Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Playing the Part ❯ Part Eleven ( Chapter 11 )

Part Eleven

His mind catalogued his jealousy easily. There was no denying it. He had never been one to buy into all that self-delusional shit. The truth couldn't be changed and hiding from it was a failing. When it came to knowing and analysing himself, he never backed down, even if the results were unfavourable. That way there was never any room for nasty surprises.

So Crawford acknowledged his jealousy.

And he found it to be repulsive.

Jealousy was a vanity. It was a worthless emotion. He loathed it in others. Those who were unable to control themselves succumbed to jealousy. It was a waste of time and he hated wasting time. Jealousy was beneath him. He had never succumbed to such a weak sentiment before because he was strong. Logical. If he worked hard enough, he could achieve anything. He wasn't afraid of striving towards his goals. He wasn't afraid of working hard. It was who he was.

Therefore there was no reason to feel jealousy.

And still he felt it. He loathed himself for it. But mostly, he loathed Schuldich for bringing him to this.

You won't forget me so easily, Herr Crawford.

Long ago, beneath stormy Berlin skies, Schuldich had spoken those words to him. It had been after their first meeting, accidental in nature, standing amidst grimy stones and congealing blood. That night had been cheap. There had been something in the air. For money, that hollow-eyed German boy would have done anything. And he had. Secretly, Crawford had been pleased. There had been something about Schuldich then...as there was something about him now.

He refused to accept that the 'something' was something special. He would not allow himself to go that far. While he could accept petty sentiments, it was hardly a dignified emotion, jealousy, but he wasn't about to overlook what he quite obviously felt, he could not accept fanciful designs of Schuldich meaning more to him then he should. Schuldich was his business assistant and his sexual partner. In that order. That was all. Crawford didn't want anything else from the redhead. He had neither the time nor the patience for any emotional shit.

Yet he was jealous all the same.

He forced his fingers to loosen and he set down the phone.

Schuldich had hung up on him and that did not sit well.

Because he made the rules and he made the all the important moves. That's just how it was and Schuldich knew it.

"Brad?" Emilia's heavily accented voice cut through the silence of the room. She watched him over the brim of her wine glass, her liquid-like eyes luminous. "Who called? What has happened?"

Crawford appraised the woman. She was beautiful, in that dark-eyed, exotically European way. Most men would have given anything to be alone in a hotel room with her, watching the invitation shimmer in her eyes. He should have felt something, needed to feel something but there was only annoyance at her questions. At her presence.

He didn't want her. In spite of his best attempts.

Crawford didn't deny the truth because he never lied to himself. The truth was simple. His body craved Schuldich's, not Emilia's. Beyond business interests, he didn't give a shit about Emilia. What he wanted at the moment was to dominate Schuldich, to push the younger man far into pain and hear him scream. He wanted the errant German to feel beyond what he felt. Jealousy. He wanted Schuldich beneath him so he could forcibly erase all traces of this Ken. He wanted to claim Schuldich so hard that he would never be able to look at another. And then...

...then Crawford would leave again because he didn't feel anything other then the need to repossess.

"Brad?"

"Something urgent has come up," he answered coolly. "I'm afraid I'll have to cancel our dinner plans. If you're still inclined, you can meet with Mr. Takahashi to discuss the merger."

Disappointment shone upon that striking face. He knew she wasn't interested in the merger. That was her father's business, not hers. "As you wish. Perhaps tomorrow then?"

He inclined his head slightly, making no promises, and saw her to the door. He remained impassive as she kissed his cheek lingeringly. "Goodnight," she whispered and disappeared down the silent corridor.

Business wise, he knew that it was in his best interest to bring her back and fuck her. He couldn't even do that. His own weakness bid him to scorn her. It wasn't her body he desired. It wasn't her obedience he wanted.

Crawford took from his briefcase his cell phone and rang Johanna, his Canadian secretary. "Cancel all my meetings," he ordered, without preamble. "Whatever can't be cancelled, have McAllister attend to. Reschedule anything needing my attention. I want to be back in Tokyo by Thursday night at the latest."

Johanna was intimidated. "Yes Mr. Crawford."

~*~*~*~*~

There was a knock at the door.

Ken took a deep breath and steeled himself. He knew who was behind the door, just as he knew that it was only sheer willpower holding him together at that moment. Yes he was weak and yes his emotions were shot to fuck but he wasn't about to give anyone the satisfaction of knowing it. Especially not in front of him. Ken didn't need to advertise to the world that he was beaten. That wasn't his way. He would wear his mask of civility and when he was alone, it would break. That had always been his way. He didn't have any choice in the matter. He had his pride, little as it might be and it was enough for him to keep his resolve.

"I'm fine," he told himself firmly, heading to the door. "I can deal with this." He forced a pleasant, apathetic expression onto his face and yanked the door open.

Yohji stood before him, looking tall and unapproachable in vinyl pants, mirrored sunglasses and a long, black coat.

"Come in," Ken invited, holding the door open. He was pleased with himself; his voice was calm, his tone steady. He carefully avoided looking at his ex. Yohji looked good and that tugged at his heart, harder then it should have.

"Are you alone?"

Unspoken: Is that foreign guy with you?

Ken's expression didn't change but the veiled reference to Schuldich twinged all the same. It hurt almost as much as seeing Yohji because Schuldich had been sweet to him. He had made him feel better and had empathized with him and had threatened to beat the shit out of Yohji and Aya. In short, Schuldich had cared and that friendship meant something to Ken.

Which was why Schuldich's dismissal had hurt.

"I'm alone."

"Kenken I-"

"I'd rather you didn't call me that right now," Ken replied evenly, closing the door.

"I apologize," Yohji murmured softly. He took off his sunglasses and studied Ken with piercing eyes. "For everything."

"Right." Ken breezed past, unable to bear the way Yohji was watching him. He was too attractive, too familiar. "I gathered up all your stuff and I know I didn't miss anything since I went through-"

"Ken."

He busied himself with rearranging the bags of Yohji's things. "Yeah?"

"I never meant to hurt you." Meaningless words spoken in that caramel-rich voice he had so adored. "For what it's worth, I loved you."

Ken stared at the plastic bags in his hands, his heart breaking all over again. It wasn't worth anything, not anymore. "I don't need explanations," Ken told him, somewhat curtly. He couldn't help it. "It's done. You don't have to keep saying it."

Yohji looked like he wanted to reply but cut it off. Instead, abruptly, he said, "I saw Ran at the hospital last night."

Inwardly, he groaned. Yeah sure, why not? This was obviously the type of day that went from crappy to crappy. So why not toss in a pointless meeting between his two ex-boyfriends? Dumped by both, maybe they could share techniques or wax on about what a loser he was. Because you had to be stupid to keep falling for the same old mouldy shit, again and again.

Ken rubbed at his eyes, suddenly feeling about twenty years older. "Fascinating."

"I was there on a case. He told me to stay away from you."

And you said yeah sure no problem I dumped his sorry ass ages ago.

"Why are you telling me this?"

Yohji continued to speak, as though Ken hadn't. "I told him about your foreign guy."

"What?" Ken forgot to be calm as anger rose. "What the hell for? Where the hell do you get off telling him any of my business?"

There was slight annoyance on Yohji's face, but also resolve. "It's too late for him and he needs to know it. He's a spineless prick who doesn't-"

Ken couldn't believe what he was hearing. Yohji was so full of shit. "What about your faults? Since when are you in any position to judge?"

"I know I'm not." Yohji's gaze was intent on his face. "Whether you believe me or not Ken, the truth is that I want you to be happy. I couldn't do it for you and neither could Ran."

Ken's irritation bled away, leaving behind weariness. "Couldn't and wouldn't are too different things Yohji."

Yohji spoke softer then Ken had ever heard. "I know."

"I think you should leave now," Ken muttered, his throat feeling thick.

Yohji nodded and without any arguments, he began gathering up his things. Ken watched him, seeing him as though through a blurry glass. His head felt oddly light but he was still able to meet Yohji's eyes straight on. A moment spun between them. There were many things left to say and not one of them would ever be spoken. None of it mattered, not anymore. It was too late and their love was weak.

"Take care of yourself," Yohji murmured, his voice heavy with something Ken couldn't identify.

Ken nodded, looking away.

He opened the door, stepped outside and then paused, his back to Ken. "Whether you're with Ran or with that foreign guy, make sure they treat you well. You don't deserve any of this shit."

And then he was gone.

Ken locked the door and flopped down onto the couch. He felt drained, his heart aching. "Ran strike, foreign guy strike," he muttered, drawing his knees up to his chest. "I guess I really do deserve this shit."

Yohji said he had loved him. But that wasn't enough to hold them together.

He had loved Ran and that also hadn't been enough to hold them together.

What was love then, other then an ideal, a four letter word? If it was such a pure emotion then why did its nature change so quickly? How could someone claim to love another and then turn around and hurt them? That wasn't love, that was selfishness.

A few of days ago things had been okay. Not great but he'd had a boyfriend and the illusion of happiness. Now he was completely alone, again, dumped for the third time and confused beyond bearing. Ran supposedly loved him, enough to break up with him and hurt him and come back to him, this time with the approval of the sister he'd sought desperately to protect. Schuldich, who had entered his life so quickly and adamantly, seemed to be gone just as abruptly. Yohji was also gone and with another, when he'd sworn that he'd never hurt him like Kase and Ran had.

All those words and emotions were a waste of time because at the end of the day, he was still alone, still unworthy of affection. None of them truly cared for him. Their words were pretty but when the bottom line was drawn, all he had was those words and they were empty. Ran had chosen his sister over him. Yohji had chosen his new love and Schuldich had chosen himself.

That last one stung as sharply as the other two and that irritated Ken. He had known from the beginning that everything between himself and Schuldich would be a charade. Hell he hadn't even wanted to do it because the thought of Brad Crawford scared the living hell out of him. But he'd been persuaded and now he had what he wanted...freedom from that stupid pseudo-boyfriend scheme. He had wanted it that, hadn't he?

His mind was quick to assure him that he did indeed want it but it felt hollow all the same.

Because he and Schuldich had become friends, hadn't they? Schuldich had given him advice, just as he in turn had given the German advice. He enjoyed Schuldich's company and liked him as a person. Schuldich was intelligent, witty, amusing and fun to be around. Ken hadn't asked for anything from him, hadn't wanted anything except that friendship.

Crawford had hurt Schuldich badly, more so then the redhead had let on. Ken was no stranger to that sort of pain and he understood that Schuldich needed to be alone to think over his relationship. Ken's mind knew it all but his heart didn't seem to want to listen. The casual way Schuldich had dismissed him had been bitter. As was the realization that Schuldich really didn't need him. Anyone could play the part of his boyfriend and for money, anyone would. Their meeting at the club that night had been nothing more than a coincidence. Things only blossomed because Schuldich needed an actor and he needed money.

"But I never needed him," Ken told himself firmly as he headed into his bedroom. "He was the one who needed me and if it's over then it's over. I don't need anymore of these stupid melodramas."

Strong words that he didn't believe at all.

No wonder Birman hated men so much.

~*~*~*~*~

'Dear Brad' Schuldich wrote and then abruptly stopped. He frowned up at the light and then down at his paper. For some odd reason his words were blurring together. He squinted a bit and held the paper an arm's length away. How fishy. It appeared that his letters were doing the tango and that couldn't be right.

"Shitty pen," Schuldich growled. He should have known better then to trust a cheap Korean knock-off gel pen for a momentous task such as this. The stupid thing had come free with Farf's manila sketchbook so how much quality could he have expected if the thing was free? Schuldich scanned around for another pen but there were none to be seen. Well that was okay. Better then okay, actually. It would serve Brad right. Brad hated sloppy things. He also hated pink glitter ink. Schuldich smirked. That would teach Brad, to get a sloppy letter written in pink ink.

Bringing the crumpled piece of paper right up to his face, Schuldich reread what he'd written. He decided that Brad didn't deserve a 'dear' in front of his name. Brad wasn't a dear at all. He was a bastard but Schuldich couldn't begin the letter with 'Bastard Brad' so he just scratched out the 'dear' with thick black lines. Then he scratched out the 'Brad' and instead penned in 'Crawford'. There was no need to get personal, he figured.

'How are you? I am fine.'

Except that he wasn't really fine and he didn't give a crap whether Brad was or not. He hoped Brad was miserable. He hoped Emilia was as flat as a bored. He hoped she hogged all the blankets. Brad hated when he hogged the blankets. Come to think of it, there were a lot of things Brad hated. He really wasn't that much of a happy guy.

Schuldich chewed on his pen cap for inspiration.

'You are a shitty jerk. Why don't you go stick your head in a blender and press puree?'

"Good one," he praised himself. He took a deep slug of Goldschlagar and gripped his pen a bit more firmly. The damn thing kept wriggling out of his grasp, like a bloated caterpillar on the sidewalk. It was annoying.

Schuldich stuck his face close to the paper and wrote some more.

'If you think I'm just some annoying punk hanging around your apartment all day then you're dumber than a boulder. You're lucky I help you with your work all the time because if I didn't then you'd have to pay someone to do what I do for free. You should be thanking all the Gods that I'm a real bargain. I don't even snore dipshit.'

Schuldich paused to fish out the cherry he'd stuck in his Blue Moon martini and shoved the candied fruit into his mouth. It felt good to call Brad a dipshit. He wiped sticky fingers on the edge of Brad's letter. That felt good too. The letter was shaping out to be quite a good piece of scruggy mess.

'Sometimes you know how to make me so mad.'

Was it okay to put in an admission of feelings or was that taboo? Schuldich pondered that over a Becks and then decided that it was okay. It wasn't like he was telling the guy he loved him or anything equally as stupid.

"I don't love you Bard," Schuldich declared, thumping down his beer. Frothy liquid splashed down the side of the can and onto the glass table. "Well maybe a little I do ," he amended, wiping at the beer with glitter-smeared fingers. "But I'm not telling you that, die dumpfbacke."

He picked up his pen again.

'If you think I love you then you better think again Chief. I love you like I love a heel to the head. That means I don't love you because I don't love heels to the head, get it? Plus you suck.'

Hmm. Well he was no expert but the last bit could be taken literally, if not a bit provocatively and if that was indeed the case...

He added, 'like a cheap dick' but after a bit of consideration, he messily inked that out. It probably wasn't such a hot idea to put 'suck' and 'dick' in the same sentence. This wasn't a pervascious letter afterall. He amended with, 'a whole crapload because you don't know *jack shit*. That's why I'm dumping you like last week's left over pork udon.'

His stomach churned at the thought of pork udon so he soothed it with a few gulps of Bailey's Irish Cream.

'From Schuldich.'

He mulled the last bit over. Naturally the letter was from him but that seemed too...tacky somehow. Well not tacky exactly but more like...well whatever. He knew what he meant, even if he couldn't exactly find the right word for it. Crossing out the 'from', he jammed in 'Sincerely' over the scribbles. Much better. He was sincere afterall.

"Really sincere," he said aloud.

As an afterthought he hastily dashed, 'PS: I can read your mind bimbo.'

"Done," he declared and capped his pen. He was very much over Brad Crawford and that was that.

He guzzled down a rum and Coke and wondered what Brad was doing.

~*~*~*~*~

Ken awoke to a thick scratching sound. He blinked bleary eyes up at the ceiling, disoriented. Had he fallen asleep? He yawned hugely and snuggled deeper into his blankets. The scratching noise sounded again, now accompanied by loud bangings upon the front door. Ken groaned and buried his head under his pillow. He didn't give five craps who was at the door because he wasn't getting up to open it! He was sick of all this relationship angst. The world could rot for all he cared. He wanted was to be left alone. He was tired of being with people who clearly didn't give a damn about him.

The knocking continued. It was steady and growing in volume.

"Shaddup," Ken grumbled, burrowing his face into his mattress. "Le'me alone."

The scraping against the door also grew louder. The pounding didn't stop.

Who the hell wanted to see him so badly? Why weren't they getting tired of knocking? Were they bloody retarded? He was considering putting in a Dir en Grey CD and blasting it when the scratchings became longer and more pronounced. The knocking rattled the door in its frame. Ken sat up in alarm. Was someone trying to bust his door down? He didn't have money to pay for a new damn door!

Cursing, he scrambled out of bed and stamped down the hallway. "Go away!" he snarled. "Stop wrecking my friggin' door! I don't wanna talk to you so get a damn clue and scram!"

The scraping/pounding hybrid persisted.

"What the hell?" Ken yanked open the door, enraged. "Didn't you hear me you cra-"

He abruptly broke off in a gape. The last person he'd ever not expected to see standing at his door was, well standing at his door.

Schuldich's one-eyed crazy friend blinked owlishly, as though surprised. "Hullo Ken."

Ken stared in pure astonishment and couldn't seem to find any words.

Farfarello gestured to the door with the knife that was clutched in his hand. "I itched the scratch."

Ken glanced at the door and did a classic double take. Farfarello had scraped the front of his door to hell. Long, deep grooves littered the wooden surface. Splinters covered the floor. A half-hysterical laugh bubbled out from him. "You better come in before my landlord sees this mess and flips the lid!"

Farfarello nodded, entering. "I flip a lot of lids. But I can't juggle."

Ken led his unexpected visitor into the living room. "You don't say."

"I do say."

Ken shook his head, still in a state of shock. What in the earth was the guy doing at his apartment? Had Schuldich sent him? "So...um..." There was an embarrassing silence as he scrambled around for something to say. "You want something to drink?"

Farfarello, who was looking around curiously, didn't notice Ken's discomfort. "Tomato sauce," he intoned, poking at the sofa with the butt of his knife.

"Tomato sauce," Ken repeated, watching the Irish man inspect his sofa with some apprehension. "You're not gonna, uh...hack that up are you?"

There was surprise on that wan face. "Sofas don't itch."

"Right." Ken choked back a nervous snicker. "Well I don't have anything tomato. How about a Coke?"

Farfarello thought about that for a moment before nodding. "Sometimes the fizz gets in my nose. It's like scuba diving."

Ken had nothing to say to that.

When they were both settled, sitting and drinking their Cokes, Ken asked, "How'd you know where I lived?"

"I can find a house on the road," Farfarello said before sticking his tongue into his glass to lap at his Coke.

Ken figured that was as much of as answer he could expect from the Irish man. He wanted to ask about Schuldich but couldn't bring himself to. "Well...erm..." He racked his brain for something to talk about but couldn't think of a damn thing. He also couldn't think of a subtle way to ask Farfarello what the crap he wanted. Fortunately, he spoke before Ken had to.

"I painted a picture for you," Farfarello announced, chewing on his index finger. "I used acrylics. Acrylics from a tube. Like the subway in London."

Ken blinked and found that he was touched.

Farfarello took out a small piece of canvas, about 5" by 8", from his vest pocket and handed it to Ken. "There wasn't enough eons in my head to finish it."

Ken had never seen any of Farfarello's artwork but he assumed that his art style would be on the wacky side. Like angular sci-fi pictures made out of fish hooks and charcoal or something weird like that. Ken was off but not by a whole lot. The style of the painting screamed Farfarello. While the subject was simple enough, the colours were bold and pulsating and the rendition was rather disturbing.

Two hands and a heart. There was nothing more. The heart was a throbbing, vein-caked mass of bloody pulp. Chunks of the dripping organ were missing, leaving it incomplete and bloated with scars. The two hands, one paler then the other, were reaching from opposing sides, fingers full with scarlet-soaked heaps of muscle. The lighter hand was shoving its pile of flesh into the torn heart, blood streaking from pale fingers all the way down that pale arm. The other hand, the darker one, merely skimmed the bloody, stitched surface while squeezing the fleshy gore in its grip.

Ken stared, perplexed. His breath caught. The painting was both beautiful and gruesome. The symbolism wasn't lost on him but still he had to ask. "What does this mean?"

"Shoving pieces back to mend something ruined." Farfarello pulled at his lower lip, moist from the Coke. "Sometimes it takes two people. More then one person. That's what it takes sometimes."

"Yeah but..." Ken couldn't tear his eyes from the painted image. "Why would you give me something like this?"

Farfarello's answer was as simple as his painting. "Because it's you and Schu."

Startled brown eyes flew to the Irish man. "What?"

Farfarello patiently repeated his answer.

"I don't understand."

"You don't have to." He shrugged, unconcerned. "I don't understand Mongolian."

"But you just..." Ken was even more confused then before. He hastily changed tracks since the Irish man didn't seem inclined to do him any favours. "Why did you come here?"

"To iron."

Ken found himself once again speechless.

"That's what you like to do right?" Farfarello was looking at him with a solemn, almost earnest expression. "You said 'I iron when I get stressed.' That's what you said. I heard you when you said that. I was listening. You were stressed because you saw your boyfriend kissing someone else."

"Ex-boyfriend," Ken corrected automatically.

"Ex-boyfriend," Farfarello parroted.

"So basically you came here to iron," Ken slowly summarized. He was having trouble following Farfarello's wacky thought process. "Did you think I was going to be stressed or something?"

"A wise man doesn't always grow corn on Thursday," Farfarello quoted by way of an answer.

Ken gave in. It was too hard to get a straight answer from the Irish man. Maybe he just had to speak the guy's language. "But even a fool must eat pickled herring every New Year's."

Farfarello looked impressed. "You are a good pseudo-boyfriend to have."

Ken snorted. "Ex-pseudo-boyfriend."

"Schu was angry in his head." He tapped his temple to illustrate his point. "Crawford doesn't know how to get rid of all the spiders. It's not really his fault but he doesn't care to get rid of them. Not knowing isn't a fault but not caring is."

Ken struggled to keep up. "What spiders?"

"The spiders in Schu's mind," Farfarello explained patiently. "They rot in there all the time."

"Oh." He had no clue of how to reply to that. "Well the sham is over." Ken raised his chin determinedly. "And I'm glad for it. I never wanted to do it in the first place anyway."

Farfarello pondered that. "Well maybe it is over," he said finally. "Schu went back to his big house."

Ken couldn't be surprised. "He moved out of Crawford's apartment?"

"The night you left." He tilted his head and ran scarred fingers over the blade of his knife. "He took only some of his stuff with him. Some, not all. Some being less then all."

It really was over then.

Ken found the relief that filled him was as strong as the disappointment. While Schuldich's cool words still lingered inside his head and while he would miss the German, Ken knew that it was the right thing to do. How could he not? Schuldich made the same decision he'd made with Ran.

Letting go of what was already dead.

It was that simple. How long could you give to one who always took? Ultimately it would break you. Everyone needed to receive love, to receive something. It was human nature. And if there was nothing there...then the whole thing was pointless.

If there was something worth saving then it would be different. But clearly Crawford was an asshole and he didn't appreciate Schuldich. Schuldich was a good person. His heart was clean. He deserved to be loved properly. He deserved to be cherished. And since Crawford couldn't do that, couldn't clear away the spiders as Farfarello had said, then Schuldich needed to move on.

Just as Ken needed to move on.

Because in the end, he really couldn't be upset with Schuldich.

~I'll help you forget.~

The hurt was there but not the anger. That refused to come. He understood where Schuldich was. He'd been there. So he couldn't really be upset, could he?

"I want to say good-bye," Ken shocked himself by saying.

"But what about ironing?" Farfarello asked, frowning.

Ken hesitated and found that he did want to say good-bye. It wasn't a sporadic announcement but the truth. "Not to you," he clarified, hiding a smile inside his glass. "To Schuldich."

"An ideal sort of idea," Farfarello approved, nodding sagely. "Simple in its simplistic simplicity."

"I agree." His grinned at the Irish man, not hiding it this time. "We can iron now if you want to."

Farfarello gave him a suspicious look. "But no polyester blends."

"Deal."

~*~*~*~*~

Ken looked down at the address Farfarello had given him and then back up to the iron-wrought address number. This was definitely the right house...if it could even be called that. He glanced around him, thoroughly intimidated. The house, more of a mansion really, was humongous. It was an imposing affair, standing about four stories high and adorned with massive pillars, story-high picture windows and a curving staircase that lead up to a stately front door. It was the sort of house one would expect to find in England or France, not Japan. Ken hadn't even known mansions such as this existed in Tokyo. But then again he was about two hours away from his apartment. It was as though he was in a completely different city.

Steeling himself, he quickly knocked on the door before he could change his mind. His heart was pounding. He was nervous and he didn't know why. He was only going to say good-bye. It was hardly a nerve-wracking affair. He didn't even know Schuldich really. He was only doing what Schuldich wanted and what he wanted too. It really shouldn't have been a big deal.

But somehow it was.

The door was opened by a short, dour-looking old man. His expression was condescending. "Yes?"

Ken anxiously wiped sweaty palms against his khakis. A half-hysterical titter bubbled inside of him. What was this, a butler? His throat worked and it took him a couple of tries before he could force out words that weren't incoherent. "Is Schuldich home?"

"Is he expecting you?" The man spoke with a heavy Okinawa accent.

Ken shifted uncomfortably beneath that hoity-toity gaze. "Uh well not so much..."

Disapproval radiated from the man. "Then I suggest you come back with an invite." He started to close the door.

An invite? Who did this butler think Schuldich was, the Emperor? "I'll only be a few minutes," Ken blurted out, wedging his body between the door and the doorframe. "Please? I won't be long, I promise. You can come even with me if you want to."

The butler scrutinized him. Ken managed a weak smile. The man sighed. "Fine," he acquiesced with lofty reluctance. "Follow me and make it quick."

Ken entered and followed the man. The house was gorgeous. The floors were made of black marble, the foyer walls papered in cream and gold. Before them stood an ornate, double-sided staircase that stretched upwards to open corridors and lavish rooms. The man led him past the staircase and down a long, airy hallway. Ken peeked into the numerous rooms as they passed. They were all elegantly furnished.

"I must warn you," the man suddenly said, startling him. "Schuldich is not in the best of moods."

"Yeah I know," Ken answered, quickly forgetting about his surroundings. "Is he okay?"

The man glanced at him sharply. "What do you know of it?"

Ken hesitated. "I was kinda there when...uh...stuff happened."

"I see."

The rest of the walk was silent. The man abruptly made a sharp left and escorted him into a room at the end of the hallway. The room was small and dark. The walls were painted a steel-grey colour and all the curtains were drawn. The only light within the room came from a gigantic tropical fish tank that was built into the wall. Schuldich was sitting on the black carpet, leaning back against the sofa. Stacks of books and piles of loose paper surrounded him. The coffee table before him was crammed full with bottles of liquor and empty glasses.

Schuldich looked up as they entered.

"This boy wishes to visit," the butler man intoned with all the pomp and formality of a royal crowning.

Schuldich grinned a wide, toothy grin. "Hi Ken, remember me?"

Ken blinked at that chirpy tone. His gaze swung from the redhead to the loaded coffee table. It wasn't hard to figure out what was happening here. "Schuldich, are you drunk?"

"I don't get drunk," Schuldich scoffed, looking affronted. His bright eyes jumped to the butler. "Right Ichiro?"

Ichiro looked sour. "You have been known to hold your spirits," he agreed with great reluctance.

Schuldich smirked heartily at Ken. "See?" he gloated. "I can drink like a fucking fish and always be fine. I can walk any straight line and drive too."

Ichiro decided to stiffly leave the room then, muttering about irresponsible drunkards under his breath.

"Of all the damn clichés," Ken griped irritably. Had he come all this way, wasting thousands of Yen on stupid taxi fare, to encounter a smashed Schuldich?

"Who's a cliché? I'm not a cliché," Schuldich proclaimed, banging his fist on the crowded table. An unopened vodka Pure Source cooler fell to the floor. "Ow fuck that hurt."

Ken rolled his eyes. He hadn't expected that seeing Schuldich after a couple of days would be quite like this. In retrospect, he should have known. Come relationship angst, guys always got tanked. It was the way of the warrior. "Yes you are. The only thing missing are the strippers." He shook his head, uncertain of whether to be amused or disgusted. "I swear, if you were a girl you'd be stuffing your face with Belgian chocolates and crying at romantic comedies."

Schuldich snickered as he poured a foaming Heinkein down his throat. "That's why I like you Ken, you're a funny guy."

"I thought you were pissed at me," Ken muttered.

Schuldich frowned, tilting his head to the left. He studied Ken for a moment. "I can't read your mind," he announced, uncapping a bottle of something green.

Ken felt his heart skip a beat. He'd forgotten, yet again, that Schuldich was a telepath. He'd come here with courteous words in his mouth while his mind was open on his sleeve. Schuldich would have been able to see right through him...and he hadn't remembered it.

"But that's because there's so much booze sloshing around," Schuldich continued blithely, oblivious to Ken's self-dismay. "That's the only thing that goes when I drink. But that's okay. Sometimes I need the silence."

"Yeah," Ken agreed distractedly. Why was he so damn stupid? He should have known better then to come to Schuldich, filled with empty good-byes when he really wanted...

What did he really want?

The answer was surprisingly simple.

Friendship. He wanted Schuldich to be his friend. He wanted someone to want him without any expectations. He didn't have anyone except Birman and putting aside everything else, he liked Schuldich. And as he watched the redhead shove a candied cherry into the green colored martini he'd just whipped up, Ken came to the conclusion that Schuldich probably liked him too.

~You're cute Ken. You don't deserve any of this shit~

His ears reddening just a bit, Ken closed the door behind him and flicked on the nearest lamp.

Schuldich held up the green drink. "I made a Green Envy for you. 'Cause we're buds like that, you know?"

Ken sat down on the carpet, across the coffee table from Schuldich. He wondered if the telepath was stringing him along while secretly reading his mind. Ken smiled easily and in his mind he screamed 'I hate you, you stupid boozing asshole!' as loudly as he could.

Schuldich's expression didn't waver. "I can add another cherry if you want. But don't ask for olives because I hate those shitty things. They taste like piss."

So Ken had to be content with the fact that Schuldich probably wasn't peeking inside his mind. "Are we really friends?"

"I know I hurt your feelings," Schuldich said conversationally, scrubbing his fingertips on what appeared to be a paper filled with pink glitter ink. "I heard it when you left my room. I felt guilty that I did that. I wanted to find you and apologize but at the same time I didn't wanna see you. You reminded me of how clingy and weak I was to think up that whole dumb jealousy plot. I wasn't really pissed at you at all. Do you get it?"

"Yeah," Ken said, feeling his heart lighten. "But Crawford's still a jerk. You should be pissed at him since-"

"Not that," Schuldich interrupted, shoving the green cocktail across the table. "I was pissed at me. You know, because I'm such a fucking dud."

Despite the gravity of what Schuldich was saying, Ken found his lips curving into a grin. Dud? When was the last time anyone used that word?

"I hate being a dud," Schuldich declared with great emotion. He popped open another beer, this one a Newcastle. "It sucks ass!"

"If you're a dud then what does that make me?" Ken gingerly took a tiny sip of the martini Schuldich had made for him. He really wasn't much of a drinker and when he did drink, the alcohol went straight to his head but he figured now was as good an occasion to drink as any. Duds drinking, what could be better then that? He found his martini to be tolerable, sweet with a bitter aftertaste. He sipped a bit more.

"You're not a dud," Schuldich contradicted, wiping foam from his lips with the back of his hand. "You're a helluva cool guy! One of the nicest I know. I was a Brad to you and you still came here to be nice to me."

Ken hesitated for a moment. "I actually came to say good-bye."

Green eyes blinked rapidly and Ken idly noted that Schuldich's eyes were the same vivid colour as his cocktail. "Good-bye?" Schuldich pronounced it like it was a foreign word.

Ken fiddled with the stem of his glass, unnerved under the weight of that verdant gaze. "We're done aren't we? I mean that's what you said. So I thought that...since we're sorta friends and stuff...I'd stop by to see..." Ken stopped because his words were awkward and slow in coming. He made himself meet the older man's eyes and asked the questions that had been festering inside his mind. "Did you actually break up with Crawford? Or are we still on?"

There was a bit of a silence.

And then, deliberately ignoring the former part of the question, Schuldich asked softly, "Do you want us to still be on?"

~If you were my boyfriend, I wouldn't let you go for anything~

Ken felt his heart press hard against his chest and jolt. Schuldich emphasized the 'us' in a way that seemed to mean...

"I can't read your mind," Schuldich continued in that same otherworldly sort of voice. "You have to tell me what you want."

What he wanted. Ken knew what he wanted and once all the alcohol in his bloodstream had dissipated, Schuldich would also know but the real question... "What do you want? I can't read your mind at all and I'll never know unless you tell me."

Schuldich reached out and skimmed his fingertips over the bloodless ones that were clenched around the martini glass. His eyes smouldered against Ken's. "Are you sure you want to know Ken? Ready to face the music?"

The sudden tension between them was almost tangible.

"Don't play with me," Ken whispered, tingles searing his skin as the German touched...caressed?...his cold fingers.

Another silence.

And then-

"I want you to stay...and be here."

There was an invitation in those words.

For what, Ken didn't know.

And in all honesty, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Authors Notes:

Yeah I know Schuldich was really boozing it up but it is possible to drink that much and still be in control or your actions. My brother drank a tank load when his wench broke it off and he was as fine as turpentine. I guess it all depends on how much fermented shit you can handle eh?

Also, for some reason I can't post the link here because it keeps screwing the chapter up but Lain drew me the most -amazing- Schu/Ken fanart. It's absolutely gorgeous and it makes me punch-pleased. If you want to see it then drop me a quick e-mail and I'll send you the URL. It's not to be missed, no fake!