Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ The Rain Doesn't Grieve ❯ 10 ( Chapter 10 )

10

 

kakaekirenai hodo no hanataba to
nido to fureru koto no nai kuchibiru ni...

 

Yohji ~ Guilt

 

I regarded the empty bottle with a mixture of sorrow and disgust. Damn thing shouldn't have run out so fast. Maybe I'd spilled some? But no, I never spill alcohol.

 

I let out a sigh that left me feeling drained, like the candleflame that flickered and guttered in the path of my breath. It's been three weeks, three damn weeks since I got out of hospital, and not a word from the others. Not that I'd really expected it, with Ken comatose and Omi in a wheelchair. I certainly didn't expect anything from Aya. But the reality of it burned.

 

And not that I could seek them out, either. I'd called the hospital once, and found out that Omi had been discharged. Other than that, they wouldn't tell me anything.

 

I couldn't bring myself to go back there. Something about hospitals just made me sick.

 

Late night melancholy gripped my mind, as it had always done since before I'd joined Weiß. I toyed with the candle, running my fingertips through the flame, dipping them in the molten wax. Weird how pain is circular, spiralling and dancing just out of reach. When it gets too far inside, it steals sleep, and it leads to one believing the most absurd of lies. Like the lie of alcohol. Thing was, I knew it was a lie, but I went along with it anyway. How far would it carry me? When would the hangovers be worse than the insomnia? Hell, I didn't know.

 

Nothing was worse than the nightmares.

 

My hand shook as I tilted the bottle against my lips, hoping against hope for one more swallow. The few drops burned my mouth, but did nothing for my fears. I knew what the night would hold, and I was in no hurry to greet it. One or the other, the ghost or the abyss. Either way, I would wake in a cold sweat, and curse the very sleep my body needed. Is it possible to become afraid of sleeping?

 

How long does it take to go mad from lack of it?

 

They say that if you're worried for your sanity you still have it. I took that as a good sign, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary. Dreams were only dreams, and ghosts…

 

What does a ghost taste like? I suspect it's rather like sake, sweet and hot and dry all at the same time. But she won't let me find out.

 

I lurched up from the sofa and made my way to the window. The night breeze dried the sweat on my skin, sweat I hadn't even noticed until the soft chill brought it to my attention. This wasn't good. The sake was wearing off, and I had no desire to sober up just yet. Then again, I knew that drinking alone was a dangerous thing, one that could lead to madness and beyond. The only remedy this night would be finding a nice, quiet public place to drink, and maybe avoid the side-trip into disaster. At least for a little while.

 

Driving was out of the question. Though I scoffed at my own safety lately, I would not endanger my beloved car like that. I changed clothes and pulled on some shoes, then remembered to blow out the candle. Wax poured over my hand, leaving a white-hot trail of sensation that, in turn, left a trail of white-hot memories. I smiled grimly at myself. No time for that. Hell, I didn't know if it would ever be time for that again. I was almost getting used to the celibacy.

 

Serendipity of the situation moved me to seal my door with a wax thumbprint, a fragile token that would crumble away should anyone enter my home while I was out. It occurred to me that this little paranoid affectation of mine was getting out of hand, but since it also served the purpose of cheap entertainment, I decided to let it slide a little longer. I didn't really expect someone to sneak into my apartment, but it amused me to think they might. I could do with a little danger; the quiet is driving me buggy.

 

My feet skimmed over the sidewalk, and I realized I was still a little drunk. Well, then, this should be fairly cheap and easy. I wanted to stagger home and pass out with nothing on my mind but the coming hangover.

 

There was a sleazy little bar not too far from home, and I found myself at its door before I'd really decided to go there. It would have to do. I made my way to the bar and slouched onto a stool, from whence I proceeded to order enough whiskey to derange a regiment. I dispatched the first shot without tasting it.

 

To my left a shadowy form grew solid enough to smile at me, then faded, her eyes like the grin of that damn cat in the story. “Why won't you leave me alone?” I whispered, reaching for the second glass of an intended many. “She wasn't you, I would never have, you know I wouldn't.”

 

It's funny how one rediscovers the same things over and over again, never really taking them to heart because they seem so ridiculous. Alcohol actually made the ghost clearer up to a point, before everything took on a distant, confused quality. By this time, my drinking companion seemed almost solid enough to touch, though I wouldn't have put much stock in my ability to carry through without falling over. Again I could see her laughing eyes, her kissable mouth, that ridiculous hat. If only I could decipher what she was trying to tell me.

 

“Behind you, silly!”

 

Trying not to be too obvious about it, I straightened and looked around.

 

A voice, not hers, echoed like a dream. “It's him! It's that guy!”

 

I almost recognized that voice; I keyed in on its origin and felt my mouth fall open in shock. Schwarz! My own personal nemesis! But, it couldn't be, he was dead, they had to be dead! Dear God, not another ghost…or, wait - he looked as surprised as I was…?

 

He was real, and he was coming this way. I watched, helpless in my current stupor. He seemed to dance through the crowd, as though he were made of air, and I wondered again if he might not be real. I glanced to my usual ghost only to find the chair empty, no confirmation to be had there.

 

When I looked back, the red-haired killer was sidling up to the bar, two glasses in hand. He slid onto the barstool only recently vacated by the spirit world, his purple silk shirt whispering as he moved. He seemed genuinely pleased as he purred, “Well, stranger. Fancy meeting you here.”

 

“Likewise,” I muttered, still not quite believing that this was really happening. But he seemed real enough, and the glass he held out to me sloshed reassuringly.

 

“Buy you a drink?” he quipped.

 

Was my arch-enemy flirting with me? I was too drunk to deal with this. I was on the edge of laughter; never had I been caught off guard so badly! “What is it?” I asked, stalling for time.

 

The red-head regarded the amber liquid a moment. “Something alcoholic, I suspect.”

 

I took the drink from him. It smelled like bourbon.

 

He toasted with his glass and said, “Here's to breathing.”

 

That did make me laugh, all things considered. What the hell, he didn't look like he was planning on killing me any time soon. “I'll drink to that.” We touched the rims of our glasses together, then drank.

 

He seemed pleasantly surprised by his own drink, and I realized he had no idea what was in either glass. The thought made me smile. I watched him more out of curiosity than habit, though I was quite aware that, technically, he and I should be nowhere near each other. This was fraternizing, just as Aya had accused that other time.

 

But no, that had been a weird coincidence, not fraternizing, and now I wasn't Weiß anymore. I set the glass down and lit a cigarette, then called for another round. The red-head had expensive taste: he ordered Chivas Regal, a fairly pricy blended whiskey. I ordered my usual, something much less fancy that was rendered drinkable only by the addition of ice.

 

While we waited for the barman to return, my European counterpart produced a pack of smokes from his shirt pocket and a lighter from his jeans. Jeans? Hell, he was wearing tight black leather. Dressed to the left, from the look of it. I realized I was staring at his crotch and turned my attention to the dancing flame of his lighter. I'd never seen him in regular clothes before, only his signature suit and overcoat. This new look suited him. His brilliant hair contrasted with the violet silk in a way Aya had always wished he could pull off, but never managed to.

 

Suddenly I realized I didn't even know this guy's name. “So, what should I call you?”

 

He paused as though considering his answer, then whispered, “Schuldig,” the foreign sound of it dripping effortlessly from his tongue. He offered no other name, and no indication if this was a family name, his given name, or some kind of nickname.

 

I knew better than to ask; I merely offered my own name in full, having nothing to hide. Then I smiled and added, “But I think you knew that.”

 

He made a little bow and said, “Pleasure to meet you outside of work, then, Yohji.”

 

Interesting - he called me by my given name, and not by accident. Very interesting. I looked at him more closely, for the first time seeing the man behind the mask. Words slipped out before I could stop them. “You have a nice smile.”

 

“Flirt.” He tossed back his drink, his wild mane spilling over his shoulders like lava down a mountainside.

 

I laughed and called for another round, then turned back to him and said, “No, I mean it. You really have a nice smile. It suits you.”

 

His cheeks reddened and he ducked his head a little as he mumbled, “Thanks.”

 

This was quite intriguing, one of our former foes getting all bashful over a little flattery. I couldn't resist baiting him a little, to see what he had on his mind. “So, what brings you here, Schwarz?” I asked with a mock glower.

 

“Same thing that brought you here, Weiß,” Schuldig replied in a theatrically deep voice, replaying our first meeting in this little dive. “Cheap drinks.”

 

“Damn right!” I drained my glass and called for another round, though my drinking companion seemed to have run out of steam already. Imagine that. If I'd known that back when it might have mattered, I could have just challenged their whole team to a drinking contest and that would have been the end of it.

 

This thought brought up a question I'd been trying not to think about, but I knew I'd have to ask for my own peace of mind. “You still in the same line of work?” He flinched a little, so I toasted the bar and announced, “Me, I'm retired. Nothing left to do.” The last word came out on a cough, and brought a whole fleet of them behind it. I put my arm over my mouth and waited for the fit to subside. Damn, I hated when that happened!

 

“You all right?”

 

“Damn sea water,” I gasped. “Just got over a nasty infection from swallowing it.” I took a pull on my cigarette, welcoming the numbing smoke into my abused lungs. “How about you? You guys okay?”

 

“Yeah, we made it.” He glanced around, then asked, “And you?”

 

Good question, I thought. We'd each survived, but Weiß the team… “We're alive. Not much more than that.” My left hand clenched as I tried to fight down the grief that thinking about the team brought up in me lately.

 

A gentle warmth enfolded my fist. I looked up into a pair of amazingly blue eyes, almost teal, and dark with understanding. Schuldig opened his mouth as if to speak, then changed his mind.

 

“I really shouldn't tell you any more,” I mumbled. Somehow it seemed an awfully long way from the railing of the bar to the floor; I groped for solid ground with my toes.

 

“It's all right,” he said, his voice low and a little disappointed. “I probably shouldn't be talking to you at all.”

 

That was weird; his mouth hadn't moved on that last comment. Or maybe I was drunker than I thought. Still, I couldn't just leave it there. I blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “See you around, then?”

 

He smiled and stood, purple silk rippling and flowing around him like an aura. “Of course you will. I like this place.”

 

I started to leave when my knees gave way. Before I could lose my balance completely, Schuldig was at my side, propping me up. I held onto his shoulder gratefully. Getting home was going to be a challenge. “Um, did you drive?” I asked, almost hopeful.

 

He laughed softly. “Sorry, I walked.”

 

So, he was staying close enough that he could walk? Interesting. I grinned at him and said, “Figures. I meet a hot redhead and he doesn't even have a car.” Hot? When had I decided he was hot?

 

Damn, I was drunk!

 

As he guided me through the bar, I realized his graceful steps of before were nowhere to be seen: he was just about as smashed as I was.

 

Good thing he hadn't driven.