Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Sub-Skin Shadow 2: Insomnia ❯ prologue ( Prologue )

SUB-SKIN SHADOW 2: INSOMNIA-CHAPTER ONE Two long, empty years had passed.

Hidaka Ken had marked the days on his wall calendar for well over three months before he realized that he was torturing himself. He now understood that through this masochistic gesture he had only succeeded in discovering the short time it takes to forget someone. The impressions that the past had made on his future were beginning to pale. Every day, each mark on the paper only widened the rift in his heart. Youji wasn't coming back.

When Weiß had last seen Youji, he'd returned to the apartment from God-knows-where and had fled again just as quickly. Ken could still hear Youji's enraged voice screaming into the night:

"That bastard LIED!"

Who had he meant? Where did he go, and had Crawford really dispatched Takatori? The story didn't make sense. At some point Ken overheard Nagi talking to Omi, saying that Crawford had killed their boss and disappeared on the same night as Youji had.

Please, let it be a coincidence.
As much as he cared for both Omi and Aya, Ken couldn't help but feel like so much of him was missing now. Unwilling to allow the memories of the Koneko and Weiß to cause him any further pain, Ken had packed up his few possessions and slipped away in the night. Refusing to forget Youji, he decided to seek him out instead of waiting for the man to return.

He'd left the beaten old calendar on Omi's cluttered desk in the hopes that perhaps the younger boy would understand why Ken couldn't bring himself to wait any longer. A note he'd jotted in the margin simply said:

Don't find me. I have to see this through to the end, wherever that might be.

Whether he would relentlessly search or only hope that their paths might cross in the future, Ken wasn't certain. All he knew was that Weiß was dead, and somehow that loss seared him through the heart more than any pain he'd had in the past. As well, there was no hiding the fact that Omi was growing up quickly now, and he had Nagi to love him. Ken had figured that much out on his own in these recent years, and he knew that the boy wouldn't be too lonely. Even if this tryst with Nagi was puzzling at best-the kid was just plain crazy as far as Ken was concerned-at least Omi had someone.

This was more than Ken could say for himself. As for Aya, he'd gone missing at some point, too. Ken assumed it was for the same reasons that he himself had fled: he had too much time on his hands and no objective to give his life meaning. He'd never bothered to wonder if there was another explanation. And Aya had never needed anyone . . . Had he?

* * * * *

"Mister Craaaawford!" Youji called, entering the front door of the well-furnished apartment. He turned and touched the panel on the wall, enabling one of several alarms that Brad had recently installed. As he strolled toward the den, he heard Brad calling out to him.
"I'm here, Youji," Brad said. Youji smiled, relieved that his lover was home. Coming back to this large and empty place was less discouraging when he wasn't alone inside. The colorless walls and contemporary decorum made for a frozen atmosphere unless Brad was there to let some light in with his charm and wit. The little games he was so fond of didn't hurt, either. Well, never in a bad way.
Rounding the corner and stopping to lean in the doorframe of the living room, Youji tilted his head and grinned. He raised a brow and lifted one hand to gesture the usual wordless greeting. "You're in here again," he said disdainfully, though his smile did not waver. "It's so cold in this room."
Brad Crawford turned, resting one elbow on the padded arm of the white leather armchair and lowering his glasses down the bridge of his slender nose. He gave Youji the once over-very slowly-and winked at him approvingly. "I'm sorry about that. You know I like it cold when I'm reading. I can turn up the thermostat if you like."
"That's not what I mean," Youji said. He waltzed in, flopping backwards onto the white leather sofa. Sighing, he crossed his legs at the knee and put his hands behind his head. "Everything's either black or white here. It works for the place, but I still bet you Renoir or Cezanne are rolling in their graves right about now."
Youji, ever eager to please, grinned. He was trying to hint that he had been doing some homework due to Brad's recent interest in French Impressionist painters. Offering another serene smile, Brad closed the document in his lap. He stood and straightened his suit jacket, which was also a crisp, unadulterated white. "That's why we have the club, Youji. H2Oasis has all the colors I ever dreamed you'd want to see. And Renoir and Cezanne can be content with a few displays of their work at the gallery. If they want to decorate my home, the invitation is open. Just let them know that if they can exhume themselves, I give them my permission to take up their palettes and run amok." He sat down at Youji's side, smiling down at him. Youji seemed so flawless. Just his presence in this room magnified its beauty a hundred-fold.
"Hai," Youji said, sulking and looking around the room. Throughout the entire circumference of the den, large plasma screens were embedded into the facade of the walls. Controlled by Crawford's whim-connected through his latent psychic ability-they would display whatever he wished, linking through his mind and projecting that image upon the screens. Right now, the circular room seemed surrounded by a snow-blanketed forest. A grey sky was visible above and Youji saw nothing but miles and miles of sparkling white all around. It reminded Brad of a popular genre of humble paintings often displayed in American homes depicting a country dwelling during all four seasons. He recalled that often, in the winter painting, one could spot a cardinal perched in a distant tree. As this thought entered his mind, a bright red bird appeared on the outstretched bough of a tree just out of sight, preening itself.
The sight was exquisite, but sometimes Youji really, really loathed white.
Concerned by the look of discontent on Youji's face, Brad took off his glasses and began to wipe them down, changing his thoughts somewhat to tweak the image on the screens. The image flickered to static and then the picture returned, but the snow had faded from the ground. The den now seemed to be in the center of a large, verdant forest. The sky above the trees was still overcast, but it gave the room a calm, quiet atmosphere. Brad replaced his glasses and glanced at Youji once more. "Is that better?" he smiled.
Propping up on his elbows, Youji tilted his head and winked. "Always catering to my whims. So what did you picture to get these colors?" He looked out, the view of the trees and the mist giving his heart tranquility. He felt Brad's hand caressing his cheek and looked back up at the man, who was not smiling, but who Youji knew was very content.
"I thought about your eyes, really," he said, his expression pensive and sober. Youji silently reached up and slipped his fingers into Brad's. The man could be so poetic, and despite Brad's love of a blank canvas his touch was so very warm and full of life. His soul was a work of art, no matter how dull and frigid Weiß had always claimed he was.
"And I thought you might want a little color, so I prepared," Brad continued, slipping his arms under Youji's back. His shadow enveloped the younger man and his dark, golden eyes narrowed. That striking smirk came back to dance across his lips as they brushed Youji's cheek. "Follow me."
Brad stood and straightened his tie as he walked, making his way towards the spiral staircase. Usually his step was swift, but today he seemed in no hurry to get to his destination. Youji followed Crawford up the snaking, silver stairs to one of their numerous bedrooms. Brad had been securing a small collection of fine art for years, and he'd brought these paintings with him when the two of them had run away together. It had amounted to a quaint but substantial fortune. He had used this money to start the H2Oasis, a little haunt among other popular clubs in a district where the more monetarily fortunate teens liked to squander their free time (and Mommy and Daddy's cash). The club's style and elegance caused its reputation to explode, and soon Brad had enough funding to increase the club's size and occupancy. At last they could meet the expenses of a home for the two of them. Now they could breathe in peace and escape the world and the past. Though they'd stayed in several fine hotels during that time, Youji much preferred having something that he and Brad could call their own, together.
They arrived at the locked door to the master bedroom, and Brad spun around, laying his hand on the crystal knob. He put his back flat against the door. "You can't look," he said, eyes narrowed again. Crawford seemed excited, like a child. Youji relished such innocence hiding within someone who had once been considered nothing but spiteful and unfeeling by all of Weiß. This man was part of a scheme to take over the world? Youji smiled inwardly.
But Weiß . . . He realized that he had allowed his mind to wander. He laughed nervously and put his hand on his neck, waving the other hand at his lover. "Ne, just open the door. I won't look 'til we get inside." His eyes fell closed and he allowed Brad to lead him into the boudoir. Youji heard the door shut behind them. Brad gently took both of Youji's hands and brought him around to the large, white bed. Helping him back onto it, Brad placed Youji's hands upon his lap.
"One moment, pet," Brad said, and Youji heard soft footsteps on the carpet as the man walked away. The tell-tale sounds of a computer system firing up stirred his curiosity. It seemed like everything in their home had some link to such a machine: the screens in the den, the automation system in the kitchen, the alarms around the perimeter of the dwelling, and the speakers that flooded the entire apartment with music. Youji wondered what to expect. He never knew what to expect with Brad. Probably why I love him so much, he grinned to himself. Of course, the sex is a nice plus, too. Fighting back a chuckle, Youji closed his eyes tighter. Is he done yet? He felt Brad sit down beside him on the bed and slip his arm around Youji's waist, and the dirty-blonde-haired man bit his lip. Mmm.
"Aa, Youji," came Brad's voice, speaking very softly into Youji's ear. The warm gust of his breath stirred the threads of hair that were always falling in disarray around Youji's face, and the younger man shivered. "Although I delight in your eagerness, I don't want to deny you my gifts. You can look now." He moved closer, pressing his nose behind his love's ear so that Youji would feel that he was smiling. Youji opened his eyes.
All over the carpet, on the chairs and the desks and the armoire, perched an endless expanse of sun-colored butterflies. There must have been at least a hundred! Youji exhaled rapidly, but his breath caught in his throat. The butterflies stirred from the floor, fluttering upward and creating a flowing cloud of orange and black in the room. Youji could not remember if he had seen anything so beautiful in his entire life. Brad's smile grew and he held Youji close to him. He pressed his face against Youji's hair, breathing in the familiar scent of soap and smoke. Holding out one hand, he watched as a particularly large butterfly lighted on his finger, opening and closing its paper-thin wings. It winked out for a moment like static.
"They're not real," Brad said, his tone gentle as he explained. "It's a very simple program, actually. Random integers tell them where to go and they never take the same path twice. They can interact with one another and with us. Do you like it, Youji?" A holographic blur of orange floated past his face, and he observed it until it had flown out of sight. Then he returned his gaze to Youji, whose eyes seemed to have narrowed with desire.
The former Weiß leaned back on his elbow. His lips parted slightly and his eyes were still half-closed. The look he gave Brad was one of deepest, sincerest need. "I love this. I love it. I don't know what to say." His eyes closed immediately when Brad leaned down to kiss him, and this intimacy gave him the same, familiar tingle in his stomach that it had when they'd kissed for the first time. Brad pushed the kiss deeper, pressing his clothed body against Youji's, and he felt his lover's heart pounding beneath the thin material of his shirt. Youji's mind reeled. Every time they kissed he wished that Crawford would absolutely devour him. Kiss me harder. Never stop.
A knock came at the door and Brad's eyes blinked open as he pulled away from the kiss. Neither was startled-it was only Kaorin, the housemaid. She knew full-well the depth of the relationship that Brad and Youji shared, and she rather favored the kindness with which she was treated. She had finished her cleaning rounds in the kitchen and had only come upstairs to collect her wages. Brad stood from the white-and-silver four-poster bed, straightening out a wrinkle in his slacks. Virtual butterflies scattered out of his path as he approached the doorway, and he began to loosen his tie casually.
"Ohayo," Brad chimed-quite cheerfully, in a tone that suggested familiarity with the word more than greeting-as he opened the door. The young housemaid nodded back to him, craning her neck to spy on Youji through the foot-wide crack in the door. She smiled at him, and in response he winked back at her in a way so theatrical that only he could have managed it. Youji was still a flirt, and Brad didn't mind it at all. He derived great pleasure from showing off to everyone what was his and his alone, what they all knew they could not have. But Kaorin had a small crush on the former Weiß, and exactly why was no mystery: He lay there, breathless from the kiss on the snow-white bed, his shirt hanging wide open and with a devious smirk on his face. He ran his tongue across his lips when he knew Brad wasn't looking, in an attempt to make Kaorin blush. The housemaid responded with a coy wink, and Youji's head fell back in mock exasperation, as if he suddenly had realized that she was wise to his attempts to charm her. This was all a part of their "secret game". Kaorin could only imagine the kinds of mischief that would ensue behind this door after it was once again shut and locked. She'd stumbled onto their jeux a few times before, usually if they were fooling around on the staircase or going at it in the large bathroom with its doors ajar. They'd always allow her to watch, pretending not to notice how she hid behind the doorframe or letting her "dust" the grandfather clock in the hall for almost an hour. But she knew that they had seen her, and she was never too afraid to take advantage of their openness with her. Sometimes she noticed that they would be even louder if they knew that she was watching. She'd heard her girlfriends talk about exhibitionists before, and now she knew that Mr. Crawford and Kudou-san were obviously getting a kick out of having an audience. However, none of them spoke of it. The "secret game", as Brad referred to it, was much more amusing, anyway.
Brad passed a small envelope to Kaorin and pulled open the door, turning to motion at the bedroom with its cloud of holographic butterflies. "Are they pretty, Kaori-chan?" he said in a low, seductive tone. He surveyed her in his usual way. She was quite pretty, but it was an unadulterated, natural beauty that Crawford had always found attractive. His eyes narrowed behind the glasses in a way that always drove her insane: so calm, strong, and silent. And that tone of voice just radiated sex. Kaorin's face flushed and the girl bowed her head, nodding again. Her shoulder-length, dark-brown hair shadowed the blush in her cheeks. Come to think of it, she had a crush on Brad, too. With Youji, she could at least play along. Crawford was much less approachable, and also slightly intimidating. Despite his unfailing kindness, Kaorin had still promised herself that she would never do anything to arouse his anger.
Crawford heard his lover laughing behind him and he gave the dainty housemaid a cordial nod of his head. The golden gleam in his eyes seemed to flash. "That'll be all, Kaorin. Have a good evening." His grin spread. In his mind he had observed a rather personal vision of this girl, not far into the future. His precognition sometimes became uncontrollable when he was aroused. "But I know you shall. Better run home and get to it, my little Duchess."
Kaorin bowed, face red, and fled down the stairs as quickly as her legs would carry her. Really, he could be such a tease!
Brad shut the door, locking it behind him, and leaned against it. A devil's smile found its way to his shadowed face.

* * * * *

In a word, the H2Oasis was rapture. Every individual had their reasons why. For Omi, it was this new sense of finally being an adult. He was barely eighteen now, but since Weiß had dissolved he no longer had the tyranny of several older men telling him what to do all the time. No more orders, no more aggravating curfew. And he and Nagi could meet as regularly as they liked, here in the effervescent ambience of the popular, thumping hotspot. Of course, Omi only knew the identity of the proprietor through several degrees of separation: Omi was Nagi's lover, and Nagi still lived with Schuldig, who still, unexplainably, kept tabs on the old Schwarz crew. When Schuldig dropped a subtle hint to Nagi that the boy could find their old teammate at the H2Oasis, Nagi was quite keen on the idea of dragging Omi there. Perhaps he had it in his head to attempt being spotted by Crawford ravaging the ex-Weiß in one of the back rooms where such activity was fairly typical. Crawford had known about the two of them even back then, before he dispatched their tyrant of a boss and ditched Schwarz for a life with "that man-slut", Kudou Youji. Schuldig had also made mention of spotting Farfarello here as well, but Nagi had not mentioned this to Omi. At any rate, the two teenagers had all but taken up residence here in the recent weeks. Here, there was nothing that you couldn't find, and if you didn't have it then someone could get it. Tonight, Omi was waiting alone in the Chill Room. This was in a more secluded block of the club, upstairs past numerous checks of security and the occasional celebrity passerby. While the music down below in the main arena was frequently upbeat, the DJs in the Chill Room tended toward more placid, dreamlike stylings. The boy was lounging amidst a pile of ornate Chinese silk pillows, distractedly gnawing on a plastic drinking straw, lost in thought on whether he favored this music to what was playing downstairs. Behind him in another corner, the gasp of a girl made his brain perk up. He'd seen her come in with a few seemingly intoxicated girlfriends. If the music was louder, you'd miss things like random people getting off in public. Omi tilted his head back, viewing the world upside down from his throne of luxury. The girl he'd heard was bent over from a standing position and completely naked, her hands arched against the floor as if to keep her balance. Strands of dark hair shaded her features, but Omi made out the violent flushing of her cheeks as she moaned again. She's pretty, he thought. Poised behind her, another appealing female regular was clutching at the girl's hips, one of her own legs propped up on a chair. Her wispy pink skirt was hiked up over one thigh and she moved her lower body forward very slowly. A grin of amusement had spread across her face. Omi spied a thick, black object moving back and forth between the two, shining wet and practically dripping onto the stockings of the dominant girl. He smirked and sat back up again, still chewing on his straw. Obscene, but cute. Try not to think about it. It was hard not to have an erection in this place. Omi was jostling both of his legs up and down, turning the straw over in his mouth and now absently noting the raging hard-on beneath the yielding fabric of his loose-fitting, charcoal-grey slacks. He craned his neck and looked toward the open door, but still, no Nagi. Omi anticipated his arrival any minute, so if he were to start in on himself now it would turn out to be either awkward or just plain frustrating. If Nagi were to walk in on Omi gratifying himself to the sounds of the two girls going at it behind him, he'd tease the boy to no end. But just as he'd made the decision to ignore it, the girls (damn them) began to speak to one another in a way that defied Omi's sense of self-preservation. "Am I doing it hard enough, Kasumi?" the girl with the strap-on giggled. "I know you said you wanted it hard." The girl Omi now presumed to be Kasumi shuddered and her knees began to buckle. "Oh God, Haruka! Ahh!" And now even Haruka began to moan lightly, as if the sight of Kasumi bent over was giving her enough pleasure without any physical stimulus. Omi glanced down at the arousal straining beneath his pants and felt a pang of absolute need. He closed his eyes and both girls began panting softly, quickly. The sound grew, picking up pace and growing more intense, and he was practically locking his jaw in the urge not to reach for it. I don't care how common it is, they'll just think I'm some kind of weird creep, he told himself, his knee jittering even more than before. The straw was practically shredded by now. Think about Nagi. No, don't think about Nagi! Think about flowers, or the news, or sports, or-damnit, motorbikes! Motorbikes, cars, a Ferrari . . . And then, he gave up. A frosty chill ran from his head to his toes and something in his brain screamed PLEASE and he listened, even though reason advised him not to. Kasumi cried out at full volume, begging Haruka to do her harder. Omi's resolve snapped completely. In an instant his hand was on the belt buckle. He didn't have to reach down far. Hiding a bit, he slunk down farther into the sweet softness of the pillows and his hand slipped past the layers of cloth. Omi started to rapidly stroke his aching manhood. He couldn't contain a relieved moan, and the girls kept going at it, spurring him onward. He brushed his warm palm across the head of his cock and smeared the sticky liquid that had pooled there. He started to picture what would happen if Nagi walked in right now, if he would see Omi sprawled out across the cerulean and burgundy sea of pillows, one hand thrust into his trousers, the other slipped underneath his shirt raking his nails across the skin of his chest. Just enough to leave a mark for a minute . . . a nice, cool feeling across my skin. Nagi always leaves marks. Over and over, his fingers grazed over his heart, leaving an icy trail of superficial scratches behind. He went on like that for a minute, calmly enjoying the fixed pace of his stroking, eyes falling shut. He noticed after a moment that the girls' sounds had died down, so he listened harder, but didn't stop. Threads of his strawberry-blonde hair were beginning to cling to his damp forehead. It's almost better knowing I'm going to get caught . . . "Say, Kasu-chan," he heard Haruka murmur quietly. Kasumi sounded like she had turned her head a bit and made a sound of inquiry. "That little blonde boy over there," Haruka whispered. "I think he likes you." Omi paused for a moment, but didn't move his hand away. His eyes snapped open and he felt his cheeks go red. Shoulders stiffened, he hunched, frozen. Damn it. From Kasumi came a sound of mortification, but Haruka slapped her thigh and the girl squeaked. "Make believe it's him, then," she said. At once Kasumi gasped, because Haruka had commenced thrusting the strap-on more forcefully than before. Omi's heart skipped a beat, realizing what was happening, but then his hand picked back up where his awareness had stopped him. She's imagining me? From his throat came a grunt of longing as he began to aggressively pump his cock in and out of his hand. He tried to restrain himself by biting down on his lower lip, but the groans just kept coming out. From behind him Kasumi's whimpers were growing louder and more insistent; he could tell she was pretending that each time Omi moaned, it was him who was fucking her. He imagined how tight she would be, thought back to the juices he saw on the phallus as Haruka had pulled it out of her slit. "Does his big cock feel good inside you, Kasu-chan?" Haruka smirked, though Omi could sense a faint hint of distraction in her voice. "Beg him to do it deeper." He felt Haruka's eyes drifting to him, felt her gaze cool as a whisper on his neck. She's so wet. I can smell it. I wonder what that feels like. Kasumi's panting scarcely gave her breath to respond with, but Omi swallowed a lungful of air long enough to listen for it. She stammered and then yelped as Haruka slapped her on the thigh yet again. "P-please fuck me deeper!" she whimpered, and he could hear the embarrassment in her voice, but it wasn't enough to mask that she was very turned on. She started to say it over and over, growing quieter each time because Haruka was shoving the strap-on in and out so hard that she could barely take breaths. Omi's hand was furiously rubbing his cock, and he felt any second that he was about to come. "Please fuck me deeper . . . oh . . . please!" He knew it now. Haruka definitely had her eyes locked on him and it only made him hotter. He couldn't keep quiet. "I-I . . . " He sucked his breath in, and felt his heart skipping again, and a flash of white hit Omi all over and he knew it would be any second now. "Please, come inside me! I need it! Please, shoot it into me!" Kasumi was nearly in tears, Haruka still fucking her mercilessly. She began to scream and Omi couldn't hold out any longer. "I'm . . . uhn, I'm coming!" Omi grunted through his teeth as a pearly jet of come erupted from him, falling like hot sparks on his tensed abdomen. Then, silence fell. His entire body felt like a knot that had just come untied. He slumped back in the pillows, one sticky hand falling limp at his side. The once-hard erection lay defeated against his smooth stomach, still sizeable in length, but no longer a force to be reckoned with. Omi opened one blue eye and was startled to see Haruka leaning over him, practically thrusting her perfect cleavage in his face. "Good for you?" she said, her tone playful. Haruka's eyes danced over his body, from the droplets of come dappling his stomach to his free hand, which he had since slipped into his messy blonde hair. Her eyes were smiling. Light danced in them, sparkled. For a moment it felt like he was dreaming it all, but the shock of the cold air on his now-cooling skin made him shiver and come back down to Earth. He glanced away, knowing it was far too late to cover himself, and laughed nervously. "Y-yes, I'm . . . uh, th-thank you." He let his eyes fall closed as Haruka and Kasumi got quickly dressed and left the Chill Room without another word. Eventually he found the strength to make the journey to the bathroom and back, and when he returned to the Chill Room he flopped down gracelessly on his makeshift pillow-bed. Omi curled up in a comfortable ball and wondered if he'd fall asleep if he closed his eyes. A sigh finally escaped him. People are so . . . strange.

* * * * *

It seemed that Youji would not be able to hold onto a single thought until Brad had completed what they'd started. He now lay at ease on their massive bed, the coverlet having become rumpled by the movement of their bodies. Resting on his belly, he slipped his arms beneath the downy pillow and sighed into it, feeling Brad's gentle fingers dancing over his naked skin. All around them, the butterflies continued to sweep past his line of sight like living musical notes, sketching out sheet music in the air. It may have perhaps been only because Brad had been listening to it days before, but the light exuberance of these mysterious, colorful beauties reminded Youji of Beethoven's 9th symphony somehow. Just as he began to ponder this, the slate of his thoughts was wiped clean as Crawford's lips fluttered delicately at the base of Youji's spine. A delicious tremor jolted through him and Youji moaned, muted by the pillow pressed against his own lips. His broad shoulders quivered and he tensed them instinctively. "You know, Yotan," Brad murmured, slipping his hands down between Youji's body and the bed, "Tonight I've tasted you, and I've touched you, and I've watched you shudder in ecstasy over and over." Youji snickered, still quieted by the pillow against his mouth. "But pet, I am only so masochistic. I can't take much more." Crawford took Youji's hand in his own and brought it down to his smooth but rock-hard erection and simpered. "You see what you've done." All over his body, Youji flushed. Getting attention from Brad was one thing, but to have his hand around this sizeable manhood that delighted both men so flawlessly sometimes overwhelmed him. No matter how fearless he was, often when Crawford led his hands like this, Youji would turn into a shy little schoolboy all over again. He was pressing his face hard into the pillow, even though his fingers had wrapped around Brad's cock and he was massaging it unhurriedly. Crawford seemed a little more to let go, leaning back on his elbows and allowing the softest of sighs to escape him. "Oh, God, Youji, your hands . . . " As Crawford began to loosen up, Youji pushed himself onto one elbow, turning his head to glance at his own hand working Crawford's erection and down. He wet his lips and felt his own arousal beginning to return (third, fourth time?), sighing inwardly as he beheld Crawford's beauty. The way he let his head fall back and to the side, glossy black hair shading those gloriously shimmering eyes, it all sent endless thrills of desire through Youji's soul. His hand found its rhythm and soon Brad himself was allowing his governing exterior to fall away, bending his knees and starting to pant as his cheeks began blushing. "Oh God, Youji, yes, yes, please!" He always scrunched his face up in the cutest way when Youji touched him. Youji ran his eyes over Crawford's exquisite body, taking it all in. His desire raged as he scrutinized every curve, every line, every dent where the muscle rippled beneath his skin. Did he know that he was this magnificent? Sometimes, Youji forgot that those crisp white suits were obscuring such an amazingly sensual form. So fucking beautiful. Youji sat up straight on the bed, pushing Brad flat on his back in his place. He moved his lover's hands to his mouth, pausing to kiss Crawford's fingers with his lips and tongue and making him moan at the beautiful intimacy of this gesture. "Let me get you wet for me first," he purred, rolling his tongue across Brad's palm and smirking as the man could barely utter an affirmative answer. "Mm, I haven't sucked you off in days." He instantly felt Brad's stomach muscles tense in a shiver at his language. So, I can still surprise him. We'll see how he likes it when I'm bucking and screaming under him. He allowed himself to secretly grin before moving Brad's thighs a bit further apart and dropping his head down to lay that first soft, moist kiss on Brad's sex. Youji brushed the blade of his tongue in long strokes forward and backward along the shaft, bathing his warm length with delicate, steady movements. Though his focus was firmly set on the taste of Crawford on his lips, his concentration was slowly drawn to the sounds his lover had begun to make. It astonished him that something so simple as a gasp could feel almost orgasmic to him as he heard it. And Brad had begun to pant again, slowly, evenly, over and over as Youji's mouth encircled him. Youji slowed his pace, closing his eyes and holding on for each delightful intake of breath. God, don't ever stop making that sound, he thought, feeling his own manhood straining painfully against the sheets. Brad's hands came down and slipped into his hair, and Youji felt the gentle dig of nails into the back of his neck. The gasping grew louder and Crawford stretched his legs, pulling Youji's mouth against him as if he could not help but do so. It seemed that Brad's mien had changed from moments before; no longer was he in control, the illustrious, mysterious master. Beneath the fair-haired man now lay a vulnerable and deeply devoted slave, lost in euphoria. Youji was awed. He paused, tilting his head upward to look across into Crawford's eyes. That golden stare burned into him and he felt like he was falling. "Brad, I-" He wasn't sure why he'd spoken, or what it was he wanted to say. He swallowed his breath. Sometimes the beauty of it all just lost him. He moved up so that he was face-to-face with Crawford, and was surprised to feel the man fall forward, burying his face against Youji's chest. Crawford cried out suddenly, his chest heaving with the weight of his words. "I need you!" His voice was suddenly weak and childlike. "I need you so badly, every second of the day I need you!" Speechless, Youji realized that Brad was crying, though still breathless. He felt hot tears burning into his skin. The clean smell of Brad's hair pressed into his neck made Youji dizzy. Clearly something had been bothering the man, but whatever it was didn't matter now. It seemed to Youji that sometimes Brad held things in for too long. Youji slipped his arms around Crawford's back and laid his cheek atop the man's head. "It's scary, isn't it?" the blonde confessed, quietly. Brad did not respond, but seemed to calm down a little. Youji sighed. His hand reached down to find one of Brad's, and their fingers entwined as if on instinct. They lay there for a brief time, allowing the gravity of the moment to settle. Slowly, Youji felt Crawford beginning to lie back again. He let go of Brad's hand and sat up next to him. "Did you want me to stop?" he asked, careful not to sound as if he were suggesting it. Crawford was silent for a moment, and then tilted his head so that Youji could not see the look on his face. "What is it?" Youji had now become confused and a little worried. The color in Brad's cheeks darkened as he stared away. It seemed his whole body tensed. Youji was not prepared for the words that came out of his mouth next. "Yotan," Brad said, "I want to feel you inside of me." His hair had fallen into his eyes, as if to hide the fact that he couldn't look at Youji as he spoke. Like an unseen hand had slapped him, Youji felt lightheaded all over again. He fumbled for words, all the while watching Brad's face grow more and more embarrassed, watching him feel naked and vulnerable as he waited for a response. Youji swallowed his breath and when he still couldn't speak, he realized that his heart was in danger of thumping out of his chest. They'd spent two years in this blissful routine, and yet Brad still managed to throw him a curveball now and then. "Are you . . . I mean-" Youji fumbled for words, realizing that Crawford looked more and more uncomfortable by the second. He cursed himself for being so surprised. "Had you thought of this before, or is this-" The dark-haired man looked as if he were in invisible chains, averting his gaze again. "No. I mean, yes. I don't know, I just . . . sometimes . . ." Youji lay down beside his lover and pushed one arm beneath Crawford's body, pulling the man's back against his chest and resting his own pointed chin in the crook of Brad's neck. "Don't be afraid," he said. "Just tell me. I'll do anything you want me to do. If you want to see what it feels like, I can show you." Still embarrassed, Brad took a shallow breath. "I want it. Please." He pressed back against him, allowing Youji's manhood to brush the warm, soft crevice of his backside. Just this simple brush of their skin made him feel like he was halfway there. Thank God I already came three times, or Brad wouldn't get much time to learn anything here. He reached his arms around so that he could touch his lover, slipping one hand over the smooth shaft of Crawford's erection and massaging it gently. The man pressed hard against him, and he felt his own sex straining against Brad's skin. Why did I never notice how soft he really is? All that muscle and yet his skin is like suede. "Do it," Crawford begged, his voice strained from the pleasure Youji was already giving him. "I don't care how. I want to belong to you." The sound of his voice, the way the man was stretching out his body to rub his skin against Youji's, it was all driving the blonde crazy. He thought back to the first time they'd been together, his first time with a man. Crawford had completely dominated him, barely giving him a warning before thrusting inside. He suddenly wondered if it would be better for Crawford to have it this way. Knowing him, getting it over with fast would probably be the best course of action. And really, he'd always wondered what it would be like. "You do belong to me," Youji said, his voice suddenly sounding very cold. Brad didn't need to be told what this sudden change meant. "Sit up." Languidly, the dark-haired man pushed himself up on his hands and let his chin drop, gaze drifting to the floor. "Look at me." That same tone of voice came from Youji. Crawford lifted his head, a blush still painting his cheeks, though he seemed emboldened by Youji's ability to adapt so quickly to this role. "That's very good. Now look me in the eyes and tell me what it is that you want." Brad paused, and his gaze wavered as he spoke. "I want you inside of me." Not satisfied, Youji grabbed his lover's chin and jerked it back to make Crawford face him. "That's not what I want to hear and you know it." He'd learned a few things, indeed. Though he tried to keep his cool demeanor, the anticipation of hearing Brad say what he knew was going to follow almost made him dizzy. He narrowed his eyes and smirked, pulling himself together. "Say it." The words formed on his lips and Youji felt a thrill all through his body as he spoke. "I want you to fuck me." Nodding in silence, Youji gestured for him to lie down on his back. He rearranged himself so that he was kneeling in the middle of the bed, moving Brad's long legs to rest on either side of his own hips. He ran his hands, trembling slightly, over the tops of the man's thighs, pulling him closer until his cock was pressed softly against his lover's skin. "Say it again," he murmured, leaning over and laying a kiss on the soft line of Brad's throat. A gasp of pleasure was his reward. He licked and sucked on his neck until the skin was pink and tender. "Say it," he urged. "Fuck me," Crawford groaned, writhing beneath him. Youji's hands slipped down between them, taking Brad's sex and stroking it so that the head brushed both of their tensed stomachs. "Again," he growled, feeling his entire body rage with desire. "Say it and fucking mean it." The former Schwarz had begun to pant again, arching his back so that his cock in Youji's hand slipped through his fingers. "Fuck me." Youji let go, abandoning his feeding on Brad's neck and sitting up once again. "I almost believed that," he said, pushing his hips forward so that his cock brushed the crack of his lover's ass again. The man beneath him moaned and balled his hands into fists at his sides. "Try again." One would have thought that Crawford would become frustrated, but he'd been in Youji's new role far too many times not to understand the game by now. His eyes burned into Youji's, never looking away as he repeated himself. All for me, Youji thought greedily. All mine. "Fuck me," Crawford said again. That was enough playing around. Youji's eyes narrowed into slits and he pulled Crawford back even more, making the man's back arch somewhat painfully as he adjusted their position to suit him. Crawford watched as his lover took one of his hands and brought it to his mouth, sucking on three of his fingers and coating them with his spit. He then took Crawford's fingers away from his lips and wrapped them around his manhood. "Do it," he said simply, letting go. Crawford began to stroke Youji's cock now, the look in his eyes one of utter need. Youji felt his sex covered in a thin coat of saliva and watched as Crawford licked his fingers himself and continued to jerk him off. Youji had to fight not to appear like he was getting pleasure from this. When he felt like it was enough, he simply said, "Stop."

He then reached across the bed to the nightstand, pulling open the drawer and fetching a small tube from within. Shutting the drawer with a smirk on his face, he turned his head back to Brad and pushed the object into his hand gently. "Go on," he said, eyes falling to his sex and then back to Brad's eyes, directing him.

Twisting the cap off of the tube, Brad dispensed a generous amount of its contents into the palm of his hand. His gaze shot back to Youji's face as he wrapped his hand around the sex that was so eagerly waiting for his touch. He observed as Youji bit back on a moan, and then Brad grinned as he brusquely began to stroke. Brad's fingers liberally spread the greasy fluid over Youji's cock until he could barely keep his grip.

After a minute of this almost unbearable pleasure, Youji grabbed Brad's wrist, signaling that he should stop. Brad returned his hands to his sides, knowing that the moment of truth had come. He knew that a great deal of pain was ahead, but in a way he almost craved it. Anything intense with Youji was something worth experiencing. He lifted his hips a little, giving Youji one last look of calm approval. "This is going to hurt," Youji grinned coolly, mimicking the way Brad had spoken to him almost two years ago, when these roles were switched and Brad had been the one behind the wheel. "Now, tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you." Taking one last breath, Crawford stared him down. His legs had begun to shake slightly. He paid it no mind and prepared himself mentally. Now or never, Brad thought to himself. Like pulling a trigger. Pain so intense you almost can't feel it and then sweet release. He licked his lips, allowing his eyes to fall closed. "Fuck me, Youji." In an instant, the discomfort began. Brad dug his fingers into the sheets, turning his head as his brow furrowed in concentration. He tried to do everything he knew he was supposed to-relaxing all of his muscles, allowing his body to keep its posture so that the position would allow Youji to slide in easily, but as he felt the first inch slide past that most delicate bundle of nerve endings, his entire body reflexively tensed. Youji gasped in surprise, feeling the pressure on his sex increase ten-fold at Brad's reaction to the invasion. Rather than pause, he gripped Brad's thighs harder and continued to force himself in, slowly. He stared down at Crawford, whose expression almost made it look as if he were crying, but Youji knew that he was just trying to block the pain out by concentrating on other parts of his body instead. He had to fight not to feel sorry for him, but at the same time, he'd never felt anything so fucking amazing in his entire life. "Oh, God, Brad," he moaned, biting his lip hard. "Fuck, you're . . ." He felt his cock suddenly slip in to the hilt and he let out a groan of overwhelming pleasure. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Crawford's hands digging helplessly into the sheets and he realized that he needed to make this easier. Brad probably wouldn't be able to block out the pain much longer. "Okay," he huffed, dropping the master-and-slave routine for a moment to speak in earnest, "Brad, you know how when you're going swimming and it's really cold," he paused to gasp as the velvet tightness around his cock spasmed wonderfully, "Aah! Y-you know how the best thing is to just . . . to just jump in, do you know what I'm saying?" His breath was coming in ragged waves and Crawford just looked so beautiful, he could barely hold a thought together. Beneath him on the bed, Crawford peered up at him out of the corner of his eyes, expression still twisted in pain. He managed a nod and Youji nodded back. "Hold onto me." He reached out with one hand and laced his fingers through Brad's, spreading his own legs a little wider to get leverage. Slowly he moved back his hips, reveling in the feeling of his sex completely enveloped and slowly being exposed to the air again. "Oh, fuck," he whispered, overwhelmed by the intensity of it. Crawford's stomach tensed and rippled as he tried to keep himself from moving too much. Youji moved his hips forward again in a slow piston motion, slipping inside more easily now. As soon as he felt his cock buried as far as it would go, he slipped it out quickly and then made another forward motion, gaining momentum each time. He could tell that his lover was still in pain, but he was amazed. He had barely made a sound. Amazing. After a short time, Youji was pumping his cock steadily in and out of Crawford, and he felt the tightness starting to loosen up ever-so-slightly. Finally the man let out a low moan of appreciation and Youji felt him spreading his legs a bit wider. Youji couldn't help but grin. "That's it," he said softly, reaching down and brushing the pad of his thumb over Crawford's bottom lip. "If I didn't know better-oh, FUCK, Brad!" He fell forward onto his hands, his blonde hair tickling Crawford's face. "Oh fuck, God, fuck that's tight." He opened his eyes, completely breathless, and felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. Looking up at him was a completely different person. Brad's eyes still glistened with tears, but his mouth had curled into a clever grin. This was the face of a man who was both dark and light, sensual and innocent. And he was obviously over the pain already, because he'd deliberately clenched down on Youji to surprise him. Giving him a smirk of his own, Youji pushed himself back up to a sitting position and moved his hand back to Brad's mouth. Pushing two fingers past Crawford's soft lips, he started to thrust his hips back and forward. The feeling of Brad's mouth sucking on his fingers drove him crazy and he started to fuck him mercilessly. He heard him moaning loudly, muffled a bit by Youji's fingers pressing on his tongue. Youji pulled his fingers out, tracing a wet line down Crawford's throat and over his collarbone as he continued to slip his cock in and out of Crawford's warm, velvet tightness. He felt the man pushing back against him and cringed in pleasure, worried that he might come way too soon if he kept it up at this pace. "Ohh . . ." Youji didn't stop, but put his hands on Brad's hips firmly and held them in place so that he would be in control. He wouldn't want to disappoint Crawford by allowing him to unwittingly push him over the edge, and the way he was moving his body was bringing Youji close way too quickly. "Mm, let me touch you," he whispered, letting one hand go to finally wrap it around Crawford's aching sex. Brad responded with an almost inaudible moan as Youji began to stroke his cock in time with his thrusts. His shaft was coming out almost all the way between movements now, and Crawford had begun to shiver more than before. "Are you all right?" He was panting, a look of anxiety on his face. Youji realized he hadn't really heard Brad speak yet. He was taken aback by the response.

"Yes," Brad groaned, glancing up from Youji's hand on his cock to look in his eyes. "God, Youji! Yes!" His eyes drifted back to watch Youji stroking him and he bit his lip, finally losing control of himself and gasping. "Oh God, fuck me harder!" Stunned for a moment, Youji's hand paused, but he regained his composure and took a deep breath. In a fluid motion he pulled Brad's legs up so that his calves were resting on Youji's shoulders, and before Brad could even securely rest on his elbows Youji started to rapidly pump his cock in and out of him. He practically screamed at the depth of the new position, intense, delicious heat washing over him as Youji's sex brushed some perfect place inside of him. His head fell backward and he began to pant, feeling vulnerable and open as Youji's cock filled him over and over. "Is this what you wanted?" Youji growled passionately, never taking his eyes off of Crawford's face. He loved watching the expression of overwhelming pleasure on his lover's face as he started to plunge in and out ruthlessly. "Tell me what you want." He seemed almost out of breath, his mouth going dry, but he wanted to hear it again. Crawford's voice was almost nonexistent now, because he'd been panting wildly for at least two minutes. "Harder," Brad said, practically clawing at the sheets. "Fuck me harder, Youji, I need it harder!" Youji didn't have to hear another word. His mouth curled into a determined sneer and he felt his climax drawing close, pumping his cock viciously in and out of Brad's tight, burning-hot entrance. "Tell me when you want me to come," he whispered through his heavy breaths, managing a smile. At those words alone, Brad moaned loudly. He brought his legs away from Youji's shoulders, resting them on either side of the man's hips once more. His hands came up and hooked around Youji's elbows, clutching onto him to brace himself. "Just . . . a little more," he breathed, letting his head fall to the side and smiling a little. Youji couldn't take staring down at his beauty for much longer. He knew he was almost ready to explode as he gazed over the hard, smooth lines of Crawford's body and felt his sex milked by the incredibly tight depth he was slipping wetly into and out of. "Tell me when," Youji repeated, his breath coming in breaths slightly ragged from the effort it was taking to hold back. God, just looking at him . . . He feels so fucking good. Jesus Christ, tell me to come NOW, I'm gonna fucking lose my mind! His brow furrowed and he almost lost control of his movements, but he felt that Crawford's grip on his arms had just increased significantly. He opened his eyes and glanced down at the man, who was now wearing an expression he was all too familiar with. He heard the telltale sounds that told him Brad was about to come and silently praised his lover for his ability to bring him so close to orgasm with barely any effort. "Ahh!" Brad dug his nails into Youji's skin, his stomach tensing up. "Oh, God! Youji, God, yes, fuck me harder! Harder! Oh God, Youji, fuck, I'm coming!" If Youji had been trying to hold back now, there would have been no chance in Hell. As he felt the delicious, hot splash of Brad's seed hitting his tensed stomach, he threw his head back and pumped his cock in up to the hilt, exploding inside of him. Crawford's mouth fell open as he let out another soft gasp, a second, smaller jet of come spurting from him as Youji filled him. Youji rode out a long, perfect orgasm, letting his head fall forward and slowly slipping his cock in and out of Brad two or three more times. Brad shivered after each thrust, his arms having fallen to the bed again. After a moment, Youji opened his eyes and gazed down at his lover in adoring silence. The golden eyes of the man lying beneath him opened as well, and they exchanged a look of unadulterated peace. They'd forgotten about the butterflies. As Youji lowered himself onto Crawford's body and nestled his head in the crook of the man's neck, he caught a glimpse of several small, pulsing orange wings. He laughed and closed his eyes. Brad's arms wrapped around his body as he slipped out of him, and they both moaned softly in unison. Youji's lips found their way to Brad's. After a painfully slow, deep and sensual kiss, Youji lifted himself up on his arms and stared down at his love. "That was . . ." "New," Brad smiled. Already he was back to himself, cool and calm. Youji found comfort in the fact that they could so easily slide into these roles and then shed them just as quickly. He suddenly was aware of the ache in his muscles and realized he'd been a lot rougher with Brad than he thought. Rolling over, he pulled the man into his arms and buried his face in Brad's shoulder. "Tiiiired," Youji said, yawning and nuzzling against Crawford's skin. The man who just moments before had been the submissive one turned over and brought Youji closer to him, encircling his lithe body in his arms. "Every time I wake up," he murmured, his lips forming that familiar, serene smile, "I want it to be next to you, forever." His fingers idly traced a line up and down his lover's back. Youji's arms seemed to loosen their grip on Brad's waist and the older man realized that he'd already slipped into sleep. Crawford pulled him close and whispered to him, knowing that he would still hear. "Who would have guessed. Next to you, Youji, forever."

* * * * *

He waited in the still silence of the graveyard. It had been mere days since his mysterious captors had released him. Fujimaya Ran, called Aya by Weiß so long ago, had been in the possession of these madmen for what he estimated was about three months. But freedom was not yet his. Not while they still had his sister. If what they said was true, then he alone held the key to her cure. He would obey them, and Aya-chan would be awake at long last. Of course, after months of brutal torture and torment, Aya was no longer able to comprehend that he had been brainwashed. In that solitary cell, slowly bleeding to death from the grievous wounds that had been inflicted on him, the only thing that had kept him breathing was the thought that he might save his sister if he only abided by the demands of his captors. He had become a soulless puppet, concerned not with the cutting of his own strings, but the gratification of the men whose hands now controlled him. They kept him alive with promises that his beloved Aya-chan would come to no harm if he did exactly as they told him. Though he agreed immediately, weeks of still more torture followed. But as far as Aya was concerned, each day they whipped and burned him only delayed Aya-chan's recovery. He would give them what they desired the moment he was released. The sound of headlights switching on in the driveway that wound through the cemetery hardly startled him, and he lifted his chin in silent response. A silhouette stood outlined in the midst of the glare. "Fujimaya Ran," the voice said, demanding acknowledgement. "Hai," the former Weiß replied, his voice cold. "You got the gist of the mission?" A breeze picked up. Dead leaves seemed to hover weightless in the air around him. The grip on his katana tightened and he said, "Hai.". "If you got any questions, now's the time, kiddo," came the voice of the anonymous man. Aya did not care to converse with this old fool, a mere pawn just as he had become. But any error on his part would cost Aya-chan her life, and he could not suffer the thought of signing her execution notice with a mistake. Only one aspect of this objective needed clarification. After a moment, he spoke. "Who is the first target?" At this he heard the man laughing. His voice was smoke-stained and heavily damaged. Aya felt hate seething in his stomach as he waited for a reply. At once the brilliance of the headlights vanished as they were cut off, and the figure of the man was no longer visible. Feeling that he was not going to receive an answer, Aya turned on his heel and began to stride toward the gate. The man spoke up again, from the shadows. "Hey, pick anybody you want, Junior," he laughed. "We don't care who you start with, just make sure all of `em ain't breathin' when you're done." Having heard all he needed to hear, Aya resumed walking toward the exit. How ironic that this mission be so evocative of the ones he'd been so used to years ago. The voice of another man, the one who Aya assumed was running the show, echoed in his head. This man had been at hand while Aya was being tortured and thrashed. He was also the one who had told Aya what he must do in order to save his sister. The death sentence rang in his ears. Dark beast, hunt down the futures of these white hunters of the night. Aya turned, letting one last glance linger on the broken steps of the forgotten cemetery. Then he stepped backwards into the pool of darkness behind, the familiar coldness of his deadly blade at his hip.

* * * * *

Naoe Nagi had taken a little more time than usual getting ready, but he hadn't seen Omi in a couple of days and he wanted everything to be perfect. Making him wait a few more minutes wouldn't be a big deal-the club was probably packed by now and he knew Omi would find plenty of things to keep himself occupied. He was digging through a collection of cologne he had, mostly light scents that were barely noticeable, but Omi really liked one of them and Nagi couldn't remember which one it was. Stretching out his arm to the back of the cabinet under the bathroom sink, he was startled when he heard his phone ringing.

Dashing over to the cordless hanging on the wall, he grabbed it and hit the "talk" button. Please don't be Omi and if it's you, please don't be mad at me!

"Hello?"

"I need some advice," the voice on the other line said. Nagi's body tensed up. It was Farfarello. How did he get this number? His hand tightened around the receiver and he swallowed his breath, fearing the worst.

"Okay," Nagi said, quietly. "Go on. What is it?"

"There's this girl that I like, and it was going really well until just a few minutes ago. And I'm not quite sure what to do now."

Utterly confused, Nagi frowned and sat down in his chair. "What are you talking about, Farf?" he muttered, lifting up his sleeve to check his watch. He was going to be really delayed at this rate.

"Well, I thought I should make the first move, but after I did she kind of stopped talking to me. And now I think she's dead."

Nagi's heart began to race, but he tried to keep calm. "You're saying you killed a girl?"

"It isn't like that. She said she wanted to see my knife, so I showed it to her, but then she wasn't looking at it anymore. She was looking at her hands because there was blood on them, and I wanted to see it but she screamed and told me to stay away. So I thought maybe she'd want to see my other knife-to cheer her up-but she wouldn't give the first one back. I think it was stuck. And now she isn't moving, and I don't feel good."

The boy wiped at his eyes. Fuck. It's almost like having a mental patient for an older brother. Okay, it's EXACTLY like that. What do I do?

Farfarello went on. "She was moving at first, and she was crying and I couldn't make her be quiet. I asked her to be quiet, but she started screaming. I got scared that someone might hear her and start screaming too. I didn't want to scare anybody else. So I sat down next to her-because she fell down for some reason, you see-and I covered her face, you know, with my hands. And she kept hitting me, but she didn't hit very hard at all. And now she isn't moving anymore and there's blood everywhere. And I don't understand it, Nagi; I feel like I might vomit. But it isn't the stench of death. I like the stench of death. So why do I feel sick?"

"That's . . . " Nagi sighed on the other end of the line. "Farfarello, listen to me. I need you to tell me where you are. I'll come help."

"I don't need help," Farfarello said, confused. "She's already dead. Unless you want to help me put the blood into buckets. Aren't we supposed to do that? Because if it's like a water faucet, the whole world could get flooded, and I can't swim. What happens if-"

He heard Nagi make a sound like he was disgusted. "Farf, NO, that's-don't touch her. Just leave the body alone. Where are you? Someone's going to have to take care of this before it turns into a big problem."

On the other end, Nagi heard only the traffic going by. He worried that Farfarello might have just put the phone down and walked away, but he heard him speak again.

"Did . . . Nagi, did I break her?"

The dark-haired boy sighed, leaning against a wall and holding the receiver closer to his mouth. "No, Farf, it's-just stay there. I think I know where you are. Don't go anywhere, okay? Promise me you'll stay right there."

"Do I have to look at her?" Farfarello asked. His voice was strained, like that of a frightened child. "Because this pretty much means we're through, I think. And I get this pain in the bottom of my stomach like somebody kicked me, and I don't remember her ever kicking me, but it hurts, and I don't like it. And I still feel like I'm going to throw up, and there's water coming out of my eyes, and I keep having to wipe my face. It's gross. Is this some kind of punishment? I didn't mean to break her, but she was screaming so loud. I liked her better when she was moving. I'm scared."

Nagi clenched his teeth, fighting back tears. "No, you don't have to look at her. Just promise you won't go anywhere."

"All right," Farfarello replied, sounding unsure of himself. "I promise."

Throwing the receiver down onto the cradle, Nagi swept up his jacket from the chair and threw the door open. He didn't have time to write a note for Schuldig. He stared out into the darkness of the driveway, screwing up his courage. Here we go again.