the mystery of Free only furthered to endear him to the youth. Curious by nature, Michel couldn't help but want to know all he could about this man. Their relationship had formed of tragedy, through both the murder of Michel's parents and the capture and experimenting on Free, but their friendship had blossomed out of the mutual affection that grew between them.
Since then, Free had become a constant fixture in Michel's life; that one point of stability that anchored him. He used the man for a sounding board when he was upset, a resource if he had questions about something, sometimes even as a pillow if he fell asleep on the couch. For the past eight years, Michel had lived and breathed Free and that wasn't going to change anytime soon. Only lately…
Lately, the thoughts and daydreams had been rambling off into a different direction. As Michel got older, his hormones began pushing at him, telling him that maybe that rumor about his sexuality wasn't so far from the truth. He had loved Free for so long; it was easy to believe they could work out something more than they had, that they could slide into a relationship that wasn't quite so platonic. Weren't they, after all, already each other's happy ending?
He had kissed Free, once. It had been a clumsy, inexperienced kiss which the older man neither encouraged nor rejected. It had left Michel confused - Had it meant anything? Or was it something of no consequence? Things hadn't changed between them and the moment played through the little blond's mind over and over again. He wanted to ask Free what had gone through his mind at that moment, but was afraid to hear the answer. There was such a difference in their ages, it seemed ridiculous of him to assume that Free would ever think of him that way. He was still, despite his upcoming birthday, only a child.
"Conrad? Mr. Conrad!"
At the sound of his name, Michel started suddenly, trying to focus on the teacher, who was looming above him. He glanced around for a brief second, flushing at the smirks and satisfied looks on several of his classmates' faces. He looked at the board, hoping it would give him a clue as to what the teacher had asked about, and then looked back down at the top of his desk. "I don't know the answer, sir."
"Maybe if you paid attention, you wouldn't have this problem, Conrad." The man glared at him warningly, then turned to the rest of the class, "Now, who knows the correct answer?"
Michel sighed, staring back out the window and trying to fight the shamed flush that had spread across his cheeks. He had a strong urge to ask for a bathroom pass just to get out of the room, but he didn't think he'd be permitted to leave. Besides, Yuki had told him not to hurt himself and he didn't want to let Yuki down again.
He shook his head softly, looking to the board. There were a lot of important looking definitions up there. Allowing himself another sigh, he picked up his pen and started writing. It was going to be a long morning.
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Torn