BY : MikoNoHoshi
Category: Weiß Kreuz > Yaoi - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 4283
Disclaimer: I get no money from writing these fics, nor I don't own Weiss. In fact, I'm not even allowed to touch the pretty least not in any of their special places...

Notes: Two chapters at once. Two reasons: one, I still don’t like chapter sixteen (must revise!) and, two, I’m not sure when I’ll be back in this lovely parking lot with internet access. Thank you all for the reviews; it gives me will to go to the internet when it will not come to me!

Chapter Eighteen: Ditch Me

“You miss the kitty.”

Schuldig looked up from his interlaced hands to study the pale man lingering in his doorway. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he scooted over to allow the other a place to sit should he wish to enter.

Eager for the invitation (and having mostly learned not to come in without it), Farfarello sauntered through the door. Instead of sitting beside the redhead, he threw himself onto the bed behind him, head resting just below the pillows and knees bent over the edge so his feet dangled. Drawing a knife from his vest, he lifted it towards the light and began to pick specks of…something from the blade.

“I miss the kitty.” The inflection was one of a child whose favorite toy had been taken from him.

Silence met this news.

“Don’t you? You liked him.”

“He was interesting.”

“Yes. And pretty. A pretty kitty.”

Schuldig knew better than to attempt to sort a point out of Farfarello’s meandering conversations. It was far better to sit back and enjoy the ride.

“Where’d you take the kitty, Schu?”


The knife was suddenly lodged in the wall opposite the bed.

“I know that!” Farfarello hissed quietly. “Tell me where. I want him back.”

“Talk to Crawford, then.”

“No.” A hand tangled in his shirt, yanking Schuldig down towards the Irishman. Almost nose to nose, he could feel Farfarello’s warm breath as he spoke. “Crawford doesn’t know. You know. Tell me.”


Farfarello snarled and shoved him backwards before clambering from the bed. He hurried to the other side of the room, pulled the knife from the wall, and crouched on the floor. He balanced the point of the blade against the hardwood as he spoke.

“Always no, Schuldig. Always no to me. Why?”

“Maybe it hurts God.” He didn’t try to keep the sarcastic smile from his lips, and it found a twin in the other’s expression.

Farfarello plunged the knife into his own thigh, making Schuldig grimace when he twisted it.

“Maybe it does.”


Another man might have paced the room, but Yohji preferred to do his brooding laying down. Resting on his side in his large bed, he stared at the spot where he had put Aya and thought about the few peaceful moments just before he had gone to sleep the night before.

It helped.

Before, in the living room, he just had had to leave. He probably should have been stronger, but the way Aya looked! It dredged up unpleasant memories and Yohji found himself suddenly on the verge of losing control. The look on Aya’s face, the expectation of being beaten, the undoubting surety that Yohji would hit that upturned cheek, the fact that Aya might actually want it: it had disturbed him. Worse, it had made him angry.

How many people had asked for his ungiven mercy?

He had decapitated more than one man in that very position.

In the moment, Aya had been the focus of his frustration. Upon reflection, Yohji had been able to better mete it out to those who deserved it, the ones who had made the boy what he was, but that hadn’t been an instantaneous accomplishment. The last thing Yohji wanted to do was actually raise a hand against Aya, and while he didn’t think it would come to that, any small display of violence might forever sever the thin thread of trust he was trying to build. Walking away might have done it anyway, but it was the better option.

Omi was going to kill him, though. It would probably be death by lecture.

Yohji lit a cigarette without getting up then drug the small, glass ashtray off the nightstand. He sat it carefully beside him on the bed and knocked the first ashes into it.

He would go back in a few minutes and try to deal with the situation. God, he hoped Omi had bought the beer.


“Where is he?”

Omi looked up from the stove, sighing a little at Yohji’s harsh greeting. Really, the other had decided to leave in the first place, he could try a thank you.

“Aya-kun ‘s laying down. He needs rest.”

“I know.”

“And food, Yohji-kun. And clothes. And did you get him a toothbrush?”

Omi pouted a little as Yohji retrieved a beer from the refrigerator. He was going to have to stop buying those for him. Popping the tab, Yohji plopped down at the table, took one drink, and stood back up.

“Where’s he at?”

At least he was concerned.

“On the couch. Don’t wake him up!”

“I’m not. I’m not.”


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