Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Madness is Red ❯ White ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: The Weiss boys and their series are not mine, and if I made money from this, I wouldn’t have to moonlight as a starving artist.

Notes: Another of those twenty-minute fics that keep interrupting my longer WK stuff. This is AU (I guess), sometime after the original series (I’m in permanent denial of Gluhen). It might be shounen ai if it gets continued.


Madness is Red


White. White walls. White ceilings. White linen on the white mattresses on the white beds. White trays to sit on the white tables beside white paper napkins and white plastic spoons. White socks on his feet that walked on white tiles between two pairs of white tennis shoes. White jacket with white sleeves and white straps that laced in the back.

He liked his other jacket better.

“Here,” the man on his right indicated a door–white.

“Might want to be careful with your room mate,” the other said with a flash of white teeth. “He likes to play.”

“Play?” His own voice sounded too soft.

A shared laugh between the men.

“Yeah, real playful. The first day he was here, he gave this guy here a black eye and broke two of my ribs, then he did some kung-fu bullshit and knocked out two orderlies.”

“Right before he broke the doctor’s nose.”

“Yeah. I know you’re supposed to be hot shit, but this guy…he was standing there, over two unconscious orderlies, watching blood pour down Dr. Yamura’s coat and laughing. And he–”

An orderly passed behind them.

“Let’s get him in here.”

“Alright.”

The locked clicked open under the key, and the jacket was loosened. The door slid open, revealing only half the room, another bed, empty and clean and white.

Then he tumbled inside as the jacket was ripped from around him and came face to face with all the color he needed: deep purple and scarlet red.

The door locked behind him.

“Abyssinian.” It was an exhalation of breath, but he caught it before it could be more, turning it to a low laugh as he plopped down on the stupid white bed. Directly across from him, the other man slid to the edge of the bed to mirror his position. He was dressed strangely, even for this place, in skin tight red leather pants that rode low on his hips to reveal a slim inch of pale abdomen before it disappeared under the edge of his tight black tank top. He was barefoot.

“They let you wear that?” he asked, suddenly jealous and even more frustrated by his own damnedly white sweat suit. Standard issue that made him long for prison orange.

“I do what I want here,” the other replied in that low, calm voice. But there was a little smile on his face and a wild glint in his eyes.

“I see.”

They waited in silence, staring each other down in silent challenge; then Aya burst out laughing.

It chilled him to the bone, but the sudden return of feeling thrilled him. He thought his insides had been going white.

When Aya’s laughter had gone (as suddenly as it had come), leaving him once more serious, he had ask, “What’s funny?”

There was no hesitation.

“That they gave me you,” he smiled, a little too wide. Slipping off the bed, he knelt by the others feet, laying his head in the man’s lap and looking up with wide, excited eyed. He reached up a thin, pale hand to gently brush back his disheveled bangs. “I’ve been complaining, you know.”

He nodded, though he didn’t.

“It’s too clean here, too sterile, too white. It was driving me mad–well, more mad, you know. It’s all relative.”

Another nod with no less confusion.

“I got a little red. They were surprised. What the hell did they expect?” he was derisive now, a little angry as he curled his pretty lip into a snarl, “Here’s Kritiker’s best assassin, let’s put him in a room with a lock, that’ll stop him. Fucking idiots.”

“The doctor,” he finally offered.

Aya shrugged, “I guess so. I really wanted to gut him, but they took my spoon.”

“Okay.”

There was some pain on Aya’s face then, apparently a result of his tone; it had been reflex, the same pedantic child-talk inflection the men used with him.

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I deserve it.”

“No. You don’t.”

“I hate it here.”

“Yes. How’d they get you?” He had to know how this one was broken.

A sardonic smile as he lifted his arm at an awkward angle without raising his head from the other’s knees. A long, red scar ran diagonally from wrist to elbow, healed, but just barely.

“I miscalculated.”

“Cut too deep?” he asked.

“Not deep enough.”

“Do you regret it?”

A moment of thought, “Yes. But sometimes, here…I want to do it again.”

“For color?”

A bright smile, with teeth. It was strange and wonderful on that face, though his reflexes said ‘run’ when they saw it.

“Yes, yes,” he nodded, dragging his head off the knees and sitting cross-legged on the floor instead, still smiling up at his new roommate. “But now! Now I don’t have to!”

“Why?”

“Because they sent me you, and you’re red too.”

He reached up, taking hold of his own long bangs which Aya had rearranged and pulling them back into his face.

“Yeah,” Schuldig admitted, “I guess I am.”

~tbc?~


Notes: I really have no idea where this is going…well, they do have beds…Yohji would probably have to visit, or maybe they’d break out together…some kind of chaos, anyhow. If there’s a strong response, I’ll try another chapter, but it’s okay as a oneshot too.