Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Come As You Are ❯ Ain't love a kick in the head ( Chapter 2 )

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, a 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 mundane and unexpressive words not covering his emotions at all; 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 at times Aya felt sick 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. Terror 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 pull 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, just 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 had 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 learnt not 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 unless absolutely 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. At least his hands weren't shaking. It had been a long, long time since the last episode, but Aya knew better than to think that his panic attacks were gone. The moment he thought he was cured, 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 good 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 another part 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 word with 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. It was a small, quiet ritual all to himself before everyone else came down and started 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 the fact 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 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 make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. Omi started himself two pieces of bread for himself, 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 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, as common and everyday as all hell. Domestication still didn't quite fit Yohji, who was too loud and wild at heart to ever settle down in one place for the rest of his days. Aya couldn't expect more out of life, not after everything he had done and been through. It was more than he had ever dreamed up, still quite surprised that he had lived past twenty-five. Aya had assumed he would have been killed on missions long before then, and sudden found himself with a new life.

"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 his first impression of the ragtag team coming in late for his prey, Aya had never imagined 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 announced 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 had the 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 occasional 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 in greeting 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, and Ken was 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 19th 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 that 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 author 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 understanding, 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 university… Nagi 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. School 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. Crawford 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, when they 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 without looking, staring as the well-dressed, raven-haired professor walked into the classroom. He gawked 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 heat wasn'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 tsked 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 the chance 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, ready 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 considerably 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 the containment. 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.

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 finally 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 that the person that had been on Nagi's mind? His little murderer had grown up in interesting ways, Schuldig prone to keeping an eye off and on the redhead. Gott, the man's thoughts had been delicious, each and every one filled with pain and self-loathing. Ever since the first day they had met, hard violet eyes that didn't belong in such a pretty face meeting his, right before Schuldig pressed the button to detonate the explosives they had planted in the building. He sighed nostalgically, thinking it had been a long time since he had last blown anything up of that magnitude, and since he had fucked around with the Weiss' leaders mind. His dreams had been ridiculously easy to break into once Schuldig had found the Fujimiya son alive and working for Kritiker. There had almost been too much to play with- guilt over parent's death, sister's coma, people he had killed, their families and lovers and friends that had lost someone forever because of him. Abyssinian blamed himself for his murders to a humorous extent guilty when he was so skilled with a Japanese sword. Schuldig wanted to see the man again, needed to see that face twist up in shock and horror when the German showed up in front of him- straight out from the grave, probably as far as Fujimiya knew. Oh, his little kitten wasn't going to get away so easily, now that Schuldig knew he was alive. Schuldig had been aware of it the first time he had delved into the man's brain- that he had the perfect victim; someone that could still be hurt over and over, still felt emotions like salt on an open wound. His type never got jaded.

Schuldig licked his lips in anticipation, realizing why Brad had ordered him to pick Nagi up today. He must have already seen that a member of Weiss was still alive. The redheaded kitten with his katana, one of Schuldig's favorites. The youngest was also a Takatori, and Reiji's legacy still loomed over them. Besides, the boy would be almost too easy to destroy completely; not to Schuldig's tastes at all. Siberian was too athletic and simple-minded for Schuldig's liking, but Farfarello had expressed a desire for the man before when they had been wistfully talking about who they'd want to torture the most. Figured. Schuldig was a little bit wary of the berserker nature underneath the surface of the ex-soccer player, not crazy enough to play with a bomb. Mmm, and there was also that blonde one, the older Balinese. He had appeared a little late in the game, but Schuldig wouldn't mind having a bit of fun with the half-American. He could sense a kindred spirit in the man, pain covered up by a flippant attitude that Schuldig used as well.

"Kennsch de wayne?" 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 notice. The 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 Ran. 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 Ran 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 walking by 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 while his 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 with locked 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 damn 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 swirl around 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 not need affection right now, not from the kid, not from anyone that wasn't Yohji. They didn't understand, demanded explanations, and `just wanted to help.' Aya had heard that phrase enough times to be sickened by it. Yohji had just taken the worst of it in stride without even getting upset- most of the times.

"How was your first day of school? Do you we remember where we parked? I wonder what's for dinner," As usual, Omi's greeting was enthusiastic and scattered. Aya had a hard time even figuring out which question to answer first, caught with his mouth open. He still had yet to make up his mind about his first day with his hands still shaking. In a way, he was relieved to have someone he knew there now, mere acquaintance giving him security. Omi wasn't going to let anyone grab Aya, not without fighting or screaming his head off. And, of course, that was if they managed to take him down. Aya had fully regained back all his muscle mass, and even Yohji didn't know about the Baretta underneath the driver's seat. Aya allowed himself to be a little obsessive about something things, because it had paid off in the past before.

"Let's go home," Aya said finally, moving forward to the sidewalk with Omi bouncing along on his heels. He knew exactly where the Porsche was parked, at the end of the parking lot next to a wall to protect at least one side from being banged by other doors. Yohji usually just took up two spots with his Seven, but Aya couldn't ever be that rude, even if it was his very precious car. Besides, he was pretty sure Yohji or Ken would be cooking tonight since they usually traded responsibilities pretty evenly amongst each other. Aya wasn't even hungry, too damn hot and anxious to think about food right now, unlike Omi. He just wanted to go home and make Yohji hold him until it all faded away.

"Can you believe it, Aya-kun?!" Omi's voice forced him to pay attention, realizing that they were already walking through the parking lot and Omi had been talking for a while now. He just nodded an answer and kept on weaving between the other cars until they reached the Porsche. Omi went on about everything else that had happened at school while only listened with half an ear; just so he could nod or grunt at the appropriate time, the minimal mount needed to not seem rude. He was more concerned with different things, like getting the hell back in the car and back to where he would be safe. Aya couldn't shake that feeling of being watched even though Omi was there now. Had that been real, or just his terror manifesting hallucinations in his own head? Aya held one cold, shaking hand up to his face, pressing the heel of his palm into his eye and breathing deeply. He couldn't be freaking out and driving at the same time. He knew better than that.

Nevertheless, Aya still managed to dig out his keys, unlock the car, and get behind the wheel without Omi starting to badger him about `feeling alright.' He didn't need that particular overwhelming concern, not able to ever appreciate the affection from other people. It only made him feel smothered and weak, like they were expecting him to break down. So, he did his best to seem lively and interested in whatever Omi was taking about the whole drive home with a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. Just take all those fears and worries and stuff them down into the deepest part of his soul. Bottle it up before it threatened to overwhelm him. It was a little bit different than from when Aya forced himself to be cold, ice-hard and unbreakable, because anything less would cause him to shatter in horror after all the things he had done. If he tried hard enough, he could just ignore it altogether…for a while, anyway.

It seemed he could last long enough to bear the drive home while Omi flipped through the radio stations; barely staying on one long enough for a full song before changing it again. He talked incessantly until Aya found himself with a throbbing headache and at his temper's end. Aya ended up grinding his teeth under the loud bass Omi forced through the speakers, holding in his anger until they parked in the garage. His passenger was already out the door and heading inside the house while Aya turned off the engine. He stayed there in the silence, his hand still on the keys as he breathed in the smell of Porsche's interior. His nerves were a fine thing, shot to all hell before the middle of the afternoon. He needed something to place himself for a moment, too charged up to do anything but sit there for a moment and bring everything back to a center.

Aya coughed, finally deciding that he could get up and move. He went through the normal motions of locking the car and garage, but found his feet walking to the house a little faster than usual. Omi was already long gone before Aya even got through the back door. He could already hear the loud reunion between Omi and Ken from the front of the house, likely from the shop. Their well-known reunion was just so commonplace and normal that for a moment Aya didn't think he needed Yohji like he had back on campus. Besides, he was probably still working. Right?

Aya still found himself self-consciously trying to adjust his hair, hoping that he would still look good for the man either way. He would just `run into' Yohji when the chance occurred. No reason to seem so damn clingy on the first day. Yohji wouldn't want to deal with a whole semester of Aya coming home crying and demanding to be held like a spoiled fucking child. He considered just going up the stairs to their room, except he was stopped dead in his tracks by the sight of Yohji at the other end of the hallway, panting and looking like he was expecting a coroner's announcement. The man was still in his shop apron with leaves and petals stuck to it, obviously caught in the middle of his work on their arrival. He saw Aya and a smile broke out across the man's face; Yohji brightening up like a starving man catching sight of an all-you can eat buffet, a look in his eyes that Aya was certain was reserved for him alone. It was enough to know that he could make Yohji feel that way, could cause any sort of emotion in the man. Yohji might say he loved Aya until he needed to be shut up with a kiss, but it was still good to see things in effect.

Well, if Yohji was just standing there and grinning like an idiot, Aya must have looked twice the fool. He moved forward, feet sliding across the floor before he could stop them. It wasn't supposed to be this way. He wasn't supposed to be this weak, but Aya was already shuffling to a stop in front of Yohji, staring up at the taller man. He leaned forward, pushing his face against the chest in front of him. His arms were dead things at his sides, because Aya knew if tried to use them Yohji would demand to know why his hands were trying to shake their way off the end of his limbs. He didn't want Yohji's over protectiveness right now, just the strong warmth he provided. Thankfully, the other man seemed only too happy to comply, burying his own face into Aya's shoulder and wrapping two arms around him. The embrace was almost too tight to breathe in, but Aya wanted it to deepen.

"God, I missed you. I missed you so fucking much," Yohji whispered against the skin of his neck, licking and kissing the line underneath his jaw almost reverently. Aya was pushed back and up against the wall by a clever maneuvering of longer legs and a damned skilled mouth. If only Yohji couldn't be so persuasive, not with words, but only a set of lips and a tongue that could do so many wondrous things…

"It was only a few hours," Aya answered with a calm irritation that he didn't feel at all, even though it was a blatant lie. Aya had thought that he would be the only one of them ready to burst into tears at the thought of having to spend another minute apart, but since Yohji was already acting so desperate Aya was more than inclined to let the blonde be the needy one this time. Aya didn't mind being ravished in the hallway one bit, just hung onto Yohji's arms and returned the favor. Aya had never been called a bad kisser, but with Yohji he liked to strive for perfection. A meeting of soft lips and tongues. There was no more conversation between them, words not needed when it came down to base desires between them. The older man almost had a sixth sense for reading people without even saying anything. Yohji recognized Aya wanted human contact- his, to be precise. Yohji had missed him just as badly. Yohji was horny as all hell. There were several reasons and all of them were good enough for Aya.

"It was fucking long enough, okay?" Yohji snapped irritably against the curve of Aya's neck. He smiled at that, lifting his hands up to hold Yohji closer to him, feeling wanted and needed. That was enough for the shaking to be gone like he never started to panic in the first place. Hell, the fact that he had even stepped on campus seemed like a distant dream right now. Aya leaned forward, smelling Yohji, holding himself close for a moment as he reveled in Yohji's body heat…and promptly shoved the man back, though not with much force. It unexpected enough to have Yohji stumbling back in confusion, his expression classic.

"Come on, stop molesting me and help get dinner ready," Aya insisted softly. Truth being that he just wanted to get through the task of eating and up the stairs as quickly as possible without being obvious. He would have really preferred to have continued things, if they weren't standing in the middle of the hallway where Omi and Ken could walk up any minute. Even if they lived under the same roof and the other two could still hear everything, being seen was a completely different matter.

"I know what I want for dessert already," Yohji whispered in a low voice that made goose bumps break out on Aya's skin despite the best of intentions. A warm breath against Aya's ear turned into a wet mouth, teeth nibbling slightly on the meat. Aya felt the blush, a fierce burning heat exploding on his face as he jerked away in embarrassment. It didn't help that the older man looked so damned pleased with himself, grinning widely at Aya's momentary shock.

"Yohji!" He roared after the infuriating blonde as he already started off down the hall, obviously trying to get to the relative safety of Omi and Ken before Aya could get revenge. Bastard! Impossible, irresponsible, maddening, capricious bastard! If only Yohji didn't have the type of face that Aya liked the most…and didn't do things like this that only made Aya love him more.

* * *

Nagi let out a soft, quiet sigh when he locked his bedroom door. The dark, Spartan arrangement of a bed, desk, and dresser in the room was depressing, but Nagi wasn't allowed to have any personal effects to decorate the room otherwise. He wasn't even sure if he would want to change things, so used to a simple life, but Nagi would have liked the choice to begin with. No missions tonight, so he was free to stay in this small square sanctuary and do his homework or whatever else the youngest member of Schwarz might do to pass the time. Or, at least find something to entertain himself until he fell asleep considering there wasn't a television or radio in the room.

He sat down at his desk, placing his bag on the side. For a long while, Nagi just stared at the wall and tried to picture his future. It was just as blank as the old white paint covering his walls. His home felt like a sanitarium- which it was for two of the household's members. All Nagi had to do was survive, and do it without losing himself. Both Schuldig and Farfarello had been driven mad by their powers, but for some reason Crawford had managed to hold onto his own cold sense of self despite the horrible visions he saw of the future. Crawford still managed to use that knowledge and exploit people to an extent that `cruelty' didn't really cover what the man did. The one thing that Crawford had made perfectly clear what that there was no escape. Not even Schuldig could get away if he wanted to. Nagi didn't hate it here, but the illusion of true freedom remained just that.

Not that Nagi hated his place in Schwarz. Esset had given him security from a world that would have otherwise devoured him whole. Nagi didn't have enough fingers and toes to count all the governments and organizations that would love to get their hands on him. His ability was recognized and he had been treated as a prized agent at the lab which had been his home…but when actually placed in teams of hardened, professional killers, a pretty boy didn't belong. Nagi had spent more time using his gift on his allies instead of their targets, until he had come to Schwarz. Crawford wasn't about to let any of them die under his command, didn't allow fighting between teammates, and demanded solid discipline from them all- except for Schuldig on that last one. Nagi had seen the German be punished many times, but never once learn his lesson. Schuldig wouldn't allow himself to be controlled by anyone, but he respected and feared Crawford.

They all did. It was impossible to get the better of a precog.

Nagi sighed again, hoping that he had gotten away with this afternoon. He certainly hadn't been expecting Schuldig to pick him up instead of the usual hired drivers that Crawford sent. He had done his damnedest not to think about Omi, knowing that Schuldig would love to tear into a fresh, innocent looking thing like Bombay without hesitation. However, if he just thought about trying to hide Omi's existence, Schuldig would pick it up. So, Nagi had concentrated on Abyssinian, desperately trying to remember every little detail he could the whole time he had been with Schuldig. The telepath was tricky to deal with on the best of days, and the slightest mistake would have had his new classmate skinned alive, if he was lucky.

Speaking of such, Nagi did have homework he needed to start on. Shaking himself out of his reverie, Nagi reached into his book bag and pulled out a binder. Out it came, along with a bottle he had totally forgotten about. Nagi watched as it fell out of his bag and rolled until it was stopped by his foot, spellbound by the simple movement. He reached down slowly and retrieved it after only a moment's hesitation, picking it up and turning the bottle in his hand. Omi really didn't know just how much it really meant to him. Nobody had given Nagi anything before, not without expecting something in return. Much less would he have ever thought someone would give him something to ease the pain of his headaches? Nagi sat the bottle down on the top of his desk, circling his finger around the cap to make it rock back and forth and make the telltale rattling of pills inside.

Just what was he doing, accepting presents from the enemy and hiding information from his teammates? Nagi had never done such before, had even faithfully reported everything that had happened between him and Tot. Weiss had been their worst enemy, led by a defective Takatori. But for some reason, Nagi couldn't stamp that image onto Omi anymore; found it hard to believe that the friendly youth had been known as Bombay. Omi had been irresistible, the unfailing good humor drawing a depressed psychic like Nagi in helplessly. He actually found himself crushed when the period ended and Omi left, just as ignorant as the sun passing overhead and the dark bleakness it left behind.

Nagi slapped both hands over his eyes, moaning at his own metaphor. One did not make imagery up to match the enemy's personality. These thoughts were dangerous, could be picked up by Schuldig at any moment. Nagi just wanted to solve this before Brad had a vision. He'd get into even worse trouble for not reporting this to Crawford first thing. Nagi thought of explaining Omi to their leader without getting caught up in also mentioning how nice and selfless he had been, that the boy wasn't apart of Weiss anymore, and no one could be a threat when they were that damn friendly.

He couldn't do it.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Did the wait for Naruto 78 and 79 make anyone else go crazy? I know I did! Looking for a new tattoo, eyed Yohji's, thought better of it… we'll see how things are when I go. Hoorah for Eternity's End, Morningstar, and Miko no Hoshi for being the first people to review (I luv you guys)!! And of course, I've got those brave souls that came forward to the high call of beta-ing: Neko-Hope, ThanatosEros, and eternity's end again. Besides them though, Amanda, Lady Gackt, demishinigami, iie nome, reflext_lp, Cender26, frustratedand40, and Nevermore gave me awesome feedback for just being a first chapter… Thank you so much for reviewing (now I'm nervous that this will get sequel syndrome and suck)

You should too, I eat it for breakfast (if I took anything with my coffee, but it's when I check my email.