Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ The Rain Doesn't Grieve ❯ 26 ( Chapter 26 )

26

 

nani o motome samayou no? hitorikiri no boku wa…

 

Yohji ~ Interpretations

 

As the Seven bore us back to my apartment, Schuldig's wild-flying hair reminded me of an untamable horse. To the wind, he said, “Karl and Sergei would have loved this.”

 

I could almost taste his grief.

 

On our arrival, I made him carry our purchases while I checked the door for signs of tampering. It didn't matter now if he knew about my little habit; I considered him about as much an invited guest as Ken would be. Briefly I considered asking him to do his telepath thing and tell me if we had any unexpected company, but I felt secure in my own methods and besides, he was still a guest. Making him hold the bags was rude enough.

 

Relieving Schuldig of the snacks, I dropped them off in the kitchen, then went to retrieve his gun for him as promised. As I passed through my apartment, I checked the entry points by force of habit. Finding no sign of tampering at my windows, I allowed myself to fully relax in my own home again. Funny how these things become such a part of one's life so quickly. I doubted I'd ever be able to change things now, no matter how paranoid it looked.

 

Then again, if I were willing to accept a former Esset operative as an honored guest in my home, I'd have to keep my precautions honed, wouldn't I?

 

Returning to the living room, I found some of Schuldig's new clothes in a pile on the sofa with a few stray plastic tag holders snagged on the upholstery. Schuldig himself was rummaging around in the kitchen, the rest of his clothes lying on the table next to a pair of scissors he'd found to liberate the remaining sales tags. My guest rifled through the cabinets, oblivious to the ghostly form of Asuka seated on the counter just centimeters from his hand.

 

I noticed the coffee pot sitting at the ready, waiting only for freshly ground beans. As though I'd read his mind, I pulled the grinder from its hiding spot and said, “I'll finish this up. Go put away your stuff.” I handed him his holstered gun and reached for the coffee beans.

 

Beside me, Asuka sighed, staring at the snacks as though remembering the taste of them. She shrugged, then blew me a kiss and vanished.

 

I looked through my cupboards, then decided against bothering with a tray for the sweets. From what I'd already come to know about Schuldig, I doubted they'd last long enough to even leave crumbs behind. Just like Omi with cookies. I smiled to myself and carried the white pastry box back out to the living room.

 

Schuldig greeted it like a long lost friend.

 

Acting on inspiration, I started unpacking my water pipe for a relaxing smoke. Though the brewing coffee smelled good, I wasn't really in the mood for caffeine this evening. I held onto some vague hope of a decent night's sleep later and I really didn't want to fight a speed buzz to get it. Remembering something Schuldig had said, I asked him if it would bother him if I smoked a bowl of hashish. I knew some people could be sensitive to it, and he'd indicated that telepaths were wired a little differently from the rest of us. I didn't want it to make him sick or anything.

 

He assured me that he didn't mind, so I took my pipe to the kitchen and got it ready. While I was rinsing it out, the coffee pot burbled a final commentary. I filled a cup for my guest before returning to the living room.

 

As I knelt by the table and crumbled a small amount of hashish into the pipe bowl, a familiar pair of ankles strode into view, boots passing through the furniture with ease. I glanced up, hoping she wasn't about to chide me.

 

But all Asuka said was, “You might put on some music first, Yohji.” Her smile was pure mischief.

 

It amazed me how Schuldig didn't notice her. I'd have thought that a telepath would be more aware of ghosts and spirits. Then again, maybe he was just a staunch skeptic.

 

Taking her advice, I ambled over to my stereo and browsed for something not too overbearing. “You like music, Schuldig?” I asked, though I'd never met anyone yet who didn't.

 

“I love music,” he murmured, sounding like he was talking through a wad of cake. I could imagine him trying to keep from spitting crumbs as he talked; apparently Asuka thought the same thing, because she gave a silent giggle and faded through the wall.

 

One of my favorite discs wasn't in its case; hopefully I'd find it in the changer. Sure enough, it occupied spot number three. I added two others and set it to random play.

 

Returning to the couch, I lit up my pipe and took in the soothing smoke. From the speakers drifted the haunting chords of a single piano. I frowned slightly; this song had always reminded me of Asuka. That it should be the first one to play tonight…

 

Coincidence. Nothing more. Turning to a distant perspective of the song, I asked Schuldig how Nagi was - the boy he loved like a son. The boy who didn't smile.

 

“He's doing okay. Thinks I'm a total freak, I'm sure.” Schuldig sipped at the second-hand smoke wafting toward him, finished with a coffee chaser. “What brought that up, anyway?”

 

“Oh, the music, actually,” I told him. “You'd mentioned that he couldn't listen to it, the restrictions and all. How's that going?”

 

“Oh, he can listen to some music, we just have to be careful what kind,” Schuldig grumbled. “This would be right out.”

I blinked. I'd thought maybe something in his own language would be acceptable, especially a song so quiet and gentle as this one. “That's sad.”

 

“Yeah,” Schuldig murmured, “this is way too evocative.”

 

Did he understand the lyrics, then? His skill with spoken Japanese seemed to rely more upon the other people present than his own knowledge. Someone not fully fluent with a language tended to have real trouble comprehending the subtleties of song and poetry. What did this song mean to Schuldig, I wondered? Or did he pick up its meaning from me?

 

And what might that meaning be?

 

Forcing my mind back to our conversation, I asked, “You're going slow with him, right?”

 

Whether due to the hashish or something in the music, I found myself staring at his mouth as he smiled and said, “Yeah, I'm going slow. Haven't had The Talk with him yet, but I'm still trying to figure out how to get Brad to do it for me.”

 

Brad. The name I wanted least to hear. I chuckled bitterly. “Good luck. Sounds like the missus isn't very open to suggestions.”

 

“No, he's not.” Schuldig glanced away from me as though hiding pain. “You know, sometimes I really wonder what goes on in his head.”

 

“You don't peek?” I scowled a little. How could he follow someone so blindly? Hell, that was more than we ever trusted Persia; at least we could confer about it, or opt out of a mission. That Brad Crawford could command that level of loyalty seemed bizarre, especially considering what we'd seen of him in combat. The man was ruthless, with a definite cruel streak. Not the kind of guy I'd trust with my sister, if I had a sister. And not the kind of guy I wanted to trust with my newest friend.

 

The unwelcome answer came on the sigh of music: “Deeply, deeply even now…yes, I love you…”

 

Of course he trusted Brad completely. Schuldig loved him, without reservation. He would die for that man.

 

And something about that realization made my chest hurt.

 

Schuldig got up, and for a moment I thought I'd offended him. But he only picked up his empty coffee cup and headed for the kitchen. Partway there, he paused and murmured, “He's good at keeping me out.”

 

I stared at him, knowing he deserved so much better, knowing he would not believe this if I told him. No matter the circumstances, keeping secrets and barriers against someone so dedicated just marked Brad Crawford as a coward to me, if not something worse. He was a hitter, and a sneak, and he was breaking this free spirit's heart.

 

As though a spell had been broken, or freshly cast, when Schuldig returned with his coffee we sat unspeaking, letting the final chords of the oddly appropriate song roll over us like surf.

 

The CD player spun, settled on its next offering.

 

From the speakers drifted the haunting chords of a single piano…

 

 

 

 

 

A/N:

nani o motome samayou no? hitorikiri no boku wa…

 

What do you wander, searching for? As for myself, all alone...

“Hoshi no Suna (Stardust)” - Gackt Crescent

 

Yohji ~ Interpretations

Asuka. Brad Crawford. Our forward momentum relies upon our past, and our willingness to leave it behind.

 

Of course, this philosophy presumes a degree of free will and spits in the eye of fate. I'm beginning to think that the only one this might apply to…is Asuka.