Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Yotan's Dating Service ❯ Chapter 5b: A Little Get Together ( Chapter 6 )

Disclaimer: Hmm, repetitive much? NO, for the last time, I do not own anything. I am getting * no* money. Infact, I think I just lost $150 in the mail, (Bangs head on wall while berating self) so if anyone tries to sue, you gotta find the person who took it. *snarls at mailmen *

Authors Notes: OK, here's the rest of Chapter five. I'll see if I can't pop out six by tomorrow, but things are not looking good. Damn mail. . . grr.

+++++++++ Wednesday, two days left.

Yohji was in his office the next morning, trying to tidy before Crawford got there. He was supposed to come in early, so that Yohji could tell him a bit about Shuldich. It was, perhaps, a bit unfair for Crawford to know more about his date than Shuldich did. But Yohji had to keep in mind who he was dealing with here - it was a lot more productive to his continued health for Crawford to be accepting of this than unhappy with the proceedings.

So, he was trying to make a good impression by having the office clean and organized, when someone knocked on the door. It was only eleven thirty, an hour early for Crawford. Yohji frowned. Even his ex - boss wasn't that maniacally early. He went to answer it, a cold tingle going down his spine.

He paused at the door, examining this reaction. It wasn't often he got premonitions of danger, but he was getting one now. He tried to figure out what it could be, and several answers popped to mind. I jilted lover, a failed relationship, or perhaps the worst yet - fangirls. He shuddered, remembering one too many stalkers.

Ah well, he couldn't just stand infront of the door all day. He turned the handle and opened the door.

The man standing infront of him was fairly normal in dress, but that was about it. He was much too pale for Japan, with scars running across his face and exposed skin, an eye-patch over one eye. He was holding a knife, running it repeatedly over one finger. Worst of all though, was not his apathetic yellow eye, but the blood splattered across his chest. It wasn't his blood.

Yohji slammed the door closed and leaned against it, trying to keep from going into shock. There was a crazy man with a knife right outside of his door. He had to call the police, he had to get the man out of the building, and quickly. Momo-san was right downstairs, steeing up for work, if the man went down there who knows what he would do to her.

Just as Yohji pushed himself off the door, shaking with pent up adrenaline, an arm crashed through the window and venetian blinds, grabbing him around the throat and pulling back. Yohji was stretched over the wooden frame of his door, his mind going a mile a minute.

His conscious may not have known what to do in this situation. But he had been taught self-defence at a very early age. His limbs remembered the movements, kicking up while leaning still further backwards, managing to kick the insane man on the shoulder before Yohji hoisted himself upright and spun around.

"Who the * Hell* are you?!" he asked, backing towards the desk and the phone, never taking his eyes off the stranger infront of him. He reached backwards, where he knew his phone, and the possibility of help lay.

Then he watched with mounting horror as the man infront of him reached down to the wall near the door and ripped his phone jack out.

He had just enough time to think, Now, I am fucked.

And then a fist landed on the side of his neck, and he knew no more.

+++++++++

Yohji woke up with the worst hangover he had ever had in his entire life. He slowly opened his eyes, having long practice of dealing with adding sunlight to headaches. Several things made themselves known t o him at this time. One was that he was on the floor. The second was that there was still an insane man with a knife sitting infront of him.

This woke Yohji up better than the pain coursing through his temples could. He scrambled back to the corner of his office, looking around for anything he could use to defend himself. The insane man just stared at him, his eye not betraying any emotion at all.

"Who are you?" Yohji asked again.

The man cocked his head, seeming to think for a while before answering. "Farfarello." He said.

For a moment, Yohji thought the man might not understand Japanese, that he spoke some other, bizarre language. Then he realized that this was the answer to his question.

"Why are you here?" He tried asking, now that the man seemed to be a bit calmer.

"You know my prey. He will come to you, if I wait. He will be made to hurt."

Alright, now Yohji was * really* freaked out. But what the man said, someone would come here, gave Yohji hope of getting out of this alive. It was fifteen minutes until twelve; fifteen minutes until Crawford was due to arrive. He could get help, get Yohji the hell out of this situation.

The man infront of him smiled like a child. "I like the colour of blood. Do you?"

Oh man. Braaaaad!!!

++++++++

Crawford was putting off going to Yohji's office. He knew he was doing it too, and it was making him irritable. More so than normal. He organized the finished paperwork on his desk for the third time. Adjusted his the pens on his desk. Placed his paperweight just so. . .

The truth was that he'd gotten a bad feeling about going to Yohji's place that day. Sometimes he got these premonitions, and they never failed to be true. It was something he'd had since childhood, something he always tried to hide from everyone else, but was secretly grateful for, as it kept him out of danger, financially and physically. Most of the time.

When his hand reached for the already neat pile of papers for the fourth time, Crawford got fed up. He stood and glared down at the desk infront of him. Unless he wanted to be late, it was time to go. He grabbed his coat, pulling it violently.

One week of work. He'd gotten Yohji to come back for one week, in which he would be made to work hard enough to make up for all the time he'd missed. And to compensate for calling Crawford by his first name.

He left the office with a last show of reluctance, then squared his shoulders before heading out into the world. He wouldn't run from whatever was coming.

The drive over was suspiciously calm. Nothing out of the ordinary. It put Crawford's hackles up even more. He pulled up to the office, parking his car out front and nodding to Momo-san before heading up to the office.

He almost smiled at the destruction he saw there, confirming his suspicions. Well, at least he knew where the danger was now.

But nothing could have prepared him for the scene that met his eyes upon entering the office. There in the corner sat Yohji, his eyes wide and wild, watching as a man jumped around his office, waving a knife around, lost in the telling of some gruesome story.

"And then, the nurse started running away! After she'd jabbed me with that needle filled with who knows what! So I took that needle and used it to slice into her skin-"

He kept talking for a moment, telling the by now slightly green Yohji about what he'd done to the poor nurse. Crawford was riveted to the floor, his eyes wide, not really hearing the story that was spilling from the other man's lips. He just stared at him.

Finally, a word got past his lips. It was barely a whisper, hardly loud enough to carry to the other man's ears. "Jei?" he said.

The ice-blonde man stopped mid sentence, frozen in his tracks. His arms fell limp to his sides, eye staring straight forward in shock.

Yohji looked to the door, and saw his savior standing there, looking at the back of the man who'd been terrorizing Yohji for the past fifteen minutes. Finally, help! Or at least that's what he thought. The one-eyed man slowly turned to face the new arrival.

Crawford took one step forward, then two. He suddenly rushed to the other man's side, enveloping him in his arms, whispering to him, telling him how much he was missed.

"Jei, oh love, I've missed you so much. Why are you here? Jei, did they let you out? Jei?"

The other man did not respond at all. He stood there and stared at Crawford with a small amount of fear in his eyes, arms still limp by his sides as Crawford held him close.

He finally spoke when Crawford was silent for a moment, waiting for some response. "Jei is dead."

Crawford looked at him in shock, then in something close to defeat. "I see." He said. "They didn't let you at all, did they? What did you do? Why are you here?"

Farfarello stared at Crawford before issuing a question of his own. "Who are you?"

+++++++

Shuldich did not want to go to Yohji's office either. He also had a bad feeling about today's meeting, but stemming from a different feeling. He felt as if someone was staring at him all the time, or like he'd forgotten something very important. He just couldn't figure it out, and didn't want to see Yohji while in such a state. God knows what he might let slip.

He lay on his couch, his arm covering his eyes so he didn't have to stare at the clock. Why, he asked himself for the thousandth time, had he agreed to this? It was a stupid bet. It wasn't worth all this stress. Not even the penthouse of the fanciest hotel was worth all the confusion he was going through now.

At least there were only two nights left. Then he would get his nice, silent hotel room, away from all human habitation. Away from Yohji and his confusing thoughts. Then why, *why * did he feel so horrible at the thought?

Shuldich threw down his arm and glared at his clock. He was late. And he was feeling worse and worse, his stomach knotting at the thought of going over there. That's it, he thought, I'm not going. I'll call Yohji and tell him that he can take his date and . . . The thought was never completed due to the pang of anxiety he felt at the thought of the blonde man he'd been angsting over.

Shuldich sat up and rolled his eyes. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm acting like a lovesick teen. And I'm not a teen, or in love. I can't love anymore. Oh Jei, why did you have to go and ruin everything?

No, enough of this. He was going to that office, and he was going to talk to Yohji about this whole thing. Maybe they could call a truce or something. Maybe I can beat him up for being so damn confusing. . .

Shuldich got up and ready to go out. If he hurried, he'd only be five minutes late. He gnawed on his lower lip and stared at his phone for a moment, wondering if he could possibly get reprieve. He dialed the number, his stomach twisting more than ever.

"This number is out of service," came the voice over the telephone. Shuldich fought back panic. Nothing was wrong, there were probably just downed wires or something. He hung up the phone and left the house in a brisk walk, nearly jogging the several blocks to Yohji's office.

There was a nice car right outside the flower shop that gave him the creeps for some reason. He went up the stairs with some trepidation, not knowing what to expect.

Whatever notions he'd formed about the weird feelings he'd been having were intensified by the sight of broken glass on the landing, some of it tinged with blood.

"Yohji!" he cried, lunging through the door, anxious for the blonde.

He found a scene from out of his worst nightmares. There they were, all over again. Standing, holding each other and smiling. Well, this time they were not so happy, but the image from the past imposed itself on his mind, making him lose his breath.

He gasped and felt his mind go numb, like the calm before a storm. He only needed one trigger, and the tempest would begin.

Everyone in the room had looked up upon Shuldich's arrival. Recognition registered in two and a half pairs of eyes, with varying feelings.

Yohji was happy to see someone slightly sane enter the scene. Farfarello grinned at the appearance of the man he'd been hunting all this time. Crawford looked shocked.

"You!" Crawford said to the red head standing frozen in the doorway.

And that was all Shuldich needed to open the floodgates in his mind.