Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Ohne Dich ❯ To Be Black ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: As much as I wish it, I do not own anything. Please give credit where it's due.

 

Author's Note: My first epic Weiß Kreuz fic. Please be gentle, and enjoy! Many thanks to Hota for beta-ing. Dedicated with much love to Maja!

 

Translation: Ohne Dich means "without you"

 

 

 

The opposite of love isn't hate. It's indifference.

 

 

Ohne Dich

 

-To Be Black-

 

He paces.

 

I watch him from my perch on his bed, untangling my hair in slight boredom. He's been doing it for a while now, and frankly, I am sick of following him around the room. It's giving me a headache, and I really want a cigarette.

 

Damn nicotine addiction.

 

Of course, I would smoke if I were me, too. The life we live isn't pretty, and…ugh, neither is this mess of stuff I call hair. I tug at it, trying to remove my hand from The Thing, and my movements eventually draw Brad's attention. There's a slight flux in the shields around his mind, and I realize that he is…amused.

 

Brad Crawford amused?

 

Hah!

 

"Like something you see?" I ask, tilting my head to the side and pouting slightly, my fingers still woven into my knotted hair. It's no secret I want this man, even though he is something beyond my reach, but the attraction is heavily one-sided. He shows no interest whatsoever, but I go after him every chance I get.

 

It's definitely one of the better job perks.

 

A small smile forms on his face, and I blink in surprise. This is...unusual.

 

Eventually, he speaks.

 

"Not really," he answers, touching a hand to his forehead. "I had Seen this, but it hadn't been as...funny." I glare at him, ripping my fingers away, along with several strands of hair, to throw a pillow at him. He easily steps to the side to avoid it.

 

"Damn you," I curse, angry at him and the fact that I've just pulled out hair. "You'll always be a bastard, won't you?!"

 

"You seem to think so." He resituates his glasses. "I suppose that means I will, then."

 

“You're fucking right you will. Fuck you.” I don't know why he's pissing me off more than usual, but he is, and I don't like it.

 

He merely shrugs and runs a hand through his hair, making him look damn sexy.

 

Damn.

 

I stand and make a mad dash for the door, trying to avoid any other confrontations that may evolve out of this, but he's faster. He grabs my wrist, forcing me to stop, and I almost smack into the wall at the suddenness of his action. I attempt to glare, again, but falter when he looks at me with those eyes.

 

Liquid caramel. I could eat them…

 

“Take care not to step in the puddle, Schuldig.” My eyebrow twitches, but I ignore him and twist free of his grasp.

 

Being a pre-cog must suck ass. Heh.

 

I amuse myself.

 

“I'm going out,” I tell him, waving my hand in a nonchalant manner even as I wrestle with the doorknob. It works, and I'm out of his room like lightning, unable to stand the sight of his handsome face and gaijin expressions. He is one game I will not pursue for…certain reasons. He's hot. He's cold. And, sometimes, he makes me think he has no emotions at all. I know better than that. Well, maybe. Brad Crawford is married to his work and doesn't have time to pay attention to poor, little me. Schuldig…

 

I wince at the name.

 

Maybe I'll change it. It's not actually my real name, anyway, and it's not like anyone here or in Rosenkruz gives a flying fuck. Maybe `nothing' will sound better than `guilty.' Or `smart ass German who doesn't give a damn.' It has a certain ring to it, I must admit, but I doubt it translates into something simpler.

 

I don't do complicated, but right now, at this very moment, it's as fucking complicated as it gets.

 

“Thinking?” a rather soft, almost creepy voice asks, drawing my attention away from my own thoughts and into the thoughts of a martyr.

 

Statues bleed from their eyes, and death is…

 

I shake my head. It's a bad, bad idea to allow myself the liberty of frolicking freely in Farfarello's mind. I'd probably lose myself and go crazy. Well, crazier than I already am.

 

“Not really. Crawford's being Crawford…again. You know how it is,” I answer, desperately itching to leave the apartment. And, I still need a cigarette!

 

“Trying to shackle your wings more than they already are?” I purposely ignore him and grab one of the several jackets hanging on a rack by the door. I throw it on and leave the apartment, irraitated by the fuzzy remnants trailing from the Irishman's mind. Scratch that.

 

Being a telepath sucks ass more.

 

I know more about telepathy, anyway. Precognition is not my area of expertise and never will be. I merely assume because I've seen, first hand, what it does to people who possess it. Not that I care. Being telepathic gives me reason to be sarcastic and snitty. Besides, it's part of my personality. Aren't I lovely?

 

I'm never alone in my head, either. Sometimes, I end up losing myself days at a time, searching for something…which results in nothing more than a huge headache. The voices never leave. I can only smother them until they're a faint buzz in my ears, and that's what it's like now.

 

Tokyo, Japan.

 

The most crowded, goddamn city I could ever hope to find myself in. We've been stationed here for almost a week, and I still don't like it. I won't get used to it, either. Besides, I don't even have anything to do, and it's literally hotter than Hell. Japanese summers are…horrible. Germans don't take heat well. I don't take heat well.

 

When I step outside after a boring and drull elevator ride, I immediately wish I had tied my hair back. The Thing is already chaotic and messy, sticking up everywhere from where I'd played with it, but the swelter sends it flat and glued to my skull. It's like fire soup or something. Nasty, nasty, Schuldig.

 

Grateful that I have my sunglasses, I slide them out of my pocket and onto my face, hiding sensitive blue eyes. Sometimes, I wonder why I wasn't born with darker eyes. Forget that I'm a redhead. Light hurts, and it's particularly bright today. Would I look werid if I had brown eyes…like Brad?

 

Brad's eyes…

 

Mmm. Now, that's orgasm right there. I love how they're gold and shadowed and…

 

I suddenly laugh, very loudly and audibly, and an older woman sweeping the sidewalk in front of a shop across the street glances up, completely startled. I quickly correct the mistake, using my gift to erase the memory of her ever seeing or hearing me. Because my telepathy is incredibly advanced, it's easy to move through people and never be remembered.

 

I like it that way, and so does oh-so-fearless leader.

 

Fuck.

 

I wipe at the sweat trickling down my neck and glower as I continue to walk.

 

I don't want to think about him. I left to get away from him, but…

 

For some reason, I can't help it. He's the kind of person that isn't easily forgotten, especially when I can read minds and know nothing, absolutely nothing, about him. Fucking arrogant bastard. His shields are impossible to penetrate, but once, just once, I'd like to taste his mind, see what he sees, know what he knows…good or bad.

 

Just once.

 

I snort at my irrelevant thinking. He will never open up to me. And why would he? I'm the Slut of Schwarz, not so easily trusted. I would sleep with Farfarello given the right incentives. Hell, we've already had some pretty crazy times, but as much as I play around, there's only one person I really want…even though I can't have him.

 

“Fuck you and your inhibitions, Crawford,” I mouth quietly, dancing around a couple as they pass me by.

 

I hate him. I really do.

 

And voices are churning in my brain again, amplified because of the uncontrolled emotion running through me. I try to block them out, ignore them with the help of years of practice, but they don't leave, and I can hear everything.

 

Worries…

 

Fears…

 

Lusts…

 

It's speeding into my head with the force of a freight train, and my brain throbs. I think I'm going to…explode.

 

I gasp for air like I'm drowning. I might as well be. They're sucking me in because I'm losing control and can't hide behind the safety of my mental barriers, and…and…

 

I run for the nearest exit, feeling ready to vomit, but being in the middle of a giant city with no where to go…

 

I eventually end up in a somewhat darkened alley, crouching low and cupping my head with still-convulsing fingers.

 

God dammit, it hurts!

 

The coolness of the brick at my back seems to help, and now that I'm concentrating solely on the noises, they slowly subside into the familiar buzz I know. It still stings, but the restraints are back, holding the tsunami at bay.

 

Breathe, Schuldig, breathe.

 

I want to smack myself the moment I can think again. I get worked up over nothing and this is what happens. My life is one giant headache with the occasional pain in the ass to follow.

 

Lovely.

 

Taking off the sunglasses, as they are no use to me in this dank back street, I glance around. A trashcan is tipped over just inches away, garbage littering the ground, and the smell gets to me, my forehead throbbing with each intake of contaminated air. Humans are stupid, primordial creatures, and I hate them. They're disgusting, and it makes me sick to think I'm even remotely like any one of them.

 

Pft.

 

I wish I could stop thinking all together. That would be heaven.

 

My hand pushes against the asphalt to help keep me balanced as I try to stand, ready, once again, to face the world, but the instant something frighteningly cold and wet seeps around my fingers, I pull back, half-falling onto my side. It's sticky and…

 

I look at it. Black? No. It's…

 

It's red.

 

My mind malfunctions the moment I glance down and slightly to the right, my throat refusing to swallow. A waif of a body is lying there, curled delicately in the fetal position, and…and…

 

A hand flies to my mouth to stop me from losing what little was in my stomach. There's a burning flash of some distant memory raping across my brain, and I stagger to my feet as quickly as I can, wanting to get away.

 

Don't be sick. Don't be sick.

 

An impossibly sharp tug on my hair sends me flying backwards, and my arms are instantly around my head, protecting my face from the other assaults to follow. Nothing comes after a while, and I mutter a curse, sitting up and groaning at the dampness soaking into my pants.

 

“Eww.” I don't even realize I've spoken until I hear a muffled reply from somewhere close by. At least, it sounds like a reply. I don't know. There's a body and…

 

Holy fuck!

 

It's moving.

 

Tentatively, I reach out with my telepathy, almost afraid of what I might find. Then, I laugh. Afraid? Me? Yeah, right.

 

My mental touch is lightly pushed away, and I'm instantly awake, thoughts running in a chaotic jumble everywhere.

 

Body.

 

There's a body, and it…it has…shields?

 

Shields?

 

Body.

 

Blood?

 

This isn't making sense to me. None of it.

 

A body?

 

Yes, Schuldig. There's a body. I've obviously got that down clearly, perfectly even, but nothing else is remotely familiar. I have no idea what I'm-

 

“Take care not to step in the puddle…”

 

Brad's words slam into my head, repeating over and over. Was this was he…meant? But step? Hell, I almost sat in it, but what does that have to do with-

 

Then, it hits me.

 

Dammit, Brad, you scheming son of a bitch. Couldn't you have told me in simple, easy-for-Schuldig-to-understand terms? Couldn't you have…

 

I grit my teeth in frustration. I see how it is. Send the stupid one on the important errand and fill him in later.

 

Fuck you, again, Brad Crawford.

 

God dammit!

 

I glance back at the body, almost sad, but…not quite.

 

Our Fourth.

 

Fuck.

 

 

-End To Be Black-