Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ By the Book ❯ You found me, therefore you name me ( Chapter 7 )
Author: this thorn
Disclaimers: See Chapter 1
Warnings: I am not adverse to flames, but if you feel the need to do so, use proper spelling and punctuation. Unless you want to be laughed at for a fool.
A/N: First, a summary of the previous chapter for those weak of stomach (including myself): Schuldig practically rapes Matze, but doesn't really notice what he's doing, or even who he's doing it with. He's too lost in a fury engendered by his ascertation that all the Schwarz members have turned against him and abandoned him to isolation. And Matze, but Matze doesn't count. Finally, the poor boy passes out from over-exertion and Schuldig comes back to reality. Still unsatiated, the German dresses and goes out to find a hooker and a beer, but not before carelessly tucking Matze in.
Other notes: I was going to ask for help on Nagi's background and whatnot, but I got impatient and decided to go on my gut instinct. Turns out I was right on the mark. I found a long summary of his history and background, and my portrayal of him matches up perfectly. So there. If I'm doing this well, I might just need to write more Weiß Kreuz fics. It's not like all the reviews would be enough to convince me…
Other other notes: I am writing some Farfarello in this chapter. For some reason I cannot find Weiß Kreuz manga. Even amazon.de has failed me. And I'm deliberately not including the drama CDs. So I am using a compilation of what I have read of him in other people's fictions, less the nonsense about a blender and "____ hurts God." I'm filling in the gaps in his character with myself. I am also a masochistic person with much nerve damage, often called insane and a certified sadist. I have short white hair and facial scars, and have been called a child genius by all who have studied with me. All things considered, I don't think you'll be able to tell what is me and what is him. And if you can and you don't like it, please feel free to flame me. I do, after all, still have two eyes. Maybe I'm just not seeing him clearly.
There was light and a faint buzzing. Then nothing.
Again light shone beyond his eyelids. With a groan he raised his arm to block it out. Nothing changed. He realized he hadn't moved - his arm still lay like a piece of lead upon the…the…where was he?
Tentatively he cracked an eye open and tried to examine the surroundings. He was staring at a high cream-colored ceiling. Turning his head revealed, among other things, that he had a splitting headache. When the sharp pounding subsided, his first question was answered: He was in a bedroom. On a bed, for that matter. The furniture scattered about the expansive room was of dark, elaborately carved wood and there was more than enough floorspace to host a disco. The walls were the color of rich sangria and rich cream curtains draped the windows and four-poster bed.
Pain lanced through him again when he tried to sit up. He winced and closed his eyes, trying to remember how he ended up in a regal bedroom alone and almost completely naked. The difficulty of the simple task reminded him quickly enough.
There was an accident. And Schuldig took care of him. He was Schuldig's lover. And Schuldig had wanted to…He furrowed his eyebrows. It made sense then that he would be in Schuldig's room, but why was he alone? He blindly scrabbled for a pillow and pressed it over his head, trying to smother the pain, but the soreness in his arms only grew worse.
Where is Schuldig?
Trying to form coherent thought only seemed to agitate his headache, so Matze relaxed and let himself drift off to sleep again.
When he awoke, he realized he was desperately thirsty. He weakly shoved the pillow away from his head and rolled onto his back, but the simple movement sent pain lancing from his head to his legs and back again, and he let out a silent cry. Allowing his head to tiredly loll to the side, he spotted a glass of water sitting on the bedstead, carefully place upon a cork coaster to protect the beautiful piece of furniture.
Matze gingerly inched his way across the bed until he was close enough to reach the glass. He brought the cup to his lips and eagerly swallowed every drop, less what spilled on his gown in his overzealousness. When he was finished he delicately replaced the glass and moved back to the center of the bed, feeling somewhat content despite his aches.
The question came back to him: Where was Schuldig? The events of the previous night were muddled at best. He remembered that Schuldig had wanted to have sex, but he couldn't recall actually doing it. Suddenly panic struck him: Was I so bad that he left? The implications of the circumstance set him trembling and he was already planning his pleading apologies for when the redhead returned. He wanted nothing more than to make things right - the way they were before the accident. He almost cried whenever he considered how much it must hurt Schuldig to know his own boyfriend didn't remember him.
Matze tried to force himself to think rationally before he really did burst into tears. After all, there could be other explanations. Maybe Schuldig had said he was going somewhere, and Matze just didn't remember. He probably had to be to work early in the morning. That made just as much sense as the first option, and was infinitely more pleasant. Still, Matze was hesitant to ask Schuldig about what had happened. What if he really had disappointed the redhead? He didn't want that thrown back in his face. He was torn between wanting his boyfriend next to him like he had been the first time he woke up in the hospital bed and thanking God that he was alone with time to think.
He must have drifted off again because, when he opened his eyes, sunlight was no longer pouring through the windows. The bedside lamp was switched on, though, and beneath it sat another glass of water and a bowl of soup. Carefully propping himself up with a pillow, Matze grabbed the bowl and set it on his lap. Only then did he notice what he assumed to be pain pills sitting next to the glass of water. He was silently grateful for the kindness.
Without further hesitation he began on the soup. His stomach was gurgling in anticipation of real sustenance. He truthfully couldn't remember the last time he ate. He hurriedly lifted the spoon to his mouth and almost dropped it in surprise as the beef broth burned his throat. He had half expected the soup to be cold. Schuldig somehow had good enough timing to bring him warm food just before he woke. But not good enough for him to be here when I got up, his mind silently added.
He continued eating the broth carefully, shocked at how quickly the simple meal had filled him up. Turning his attention again to the bedstand, he took the pills and finished off the water. Looking at the empty dishes he left on the table he smiled.
If Schuldig was bringing him these things so thoughtfully he couldn't possibly be angry. But he wasn't coming in to visit, either. That was probably a bad sign. Matze frowned. Since the soup had been warm, there was a good chance Schuldig was still in the house somewhere.
With a grunt he swung his legs to the ground and tentatively put some weight on them. His entire body was stiff and sore, most notably between his legs, but it seemed like he'd be able to stand. Carefully leaning on the bedstand he rose to his feet and grasped the nearest bedpost. He experienced the strange sensation of the room spinning while his legs seemed to do the splits. He looked down confusedly and noticed he was still standing quite normally. He frowned and waited a few more moments while the room obeyed his silent threats and settled back in place.
With outstretched arms he walked for the next bedpost, on which hung a forest green bathrobe. Seeing his own state of ill dress, Matze threw it on and tied it securely around his waist. Finally confident that he was no longer in danger of kissing the plush carpeted floor, Matze made for the closed door. He hesitated before opening it, not sure what he would do if he encountered Schuldig - or anyone else, for that matter. For all he knew, they all hated him, including his boyfriend. He looked back at the bed. He'd gone so far; it seemed a shame to turn back. With that weak encouragement he placed a hand on the lever and pulled the door open.
Everything was quiet. Matze suppressed a shudder at the strange feeling of foreboding he got as he glanced both directions down the bare hall. To his left he could see the room he had first awoken in through the slightly open door at the end of the corridor. Directly in front of him was another open door through which he could hear someone humming a chilling melody that he somehow found familiar. Before he realized what was happening he was standing in the doorway, clutching the frame and staring into the single golden eye of a stranger.
The man was lying sprawled on the hardwood floor, surrounded by wax crayons. In front of him was a children's coloring book that he was apparently working in, as his pale fist still clutched a crayon poised above the page. The man stared at Matze unblinking for what seemed like an eternity before he finally spoke.
"You are not sleeping."
Matze was struck at once both by the absurdity of the statement and by the beautiful quality of the speaker's voice. He spoke with a strange melodic lilt that was just as foreign to him as Schuldig's sharply accented Japanese. Matze realized he must be the third roommate Schuldig had mentioned. The one he hadn't met that first day - from the way Schuldig had said it, in fact, they might never have met at all.
"Are you…" he trailed off, the memory of the once-mentioned name eluding him. He cast imploring eyes on the white-haired man, hoping he would understand and fill in the blank for him.
Instead, he merely nodded and returned his focus to his project.
Matze watched transfixed for some time before he realized it was probably rude to just stand in the doorway and gawk. "Why..:" he began, not entirely sure what he was going to ask. Therefore, he was quite grateful when the other man interrupted him.
"I enjoy colors," he said simply, and continued with his crayon on the page, seemingly disregarding the shapes and pictures already printed on it, coloring some strange illustration of his own design across the paper. He dropped the crayon in his hand and scanned around the floor for another color, smiling slightly when he snatched up a reddish-orange. "Did you know," he said, waving the color toward his guest, "that his hair is not this color?" He didn't wait for a response, but went back to work.
Matze assumed that "he" meant Schuldig. And he had never really considered whether his boyfriend was actually a redhead. In all fairness, he hadn't had the time. It was an unnatural hue, to be sure, but the one-eyed man's strange statement set Matze to wondering about Schuldig's true hair color.
Again it was several moments before Matze returned to reality, embarrassed at drifting off into thought in someone else's company. He was even more embarrassed when he found that someone else was staring at him. He seemed to be patiently waiting for Matze to come out of his reverie for, as Matze worked to focus his eyes, the other man grinned and held up a crayon, which he then tossed to Matze.
"This is yours," he said, pulling himself up to sit cross-legged. Matze just stared at the crayon clutched in his own hand. "White." He gave the other man a perplexed look, but he didn't seem about to offer an explanation. Matze fumbled with the belt of the robe while his mind fumbled for something to say.
"What's your name?" Matze finally asked, remembering his failure to procure the information earlier.
The white-haired man gave him a confused stare, as though he had spoken a foreign language. Just when Matze was sure he was not going to receive an answer, he heard something that perplexed him even more.
"You found me, therefore you name me."
Judging by the man's odd demeanor and equally strange appearance, Matze assumed it was the best answer he would get.
"I don't know a name," he said, honestly unsure of how he would like to address the stranger, even if it was only until he discovered his real name from someone else.
"My name is Gabriel," he said with such a bluntness that Matze considered it might be his real name after all.
"Okay, Gabriel," he said with a small smile, "what were you coloring?"
Without a word, Gabriel grabbed the book and held it up for Matze to see. The printed picture had been of a puppy and a beach ball, but somehow the bold black lines had been assimilated into Gabriel's picture so that the original image was hardly distinguishable. Instead, Matze found himself looking at a picture of a tombstone. Piles of flowers were lying in front of it, and three human shadows were visible on the face of the large gray rock. The detail and complexity was amazing, but the right half of the picture was even better. Footprints led away from the back of the grave. At first they were large, but gradually became those of a small child. At the end of the footprints stood the child who had presumably made them - a boy of maybe five with wide eyes and shaggy brown hair. He was looking at a green-haired man who kneeled before him, offering him a single rose.
Matze let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding. He looked at Gabriel to tell him how beautiful his drawing was, but the man's face wouldn't come into focus. As he watched, the pale blur began rocking back and forth, and Matze managed to see it rushing toward him just before he fell backwards.
Nagi was brooding.
He was walking home alone, like always. Other kids were walking with their friends slightly ahead of or behind him, but nobody dared to talk to him. He knew it was because he was strange. They might not know about his telekinetic ability, but they must have known there was something different about him. Why else would they avoid him like a gay Jewish leper?
He chuckled inwardly at his own morbid humor. It wouldn't do to laugh aloud - it would only give them more to talk about. Or maybe it was vanity to think they talked about him - they'd probably grown so used to ignoring him that they didn't even notice him anymore.
His spirits momentarily brightened when his apartment building came into view. Momentarily - until he remembered that the Weiß assassin was there. Not only was he the enemy, regardless of Schuldig's asinine scheming, but he flat out didn't belong. He was allowed to live with them without having a clue as to what they'd been through. He hadn't suffered through the training like they had, didn't still suffer under the sometimes overwhelming power of their mental `gifts'. Home was supposed to be the one place where Nagi wasn't `different,' but, because of Schuldig's incessant idiocy, even that sanctuary had been invaded.
Nagi paused at the door to the apartment building. He had to get his thoughts under control - he didn't want Schuldig to know how angry he was making him. The idiot redhead got off on that sort of thing. Just as he was about to enter, a shout came from behind.
"Hey, Nagi!"
It sounded like another student - most likely, if she knew his name. Nagi quickly opened the door and slipped inside. He really wasn't in the mood to be laughed at.
Once inside he was as cool as ever, if not overly frigid. To his delight, he found the house relatively silent: Schuldig was out. He decided to make a break for his room and have himself securely locked in before the German had a chance to come home and start parading his pet around again.
Muted anger once more seeped into his thoughts, distracting him from seeing the white-haired man step into the hall in front of him holding an empty glass and bowl. He had just enough presence of mind to keep the dishes from breaking as both of them crashed to the ground.
He stared at Farfarello briefly as realization dawned on him. Without a word he ran to his room, slamming the door behind him. Even his closest teammate had switched sides.
Schuldig fumbled with his keys at the lock. He cursed when they fell to the ground, but made no move to pick them up. He just didn't want to. If it wouldn't mean dealing with Crawford's bitching in the morning he would gladly have busted the door down. And he would have to pay for it. That made the decision simple enough and, with a resigned sigh, he bent down to retrieve his fallen keys.
He wasn't drunk so much as he was frustrated. He'd been avoiding the apartment for the past 24 hours, though he'd tried convincing himself it was because he'd rather be out partying. In truth, he just didn't want to deal with Matze.
Everyone else was asleep, and he tiptoed cautiously through the living room, hoping they would stay that way. He gently pushed open his bedroom door, pleased that it chose not to squeak for once, and stopped. In his bed lay the one man he didn't want to see, comfortably tucked in and looking as though he had not a care in the world. Schuldig was more than ready to throw the brunet onto the floor and reclaim his own plush bed, but that twinge of guilt that was becoming disgustingly familiar checked him. The boy probably wasn't sleeping - he was unconscious. With a menacing huff Schuldig pulled the door closed and angrily stalked into the room at the end of the hall.
Schuldig: You mean to tell me I'm sleeping in the hospital room? I hate it in there!
TT: Well, if you're going to continue to be a bastard you had better get used to it.
Schuldig: I know I'm a `bastard,' but that's why you love me.
TT: True…
Ken: Hey, Schuldig? What color is your hair?
Schuldig: Unless, of course, you want me to change? I'd do it for you…
Ken: Hey! Are you listening to me?
TT: Oh, um…You're supposed to…urm….Matze…
Schuldig: He wouldn't know…
Ken: Hello?
TT: Aaah! Settle down! Go get laid or something!
Schuldig: I'm trying, but you're not making it easy…