Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Painting You Gold ❯ 02 Naked Eye ( Chapter 2 )

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Disclaimer: I don't own Schu and his friends; that's for Tsuchiya-sensei and Koyappi/Project Weiß/TV Tokyo to work out. Or not.

Warning: This fic in its entirety involves explicitly implicit yaoi (shounen ai) in conjunction with character death, feelings, nonconsensual sex, original characters, shota, soap operatic/supernatural-type twists, spoilers, unpardoned French, Weiß, and yakuza. Squick factor is probably obvious here. ;)

Post-it: As always, thanks for your time.

/…/ = communicative thoughts and the like
[…] = memories, stuff remembered, and the like

Painting You Gold

By Koyuki Aode

2 ~ Naked Eye

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The relationship between the esteemed Bradley Crawford and Nagi Naoe was one so painfully superficial that I would rather have had Farfarello practice carving many-sided geometric shapes on me than witness them even attempt to be intimate. If that's the word to use.

I'm not saying they didn't have moments. All relationships have moments. But their moments were... few and far between, and nightly interludes were the silent noncommittal type that gave me no pleasure to eavesdrop on, unless of course Crawford had the courtesy to entertain me with artificial dirty thoughts. (A grunt here, a moan there. Sometimes there were whimpers. Really. I never got to complain about them once in four years.)

Even I tried to share something with Farf whenever we were together, though he maintained the notion that my smoking habit was more dangerous than his personality. But I digress.

The truth was that Crawford and Nagi were the first platonic monogamous sex partners I'd ever personally known. They were trying too hard to be unemotional, to be cold and hard and fit into some archetype, and in doing so had conformed themselves into a senseless pattern that was doing nothing aside from easing Nagi's nightmares and satisfying Crawford's hunger for control. It's too much effort to live that way.

Crawford's version of intimacy was based on the effect of Nagi's presence on his nerves. Usually, it was a calming effect and Crawford was gentler with Nagi. At incidents of youth and inexperience, he was colder. Take for instance, the "Tot incident." (Of which we rarely speak.) It was then that Nagi proved himself to be the confused child, though he had often thrown the role back into fate's face.

"I'm in love."

Nagi had said it so flatly, so tiredly and yet so vigorously, that Farf and I immediately turned to each other and silently dared each other to keep a straight face before bursting out into laughter.

"I'm serious," he insisted.

At that, I found myself nearly eating the rug. "Oh my- You can't be serious." His square gaze threatened otherwise. I sat up quickly. /He is serious./

Farf stopped laughing too.

"Ugh, it's that Masafumi cheerleader. What did Crawford say about this?"

Nagi's eyes trailed along the rug pattern. "He doesn't care." From the way he was thinking, I could hardly tell if he'd assumed this or actually spoken to our leader about it.

The only thing that tipped me off was the recent memory of Crawford telling him that he was allowed to make his own mistakes, as long as he remembered who he really was. If Nagi were to learn anything from love, Crawford implied with his glasses flashing, it would be that love could never be a priority. This would later be reinforced with a slap.

"He's warned you. You'd better listen," I said with sudden urgency. Not that I cared too much. I hadn't watched a show like Nagi's in a long while. But he'd pushed away his hate and allowed himself to feel for Tot what Crawford would not dare to feel for Nagi.

Nagi had wanted to stop fighting, to preserve his boyish desires. But the conflict was something that never left us.

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"How's the nose?" I hefted a small ice pack in my hand as I watched Nagi from the doorframe.

Nagi stood above the sink, his blood still dripping into the shallow basin. "Getting better." He lifted his fingers from his nose and winced as I placed the ice on his face. "Is this going to happen with all the memories?"

"Not likely," I said, "There aren't many violent ones."

"I still don't understand what it has to do with me." His eyes slipped over to me. /Did someone die? Am I supposed to eventually feel sympathy for him?/

"You're supposed to feel-"

His body jerked forward and his hands clutched at the sink, letting the ice fall to the floor. /Schu, don't even try. I've already loved. I hate it./ He closed his eyes, breathing unsteadily through his mouth. Before I could respond, his eyes opened again carefully, sharp and alert. /I'm fine like this. Don't change it./

"No love? No change?" I whispered softly. "You're still with Crawford. You don't want to leave." He remained silent, his head bowed over the sink. "Don't tell me it's for the sex, because it's not. And you know full well that it still confuses you." I stepped away and slipped the door closed, hoping the realization had baited him enough.

He was curious. I had at least achieved my first step.

Because real love makes you want to remember, not forget.

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[memory]

Church on a weekday. Why would people go to church during school?

Young Crawford looked around himself, at the sullen adults sitting in the pews. His footsteps, along with his mother's beside him, echoed throughout the museum-like building. Everything was sketched with age and the air weighed heavily with incense. His mother pulled him along firmly but gently to the front, to a large wooden box that was half-open.

The holy water on his forehead dripped slowly between his eyes. Looking for reassurance, Crawford managed to glimpse his own teacher in black. She looked away quickly, dabbing at her own eyes with a tissue.

Wouldn't he get into trouble? Crawford wondered. Why was everyone crying? It made him want to cry. The church looked haunted, noises echoing, atmosphere too fragile. He let himself sniffle.

"Honey." His mother let go of his hand and touched his back, pulling him forward to the box. He hesitated, fearing he would be subjected to his mother's lipstick imprint in front of the crowd. This was before he looked into her honest eyes.

"Baby," she murmured, rubbing his back warmly, "I'm sorry..."

Crawford could barely see over the edge.

It was Casey in the box.

Just laying there like he was sleeping. Not moving. Smiling in a way he never had before.

He looked too perfect.

As Crawford reached out to touch his friend, his mother grabbed his hand. "No! Honey-you.. Don't..." Her voice had the same tone it did two years before, when he could barely remember seeing his own father in such a box.

But his father was gone. Never to come back. Only glimpsed in dreams.

Suddenly it felt as if the church had no floor. The gap between Crawford and Casey was steeper than the few inches between their bodies.

The tears hit Crawford before the realization did. "Casey! CASEY! WAKE UP!!" he screamed, caring not that everyone could hear him, could see his tears. The only person who mattered couldn't hear him and would never see his tears. Casey would never receive his late birthday present.

Crawford's mother wrapped herself around him, pulling him away from the casket. "CASEY!" he wailed miserably.

Casey had just turned seven years old... Only...

With a cry, Crawford broke away from his mother and ran. Before he even reached the pews a strong pair of arms caught him and held him tightly.

"Hey, come on." It was Brad's voice in his ear, Brad's tears falling onto his neck as he struggled. Crawford stopped fighting and listened. "Kiddo, you need to calm down. Casey doesn't want you to be sad..."

"He's not coming back," whimpered Crawford, burying his face into Brad's shoulder. "He's my best friend!!.. He's not coming back..." He pressed his face into the stiff fabric of Brad's suit, trying his best to lose himself in Brad's arms. These arms were the closest he would get to Casey. In these arms, he felt safer. "'...Not… Fair!"

"Sh," Brad whispered shakily, his own voice wavering, "I know. Casey. Casey's my b-" He paused to breathe. "He's my best friend too..."

"He's supposed to-" Be in school with Crawford. Grow up with him. Protect him from the bullies. Be his friend. His brother.

"I know... But I'm still here." Brad held onto Crawford as tightly as the six-year-old clung to him. They cried together, listening to his shaky whispers. "It's going to be ok."

[end]

"How was that one?" Feeling Nagi's eyes on me, I stopped to look at him from the fridge, which I'd taken upon myself to clean out, and urged him with a nod. He'd been staring for about five minutes from his seat on the counter. "Well, come on-" I tossed a large container of some brown mush from a lower shelf into the sink, "-Don't just stare at me like that. It's creepy."

"Brad died too, didn't he?" Nagi said quickly, unsteadily regaining his voice as he pushed himself off the counter.

"After about five years of taking care of Crawford... Yes." I plowed my hand through a drawer of bagged vegetables. "Is it that obvious?"

"How else could Crawford take his name?" Nagi reasoned. "But didn't Brad have family who cared? Or... Someone who would notice?"

"His parents. They died earlier, without next of kin," I explained, "The brothers were alone when Crawford and his family met them." With my face to the fridge, I let a smirk slip. Finally, after two days' worth of memories, Nagi seemed to be taking interest. All it had taken to grab him was a death.

"All they had was each other..." Nagi bottom-lined, his face softening. I regretted that no one was around to see my breakthrough. "That's..."

"Sad?" I finished for him. When he nodded once in agreement, I held up a bag of mysterious green clumps that had caught my eye. "I agree. Now tell me - what the hell is this?"

He squinted at the bag, twisting his mouth. "I think it's supposed to be cheese. Is it fuzzy?"

"I'll spare myself the sensation," I muttered, chucking the bag in Nagi's direction. "Toss it." He obliged and, with a quick movement of his hand, it was disposed of. "Any emotional excess from the memories?"

"I don't know."

I let the fridge shut itself. "Understandable. You haven't been to school for the past two weeks have you?"

Nagi shook his head slowly.

"Schu... why?" Why me? Why his memories? Why now? Nagi's silent questions flickered in his eyes.

I leaned down and pressed my nose to his. "Though you won't believe it, Crawford would get jealous."

"What? What are you-"

I placed my hands on his shoulders. "Watch!-" Without a second thought I pulled him in for a kiss.

Nagi had been surprised when I pulled him forward, and jerked in even more shock as Crawford entered the kitchen. I held on to him tight though, until the only way he managed to separate our bodies was to send us both staggering from each other. My back hit the fridge while he flew into Crawford, who caught and steadied him with stiff movements.

/Taste-testing./ I smirked back from behind my sleeve.

Crawford's dry voice, when he finally chose to speak, was directed to the both of us. "Would you like me to wait for a better time so that you may continue?" His eyes seemed to burn through my skull.

"We weren't doing anything!" Nagi spat out, flashing a glare in my direction. /MORON!/

"Good," grunted Crawford, "We have an assignment. Nagi, go and bring-" Before the request had fully formed, Nagi had hurled the door open and was stalking out.

/He's jealous now!/ I sang to Nagi. /He wants to talk to me alone!/

Crawford wasted no time trying to go on with business. "We're going to retrieve some information and gain the trust of a future investment," he said, maintaining eye contact with his printouts.

"Don't you mean investor?" I busied myself with rolling my sleeves up and attacking the containers in the sink.

"Investment." A chair scraped against the floor as he took a seat. "We may go back to being bodyguards."

"If he owns golf clubs, I'm quitting."

My comment laid both our voices to silence. After a long while (and my cleaning out four huge containers) Crawford finally decided to take advantage of Nagi's absence; "So, what were you doing in his room at four am?"

"Nothing much." I turned to face him, tightening the faucet to a low flow. "Why, you jealous?"

"I thought you had convinced him to go to school. He's supposed to graduate this year - early. It'd be nice if the administrators wouldn't expel him before the end of this term." Crawford locked onto my gaze after saying that, and for a moment we stared competitively. Sensing no follow-ups on his part, I turned around again and dipped my hands into the sink water.

Crawford finally sighed as two sets of footsteps pounded off the last of the stairs and into the hallway. "Go ahead and say it," he mumbled.

I smiled triumphantly into a pot. "... You're such a bad liar."

tbc

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