Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Ins and Outs ❯ Ins and Outs ( Prologue )

Inadequate. Ineffecient. Ineffective. Inept. Indifferent.

It was all he ever felt these days. Nothing he did was good enough, no matter how hard he tried. All his mistakes, all his failures, they all came back to haunt him letting him know that he just wasn't good enough. The voices in his head taunted him; memories of the past that he could never forget. Even as he sat there, bent over the dictionary in concentration, those memories returned to haunt him. He would just fail again, they told him, his efforts were for naught. He should just give up and accept that fact that he was worthless; a failure. But still, he stubbornly persisted and flipped the pages of the book.

It had to have been late at night. He had come to the basement as soon as his shift was over and hadn't left since. The text on the paper began to blur in front of him, all running together to make even less sense than it did before. Wearily, he rubbed his eyes and squinted hoping to bring the words back into focus. He tried to remember where he had left off but everything looked a like. Futiley, he ran his finger down the characters, hoping one would look familiar; hoping he could remember one. The paper wrinkled beneath his fingers as he grasped it harder. All that time spent looking up words, putting the characters together....all wasted in a second.

He was stupid. Stupid to believe that he could ever teach himself to read, stupid to believe that his efforts meant anything. He was still a failure. No matter what he did, it was never good enough. His teammates thought all the time he spent downstairs was preparing for missions. If only they knew. It wouldn't matter though; sooner or later, Weiss would just be another thing he could add to his list of failures. With bitter clarity, he could remember one of his first books; how he had been unable to read the simple words and make sense of anything. And it had been a picture book. He hadn't been able to read a simple picture book.

But that was only his first disappointment. Next had been school. Language, math, science, even music he had failed at. He dropped out of school as soon as possible. Then, when he thought he had finally found something he was good at, that too had to be taken away. Soccer was the only thing he had ever succeeded at; the only thing he had ever been truly good at. Maybe he hadn't quite failed at it, but it wasn't as if he could ever really play again. Just one more thing reminding him of his inadequacy. But probably the worst thing was knowing he couldn't even kill right. Even in that, he had to fail somewhere.

His hands fisted, crumpling the paper between them. Damn that stupid book. Why couldn't he have gotten it? Why couldn't he have read the simple characters at the time. All these years later, the words were still burned in his mind, taunting him with their supposed ease. A is for apple, B is for bird.

Fucking book. For no logical reason, he blamed that one book for all his failures. It only made sense; that the first thing he had failed to grasp should be responsible for everything else.

There was some movement upstairs and for one brief moment, he was afraid someone would catch him. His heart pounded madly in his chest while he waited, holding his breath, for someone to find him and learn of his secret. But the moments wore on and the door didn't open. Feeling as if he had gotten away with something, he once more bent his head over the dictionary and paper, picking out kanji, trying to identify it.

It wasn't long before the text began to swim again. In defeat, he rested his head on his hands, fisting them to rub at his eyes. Why couldn't there be more hirigana, less kanji? There were just too many meanings for one character. How was anyone supposed to remember so much? Why did there have to be so many words? Why couldn't he succeed at anything? Why did there have to be so little time to prepare? Why did he have to get that book? Why did paper crumple so easily? Why was it so hard to breath? Why did his eyes burn?

As quietly as possible, Omi opened the basement door. Ken had been missing since his shift ended and now Omi was worried. Neither Aya nor Youji knew where the brunette had gone and he had searched the house over. Twice. So he had decided to wait for the older boy. But as the hours had slowly creeped by and Ken hadn't come home, Omi grew more and more worried. Finally, he decided to go to bed when an idea struck him. Had Ken possible gone to the mission room? It was an odd idea but it had been the only place Omi hadn't looked. And it was late.

He peeked inside the doorway to see if any light was on or if there was any sign of his friend. There was, in fact, a light on as well as the sound of rustly paper. Feeling immensely pleased with himself, Omi stepped down onto the stairs. That was when he heard it; the soft sound of breath catching. Horror washed over the blonde as he realised whoever was down there was crying. He felt as if he was invading on something personal. All of Weiss had always made a show of being strong, never letting any of the others see any of their moments of weakness; though, it did happen once in a while. Omi knew he should leave, but, something made him continue down the stairs.

Cautiously, Omi peered over the railing at the person below. His heart clenched in his chest when he realised it was Ken. The brunette looked so....pathetic. He was sitting hunched over an open book, a paper clasped in hands that were covering his eyes. Feeling sorry for his friend, Omi padded over to the sofa, carefully sitting next to Ken. An eternal moment went by where nothing happened. Ken sat there, fists still against his eyes while Omi fidgeted a little, wondering if he should have left. Finally, Ken spoke.

"Fuckin' picture book. So fuckin' easy to read. So fuckin' easy." The brunette's shoulders shook slightly as Omi just stared at him. What was Ken talking about? A picture book? But, by the way he was acting, Omi thought it better to not press the questions. Instead, he simply leaned over and wrapped his arms around his friend, burying his face in the crook of Ken's neck.

"Picture books are stupid." Omi commented lamely, feeling as if he had missed an important point. Ken laughed sharply, shaking his head.

"So fuckin' easy." The paper was balled up further as his hands clenched more tightly around it. Worried, Omi pulled back slighly and looked at his friend. Removing one arm, he reached out and grabbed Ken's hand, slowly forcing it open. He pulled the paper out and placed it on the table beside the open book. He was only able to get a quick glance at the contents of the book, but it was enough to fit everything together. It was a dictionary. And that tear-stained paper was the mission.

Whatever had been holding the older boy up seemed to disappear as he leaned against Omi in defeat. He wasn't crying, but Omi was worried nonetheless. Ken never gave up on anything. They sat there for a minute, Omi holding Ken in his arms, supporting him without words. Carefully, without breaking his hold, Omi turned Ken around so the brunette was laying against his chest. Omi reached out, grabbed the ball of paper and unfolded it. Ken leaned against his friend, watching the paper through tired eyes. He said nothing as Omi began to read the mission. He just lay there, listening to Omi while also following his finger as it skimmed down the rows of characters.

"You don't have to do this." There was a brief pause as Omi came to the end of the page. The paper rustled quietly as he turned to the next.

"I know." he replied quietly, "But I want to." So Ken let Omi read to him finding comfort in his friend's voice and embrace.