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Mind Games and Coffee	By : Solaras Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 5490 -:- 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
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Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz is not mine. All its characters and affiliates are also
not mine.

Author’s notes: Hey
everyone. I’m glad you decided to check
out my story. This is the first Weiss
Kreuz fic I have written. It is also the first yaoi
fic. It will
be a Brad and Schuldig story. Hopefully
it will turn out ok. Enjoy

~telepathy~ aka communicating

/thoughts/ aka Schuldig reading someone’s mind

Mind Games and Coffee

Chapter One - Breakfast

The sun
filters softly through an open window, as the pale curtains sway lightly in the
quiet morning hour. Only this early in
the day is the four bedroom apartment so quiet.
The continuously typing fingers currently clutch a pillow, the blasphemous
mouth sucks absently on a blade between snores, and the German rock cds have
been taped to the ceiling. The only
sound to be heard is the brewing of a coffee pot. Only Brad Crawford is ever awake at 7:30 in the morning, unless a job requires
otherwise. Today there is no reason for
the assassin team known as Schwarz to be awake, so Crawford is allowed to enjoy
the rare peace and quiet.

The clairvoyant closes his window,
left open during the summer night, and leaves his bedroom. The only light in the hallway comes from his
open door. The sun spills across the
hall into the half open door of the resident telepath, Schuldig. As long as Crawford has known the German,
Schuldig has never slept with his door closed.
Speculation has led Crawford to believe it has something to do with the
telepath’s hatred of being alone. If the
door is closed then he is shut in, alone, but if the door is open then his room
connects to others or something like that.

When Crawford first started working
with Mastermind, Schuldig confessed a dislike of solitude because then he was
left with the swirling chaos in his head.
The telepath sometimes becomes so lost within the voices that he has to
be knocked out with medication. An out
of control ‘gift’ is not pleasant, especially when your mind is at stake. Also enclosed spaces probably bring back bad
memories from the German’s childhood.
Schuldig was often locked in a closet by fearful parents before running
away. He did God knows what to survive
before being picked up by Rosenkreuz officials, who quickly found that solitary
confinement was very effective against the defiant young telepath. Either way, somewhere along the years
Crawford started leaving his door cracked.
Schuldig seemed to sleep easier, which meant that Crawford got peace to
sleep as well; all and all a practical arrangement in the clairvoyant’s
mind.

Now Brad Crawford stood in the
early morning hour as the sun spilled upon the sprawled form of his
teammate. Schuldig slept on his stomach
with his long limbs stretched out in every direction, his face turned towards
the door. Long fiery hair fell over
closed eyes, and one overly long lock shifted with every soft breath. Every now and then he would mutter something
in one language or another, obviously someone else’s thoughts. Often the telepath would wake disoriented
about his location, and sometimes speaking languages he has never studied. What concerned Crawford the most, though he
would never admit it, was when Schuldig would wake confused about his identity. After about ten minutes Schuldig reorients
himself, but Crawford wonders if one day Schuldig will succumb to his
gift. He wouldn’t be the first telepath
to do so. So far there have been no
visions to predict such a day.

Crawford moves on to the kitchen
where his coffee lays waiting. A quick
survey of the cabinet reveals only one clean mug, Schuldig’s, it is a bright
orange coffee mug with ‘Chaos, panic, disorder…My job is done’ written in bold
yellow letters. Frowning slightly
Crawford pulls his white mug from yesterday out of the dishwasher and rinses it
out. As he pours his coffee he makes a
note to have Nagi start the dishwasher after breakfast. Coffee in hand, Crawford sits down at the
table, and picks up the newspaper. Soon
Nagi will rise and start breakfast, after which he will unlock Farfarello’s
door, who may or may not come out for breakfast. Schuldig may be roused by the smell of food,
or he may ignore it in favor of sleep, in which case he will sleep well past noon.
Pausing in sipping his coffee, Brad sees that Schuldig will be up for
breakfast, which means he will make himself a nuisance for a better part of the
day.

About halfway through his paper,
Crawford becomes aware of Nagi shuffling about.
The boy arrives in the kitchen shortly after, nodding to Crawford before
pulling out a frying pan. Soon the smell
of sausages and eggs fills the kitchen and hallway, this as Brad predicted, is
followed by a few loud Spanish exclamations about the price of figs. Apparently Schuldig’s mind had wandered into
a marketplace last night. Nagi looks up
briefly at the commotion, while Brad continues to read the paper. The telekinetic is putting more sausage into
the pan when a rumpled Schuldig plops himself at the table, giving a loud yawn
and thorough stretch to announce his presence.
He runs his fingers through his hair trying to tame the wild mass.

“Hola, Buenos Dias,” states Nagi
before setting a plate in front of the telepath.

“Huh?”

Nagi just shakes his head at Schuldig’s
brilliant reply, then goes to fetch Farfarello.
Schuldig shrugs then sniffs at his breakfast, before poking the eggs
with his fork. At least the food was
western for a change, the German was getting tired of miso soup, and he was
pretty sure he was turning into a block of tofu. He looked up at Nagi’s return and the madman
following him. The Irish psychopath was
fully dressed along with a few new bandages.
Farfarello took his seat across from Schuldig and started maliciously
slicing his sausage. Schuldig munched
contently on his non-tofu breakfast and casually brushed against the minds
nearby. A few complaints about bills,
someone late for work, a small kitchen fire, Nagi thinking about Tot, Farf
thinking about killing Tot, and Crawford’s ever present shields. It annoyed Schuldig to no end that he
couldn’t read the clairvoyant. The
redhead’s fork scraped his plate, bringing him back to reality to realize he
was out of food. He glanced at Crawford,
still sipping his coffee and reading, occasionally reaching around to stab a
piece of sausage with his fork; his plate still full.

“Don’t even think about it,”
Crawford said while turning a page.

“But Brad, it’s just going to get
cold,” Schuldig whined in return.

“No. You eat to much as it is.”

Schuldig huffed and slouched in his
seat. Farfarello after sufficiently
mutilating his breakfast sat staring at the telepath.

“What?” the German asked.

“Gluttony hurts God.”

“Yes, I’m sure if there is a God,
he really cares how much I eat,” sneered Schuldig, now busy balancing his chair
on the back legs.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Brad
offered in between sips of coffee.

“Like you really care if I have
good posture,” the redhead said waving off the comment. Crawford, now on the last page of the paper,
folded it setting it beside his plate, so that he could finish reading and eat
at the same time.

“All sins hurt God.”

“Really Farf,” drawled Schuldig, “I
still don’t think that the ‘God’ cares if I eat too much. He would probably be happy if I died of
clogged arteries.”

“God does not wish suffering, but
your death would not hurt God.”

“Nice to know, I’m sure. Nagi are you going to eat that sausage link?”

“Yes Schuldig,” replied Nagi with a
glare.

“Are you sure?” he asked again
edging his fork towards the piece of meat.

“You can’t have it.”

“Come on, you still have anoth….”

He never got to finish, as
Farfarello jumped out of his seat to lean across the table, slamming his knife
down in front of him! The force of the
blow shook the table and caused Schuldig to fall backwards, knocking his head
on the tile. Farfarello’s one golden eye
glared down at the sprawled German.

“It is why I do not kill you,
Guilty one.” With that the Berserker
pulled the knife from the table and stuck it between his teeth. He then retreated down the hall. Schuldig, from his place on the floor, stared
after his teammate.

“Shit!” Schuldig laughed as he picked himself off the
floor. After righting his chair he sat
holding his head gingerly. “I should
know by now not to make comments about God.”
He continued his nasal laughter as he left in search of pain
killers. After loading the dishwasher,
Nagi went to the refuge of his computer, leaving Crawford alone again in the
kitchen.

“Nagi!” Schuldig yelled down the
hall, “I want my cds back now!”

“You play them too loud!”

“Blasphemous music hurts God!”

“Nagi!”

“Do you even know what headphones
are?!”

“Music will fuel the hate, and God
will cry!”

“You put them on the fuck'n
ceiling!”

“Don’t you have someone’s life to
screw up or something?!”

“Why when I can just screw you!”

“Sodomy hurts God!”

Alone in the kitchen again, but
Brad Crawford had anything but peace and quiet.

*Well that’s all for the first chapter. Hopefully I will get the next chapter out
soon. I’m not sure how long this will be
yet. Reviews are welcome and appreciated. See ya next
chapter.
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Mind Games and Coffee