DISCLAIMER: Weiss Kruez and its characters do not belong to me.
PAIRINGS: Brad/Nagi, Brad/Schu
//telepathic thoughts//
Threes
by nagibook
There's a saying that bad things come in threes. For me, bad things came in tenfolds, but the worst things came every three years.
I was three years old when my parents died.
I don't remember how or why, but one day, I was taken to the orphanage to begin an impoverished existence. None of the others liked me, branding me as strange from the start. I was too quiet and docile to play with the boys, often mistaken for a girl and then teased when they discovered I wasn't. I was more suited to be the kid the older kids picked on, the one everyone blamed when something went wrong. And I learned quickly not to deny it for they wouldn't believe me anyway and I would get sent off to bed without the meager meal they called supper, because I had been bad by lying.
No one loved me. They saw me as an unwanted burden. You would think the other kids would be sympathetic, having gone through the loss of parents, too, but kids can be very cruel. Poor, orphaned kids with no hopes for the future can be even more so, embittered at an early age. And I learned the game well. I learned to mask my fears and loneliness with an aura of aloofness. I withdrew into myself and my own thoughts as much as possible, for to do otherwise would mean to realize how shitty this existence was.
-----
I was six years old when I tried to hang myself.
I had the notion that it was the only way to escape and it was what my deceased parents wanted. They were waiting for me on the other side and I was keeping them waiting because I didn't understand that fact fast enough.
I worked myself into a frenzy, plotting the most effective, interruption-free way. I had heard about some of the older kids that had attempted, but failed. Cries for attention, most of them, but I was serious and had no intention of screwing up.
This was when my power first showed up. I kicked away the chair, hoping my neck would snap upon impact to save me a lot of pain, but my weight was too slight. Instinctively, I struggled and tried to gasp, fingernails clawing at the rope around my throat and drawing blood. My vision had spotted and the pain was so harsh that my mind came up with the inane thought, Who knew dying would be so painful?
Then suddenly the pressure was gone, although my legs were still flailing, trying to find something, anything, to prop myself up on. I didn't understand what was happening then in my panicked state, but I was floating. The basic instinct to survive had kicked in, even if there was nothing to live for. Before any rational thought could manifest itself, I was on the floor, the wooden beam the rope was tied to breaking off to smack the back of my head. I blacked out.
I came to a few hours later by an unceremonious kick on the side.
"Hey, Naoe, get up." I saw Kojiro look at me with a disdainful look on his face. "Seri-san says you're on laundry duty today."
I didn't think it sad or strange that he ignored my state of being, blood crusted in my fingernails and throat, emphasizing the red ring that the noose had created. You get hardened to the facts of life pretty quickly in our type of life. I was just grateful he didn't tell everyone else. I would have been taunted even worse than before.
While my hands turned numb from the cold water and my back throbbed in protest as I squatted washing dirty underwear in the back yard, my mind wandered to the strange occurrence. Despite the old age of the orphanage, the beam hadn't been rotted. It should have been amply strong enough to hold my weight. Secondly, the pressure had eased at least a full three seconds before I had fallen. Was this divine intervention? Perhaps it was an omen that my time wasn't up yet.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts as I finished rinsing the last piece of clothing. The sun had gone down long ago and I still had to hang everything up before I could go to bed. And I had missed dinner, too, my growling stomach reminded me.
It was later in the week that that I decided to try again. If it failed once more, then I would put aside the idea altogether. If not... well, then I wouldn't have to worry about it anymore.
This time, I decided to jump off a bridge. Rather fatalistic of me, I suppose, but I was driven my morbid curiosity. I had a fanciful image of my own immortality. I had cheated death once and I was willing to risk my life again to see if I could once more. It wasn't much I would be giving up anyway. Perhaps I was seeking something to set me apart and make me special.
I had trudged out, admiring the view as I wandered past the familiar streets to unknown territory.
"Don't."
He was standing there, leaning against a pole as if he had been waiting for me. Dressed all in white, but looking more like a demi-god than an angel.
"Wh...what are you talking about?" I stuttered.
"It would be a waste to throw away your life, considering how valuable you could be."
Glasses flashed as he introduced himself as Crawford. Caught by surprise, I responded with a "Naoe Nagi."
He gestured for me to get in the car parked on the curb and without question, I obeyed. He had this aura about him, a charisma that made it difficult to refuse.
"Did you say I was valuable?" I finally asked, breaking the silence that had come about as he drove.
"Yes. As long as you do whatever I tell you to, you can't fail. You can have all the power you could ever wish for."
Magic words. I found myself enthralled with the idea. With him. He seemed so self-assured and confident, his whole appearance radiating the power he had promised. He would saved me and guide me to become someone I could like.
I didn't stay with him though. He dropped me off at a place called Rosenkreuz and a whole new definition of hell started.
They put me through every type of torture conceivable, and more. Psychological, physical, spiritual, emotional... you name it, they fucked with it. All in the name of training.
They had me jumping hoops trying to please them, to get approval and perhaps favor from those sadistic bastards.
-----
I was nine years old when I first killed a person.
I picked up a pregnant woman and threw her against the wall, slamming her with such force that blood trickled down her leg and from the back of her head instantaneously. Previously, I had only practiced my telekinesis on objects and lab mice, but they thought that it was time to desensitive me to killing.
Even then, it wasn't enough. They wanted me to continue battering her body, flinging the shattered bones and pulverized muscles from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, urging me to continue even after she was clearly dead.
Then they frowned in disapproval at the tears running down my cheeks, and scolded me on the lack of delicate control. They sent me to bed with a reminder to work at improving my performance the next time.
There would be a lot more next times. I would see a lot more people like her in my years there, but her image lasted because she was the first. I wish I had known her name. Sometimes she visited my dreams, kissing me with loving lips before her face twisted into something ugly, blood streaming down her face as she opened her mouth and screamed silently. I looked into the gaping hole and saw only black. Always black...
Her face wouldn't leave me for the longest time, haunting my thoughts. She had been so young, looking hardly over eighteen. She wasn't exactly an innocent; she had been a prostitute that had gotten into trouble as a matter of fact. Rosenkreuz picked up people like her — bums, whores, druggies... people that no one would miss — for training purposes.
But with the quick adaptibility that had allowed me to survive for this long, I learned to disguise my feelings and play their games. I used brutal force to kill the other nameless ones that followed in one blow. A mercy killing, I'd like to think, if only to ease my conscience. For there were some that enjoyed torturing, maiming, and playing sick games with their prey before they killed. I was better than they were. I waited til they were dead before desecrating their corpses in ruthless ways, all designed to harden me.
It was a lonely life and I was more miserable than before. Everyone hated each other and made little attempt to hide it, deriving pleasure from causing others pain. Freaks hating freaks for reminding them how abnormal they are. Arrogance and contempt were twin emotions displayed by those that survived, and control of others the ultimate goal. Those that couldn't handle it took their own lives or went insane. Others mysteriously disappeared but no one cared enough to ask what had happened to them.
I might have been one of those people but whenever I thought of giving up, the image of Crawford came up. He was the first role model I had, so naturally, I thought of him. When the intensity of sessions brought whole new definitions of pain, I fixated on him to keep my mind off the torture, so that I could endure. Think of Crawford. Be strong like Crawford. *BE* Crawford, became my mantra. He must have gone through this, too. Surely he must be sympathizing with me, understanding and rooting for me in spirit.
He became an obsession, one I didn't attempt to give up because it was the only thing that kept me sane.
There were two choices: try to resist and retain humanity or bend to the will of Rosenkreuz and take advantage of what they have to offer. I chose the latter and by the time I left, I had become the strongest telekinetic there by far.
-----
I was twelve years old when I was assigned to Schwarz.
A car came to pick me up. "Nagi," Crawford nodded.
He looked slightly older, which surprised me although it shouldn't have considering six years had passed. I still held a vivid memory of him at eighteen years old and had harbored a vague notion that somehow, I would eventually catch up to him. After all, he was now only twice as old as I was, when he had been three times my age the first time we had met. It felt like eventually, the age gap would disappear.
//I hope you realize that makes no sense.//
I started as a second figure emerged from the passenger seat, bright orange-red hair flying around his face.
"This is Schuldig. He's a telepath," Crawford introduced, then nodded for me to get in, just like the first time. Except this time, someone else was up front with him, taking the spot I had held back then.
He was staring impatiently at me so I scrambled into the backseat and Schuldig smirked indulgently at me.
//So eager to do the leader's bidding, ne chibi?//
I burned a hole at the back of his head with my glare. "Get out of my head and talk like a normal person."
He smirked at me through the rearview mirror. "You sound just like Brad," he drawled.
"Don't call me that," Crawford interjected, while I turned the name over in my head. Brad. It sounded strange.
"You didn't mind last night," Schuldig replied, with a leer more directed toward me than to Crawford, the implication obvious. //Jealous?//
I scowled fiercely. //Why should I be?//
It sounded sulky, even to me. //Besides I don't believe you.//
//He's not denying it, is he?// His laughter mocked me inside my mind. With that, he flashed pictures of himself, twined underneath Crawford, both naked.
Flushing, I turned to the window, trying not to show how much he was getting to me. Although, trying to hide my thoughts from a telepath was pretty futile.
//You got that right. Pity, being in love with someone you can't have.//
//Who says I love him? I barely know him.//
But hearing the words, I knew it was true. Over the years and in his absence I had fallen for Brad Crawford. Or more accurately, I had fallen for the Crawford in my mind, the strong savior whom I modeled myself after. I wanted to be like him. Be him. Be with him. Become one.
//You're one messed up kid.//
I slammed down my mental shields like I had learned and did my best to ignore Schuldig the rest of the way to my new home. It was harder to ignore him that night as he moaned and screamed out Brad's name, proving that he wasn't lying about their relationship. As if that wasn't enough, Schuldig kept sending mental flashes of what they were doing. I lay in my own bed, a strangely tight sensation in my groin. My first erection and I was angry and resentful of Schuldig for manipulating me this way. Angry at myself for being so weak and not blocking him.
I wanted to be mad at Crawford, for abandoning me at Rosenkreuz so that he could play with the German telepath. But I couldn't. He was perfect, blameless. He had saved me from my past life and given me hope to sustain me through those years of training. Night after night, the feelings of rejection and loneliness coursed through me as I listened to them, wanting to stop but unable to.
It wasn't his fault. Schuldig is a manipulative whore.
-----
I was fifteen years old when I lost someone I loved.
Well, maybe that's too dramatic. I'm not sure I loved Tot, at least not in that way. There was no doubt that I was attracted to her. She was the exact opposite of Crawford, young and naive and oblivious to the world in general. She smiled in the purest delight as I made the sakura petals spin in the air for her, as if it was the greatest accomplishment in the world. She made me feel wanted and liked, her laughter somehow full of innocence.
Crawford never smiled. He was tightly controlled and focused.
He continued to treat the three of us — we had gotten a new teammate, Farfarello — coldly during the day, yet he still fucked Schuldig every night.
I wondered about that. Why him? Watching, Crawford seemed to hold contempt for Schuldig, yet that didn't prevent him from sleeping with him.
He gave me fond looks, in contrast to the exasperated looks and the snippy comments directed at Schuldig about some screw-up or another. I followed his orders to a tee, with devotion and loyalty, not questions or sarcasm. He often commented how I was the most mature one, the one he could trust. So why not me?
I thought about it until I worked out a theory that satisfied me. It was my age. I looked too young as it was and I was still underaged. Schuldig was old enough for Crawford, and attractive at that, as much as I hate to admit it. He was just a body to use while Crawford waited for me to catch up to him. It was just lust with Schuldig, but love with me. Waiting the nine years since he had sought me out and claimed me, heart and soul, proved the strength of his feeling.
I could see it in the way he opposed my crush on Tot and forbade me to be with her. And I played on his jealousy, slipping away to see Tot and knowing he'd know. And the scoldings he gave me proved time and time again that he loved me.
I could feel it in his hand as he slapped me, the force strong enough to rock me back and bringing sharp tears to my eyes. Coffee brown eyes blazed with anger behind his glasses, full of ardor and possessiveness.
Yes, I laughed to myself that night, caressing my bruised cheek, he loves me.
I had grown fond of Tot during the time, a side-effect I hadn't expected. Before I knew it, I was kissing her, when I had been saving myself for Brad all this time. It was... nice... being with her. Being wanted. I realized with a jolt that I wasn't going to her simply to provoke Crawford, but to be with her.
When she almost died, I lost control of my powers, lashing out at everything.
It shook me up afterwards. I hadn't known what I was doing. I could have hurt Crawford, unintentionally. I had betrayed him by falling for her, even though the feelings paled in comparison to the love I had for him. I owed him my entire being and it was now clear why no other part of my affections could lie anywhere else.
I was confused and wary of my powers for the first time. The responsibility that Crawford had been bearing for me, the responsibility of choosing and coming up with my own decisions, came crashing down on me. And I felt a despondency that hadn't been there before.
Heartache.
My thoughts strayed to suicide once again but it wasn't a realistic option considering one teammate was a precog and another a telepath.
-----
I was eighteen when I slipped into Crawford's bedroom.
Although Schwarz had officially broken up, we stayed together because none of us had a place to go.
It had been hard waiting, but I had finally turned eighteen, the age that Schuldig had been when he had started warming Crawford's bed. Or so I figured from the bits of conversations I had heard over the years, mostly from Schuldig because Crawford never talked about them as a couple. More proof that it was a one-sided relationship, if it could even be called that.
As soon as the numbers on the digital clock flipped to midnight, I crept out of my own bed and tiptoed down the hallway to Crawford's room. I planned to surprise him by slipping in next to him and offering myself to him, a virgin sacrifice for his greatness. We could confess our feelings freely after all these years.
Heart thumping in anticipation, I eased the door open and went in. I curled up next to the warm figure, wrapped my arms around a slender waist, and planted a fumbling kiss in the dark. It was less awkward than the one shared with Tot, years ago, but it still carried the same sincerity, affection strengthened by promised devotion, unconditional adoration, undying loyalty...
"I love you," I blurted out as he rustled to face me.
"I love you, too, chibi," a familiar nasal tone, laced with amusement, replied.
"Schuldig?"
"You were expecting someone else?" he smirked. "Like, Brad perhaps?"
I hastily scrambled out of the bed, romantic thoughts thrust out due to his intrusion.
//Intrusion?// he parroted, sounding mildly offended. //Babe, you know as well as I do that this has been my spot for over six years.//
"Besides," he continued out loud. "He's not here. Maybe he foresaw something he didn't like and made sure to avoid it, ne?"
Burning with anger and embarrassment, I swirled around and stormed away.
"I'll make sure to give him your message though!" he taunted my retreating back. "The kiss and all those hentai things you were fantasizing about."
I lay in bed until noon the next day, when Crawford finally ordered me to come out.
He presented me with a cake in the shape of a clown. A kid's cake. At least he had remembered my birthday.
"You're growing up. Soon, you'll be out on your own," he said in way of congratulations.
I blew out the candles and wished fervently that I could turn twenty-six on my next birthday. Or at least that a certain red-head would stop groping Crawford so blatantly at the dining room table.
-----
I was twenty-one years old when I left Crawford.
It was the year that Farfarello snapped and turned on Schuldig, so quickly and viciously that Schuldig resembled something that came out of the slaughterhouse afterwards. I'm not sure to this day why Farfarello did it and he probably doesn't either.
"He holds the keys," was all he would say as they took him back to the asylum that Crawford had once freed him from.
For the first time, it was just the two of us at home. And Crawford was so distraught about the ordeal that he never saw me coming. I climbed into his lap and pressed my body against his. It took two minutes of me feathering light kisses and nips along his neck before he reacted.
"What do you think you're doing?" he asked icily.
Ignoring the harshness of his tone, I continued my gentle ministrations. "You need me, Crawford-san. I'm here and willing."
It was at this point that I realized there was something more to Crawford and Schuldig's relationship than sex. He threw me off and cast a scornful look.
"I'm quite capable of caring for myself. I don't need anything from a kid like you," he sneered. He went to his bedroom and shut the door firmly behind him, closing me out. Stunned, I sat staring at the door.
The next day, it was as if nothing had happened. He gave me a nod in acknowledgment before heading off to the hospital with flowers. Every day he visited, despite the fact that Schuldig was out of it for the first few weeks and wouldn't have known otherwise.
He's a creature of habit. He feels guilty for not seeing the attack coming, my mind tried to rationalize. He wouldn't feel right accepting my advances with his teammate at the brink of death. I never accompanied him to the hospital, afraid to face what I didn't want to see.
Schuldig was deemed recovered enough to go home and we were three. I hated that number.
Try as I might, I couldn't help noticing the lingering touches, the soft murmurs and gentle looks I caught. Crawford looked reproving as he caught me staring one time too many, intruding on their privacy.
Schuldig was much more subdued than before, acting more his age. He stopped harassing me, mentally and verbally, and gave me looks that almost looked sympathetic. Damn bastard. I don't need his pity. I'd rather have his arrogance. It was easier to hate him then.
The morning right after Crawford proposed to Schuldig, the matching rings on their fingers drove home the fact I've purposely misread all these years: Crawford was in love with Schuldig.
So I walked away.
owari...?
----------
June 3, 2002
PAIRINGS: Brad/Nagi, Brad/Schu
//telepathic thoughts//
by nagibook
There's a saying that bad things come in threes. For me, bad things came in tenfolds, but the worst things came every three years.
I was three years old when my parents died.
I don't remember how or why, but one day, I was taken to the orphanage to begin an impoverished existence. None of the others liked me, branding me as strange from the start. I was too quiet and docile to play with the boys, often mistaken for a girl and then teased when they discovered I wasn't. I was more suited to be the kid the older kids picked on, the one everyone blamed when something went wrong. And I learned quickly not to deny it for they wouldn't believe me anyway and I would get sent off to bed without the meager meal they called supper, because I had been bad by lying.
No one loved me. They saw me as an unwanted burden. You would think the other kids would be sympathetic, having gone through the loss of parents, too, but kids can be very cruel. Poor, orphaned kids with no hopes for the future can be even more so, embittered at an early age. And I learned the game well. I learned to mask my fears and loneliness with an aura of aloofness. I withdrew into myself and my own thoughts as much as possible, for to do otherwise would mean to realize how shitty this existence was.
-----
I was six years old when I tried to hang myself.
I had the notion that it was the only way to escape and it was what my deceased parents wanted. They were waiting for me on the other side and I was keeping them waiting because I didn't understand that fact fast enough.
I worked myself into a frenzy, plotting the most effective, interruption-free way. I had heard about some of the older kids that had attempted, but failed. Cries for attention, most of them, but I was serious and had no intention of screwing up.
This was when my power first showed up. I kicked away the chair, hoping my neck would snap upon impact to save me a lot of pain, but my weight was too slight. Instinctively, I struggled and tried to gasp, fingernails clawing at the rope around my throat and drawing blood. My vision had spotted and the pain was so harsh that my mind came up with the inane thought, Who knew dying would be so painful?
Then suddenly the pressure was gone, although my legs were still flailing, trying to find something, anything, to prop myself up on. I didn't understand what was happening then in my panicked state, but I was floating. The basic instinct to survive had kicked in, even if there was nothing to live for. Before any rational thought could manifest itself, I was on the floor, the wooden beam the rope was tied to breaking off to smack the back of my head. I blacked out.
I came to a few hours later by an unceremonious kick on the side.
"Hey, Naoe, get up." I saw Kojiro look at me with a disdainful look on his face. "Seri-san says you're on laundry duty today."
I didn't think it sad or strange that he ignored my state of being, blood crusted in my fingernails and throat, emphasizing the red ring that the noose had created. You get hardened to the facts of life pretty quickly in our type of life. I was just grateful he didn't tell everyone else. I would have been taunted even worse than before.
While my hands turned numb from the cold water and my back throbbed in protest as I squatted washing dirty underwear in the back yard, my mind wandered to the strange occurrence. Despite the old age of the orphanage, the beam hadn't been rotted. It should have been amply strong enough to hold my weight. Secondly, the pressure had eased at least a full three seconds before I had fallen. Was this divine intervention? Perhaps it was an omen that my time wasn't up yet.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts as I finished rinsing the last piece of clothing. The sun had gone down long ago and I still had to hang everything up before I could go to bed. And I had missed dinner, too, my growling stomach reminded me.
It was later in the week that that I decided to try again. If it failed once more, then I would put aside the idea altogether. If not... well, then I wouldn't have to worry about it anymore.
This time, I decided to jump off a bridge. Rather fatalistic of me, I suppose, but I was driven my morbid curiosity. I had a fanciful image of my own immortality. I had cheated death once and I was willing to risk my life again to see if I could once more. It wasn't much I would be giving up anyway. Perhaps I was seeking something to set me apart and make me special.
I had trudged out, admiring the view as I wandered past the familiar streets to unknown territory.
"Don't."
He was standing there, leaning against a pole as if he had been waiting for me. Dressed all in white, but looking more like a demi-god than an angel.
"Wh...what are you talking about?" I stuttered.
"It would be a waste to throw away your life, considering how valuable you could be."
Glasses flashed as he introduced himself as Crawford. Caught by surprise, I responded with a "Naoe Nagi."
He gestured for me to get in the car parked on the curb and without question, I obeyed. He had this aura about him, a charisma that made it difficult to refuse.
"Did you say I was valuable?" I finally asked, breaking the silence that had come about as he drove.
"Yes. As long as you do whatever I tell you to, you can't fail. You can have all the power you could ever wish for."
Magic words. I found myself enthralled with the idea. With him. He seemed so self-assured and confident, his whole appearance radiating the power he had promised. He would saved me and guide me to become someone I could like.
I didn't stay with him though. He dropped me off at a place called Rosenkreuz and a whole new definition of hell started.
They put me through every type of torture conceivable, and more. Psychological, physical, spiritual, emotional... you name it, they fucked with it. All in the name of training.
They had me jumping hoops trying to please them, to get approval and perhaps favor from those sadistic bastards.
-----
I was nine years old when I first killed a person.
I picked up a pregnant woman and threw her against the wall, slamming her with such force that blood trickled down her leg and from the back of her head instantaneously. Previously, I had only practiced my telekinesis on objects and lab mice, but they thought that it was time to desensitive me to killing.
Even then, it wasn't enough. They wanted me to continue battering her body, flinging the shattered bones and pulverized muscles from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, urging me to continue even after she was clearly dead.
Then they frowned in disapproval at the tears running down my cheeks, and scolded me on the lack of delicate control. They sent me to bed with a reminder to work at improving my performance the next time.
There would be a lot more next times. I would see a lot more people like her in my years there, but her image lasted because she was the first. I wish I had known her name. Sometimes she visited my dreams, kissing me with loving lips before her face twisted into something ugly, blood streaming down her face as she opened her mouth and screamed silently. I looked into the gaping hole and saw only black. Always black...
Her face wouldn't leave me for the longest time, haunting my thoughts. She had been so young, looking hardly over eighteen. She wasn't exactly an innocent; she had been a prostitute that had gotten into trouble as a matter of fact. Rosenkreuz picked up people like her — bums, whores, druggies... people that no one would miss — for training purposes.
But with the quick adaptibility that had allowed me to survive for this long, I learned to disguise my feelings and play their games. I used brutal force to kill the other nameless ones that followed in one blow. A mercy killing, I'd like to think, if only to ease my conscience. For there were some that enjoyed torturing, maiming, and playing sick games with their prey before they killed. I was better than they were. I waited til they were dead before desecrating their corpses in ruthless ways, all designed to harden me.
It was a lonely life and I was more miserable than before. Everyone hated each other and made little attempt to hide it, deriving pleasure from causing others pain. Freaks hating freaks for reminding them how abnormal they are. Arrogance and contempt were twin emotions displayed by those that survived, and control of others the ultimate goal. Those that couldn't handle it took their own lives or went insane. Others mysteriously disappeared but no one cared enough to ask what had happened to them.
I might have been one of those people but whenever I thought of giving up, the image of Crawford came up. He was the first role model I had, so naturally, I thought of him. When the intensity of sessions brought whole new definitions of pain, I fixated on him to keep my mind off the torture, so that I could endure. Think of Crawford. Be strong like Crawford. *BE* Crawford, became my mantra. He must have gone through this, too. Surely he must be sympathizing with me, understanding and rooting for me in spirit.
He became an obsession, one I didn't attempt to give up because it was the only thing that kept me sane.
There were two choices: try to resist and retain humanity or bend to the will of Rosenkreuz and take advantage of what they have to offer. I chose the latter and by the time I left, I had become the strongest telekinetic there by far.
-----
I was twelve years old when I was assigned to Schwarz.
A car came to pick me up. "Nagi," Crawford nodded.
He looked slightly older, which surprised me although it shouldn't have considering six years had passed. I still held a vivid memory of him at eighteen years old and had harbored a vague notion that somehow, I would eventually catch up to him. After all, he was now only twice as old as I was, when he had been three times my age the first time we had met. It felt like eventually, the age gap would disappear.
//I hope you realize that makes no sense.//
I started as a second figure emerged from the passenger seat, bright orange-red hair flying around his face.
"This is Schuldig. He's a telepath," Crawford introduced, then nodded for me to get in, just like the first time. Except this time, someone else was up front with him, taking the spot I had held back then.
He was staring impatiently at me so I scrambled into the backseat and Schuldig smirked indulgently at me.
//So eager to do the leader's bidding, ne chibi?//
I burned a hole at the back of his head with my glare. "Get out of my head and talk like a normal person."
He smirked at me through the rearview mirror. "You sound just like Brad," he drawled.
"Don't call me that," Crawford interjected, while I turned the name over in my head. Brad. It sounded strange.
"You didn't mind last night," Schuldig replied, with a leer more directed toward me than to Crawford, the implication obvious. //Jealous?//
I scowled fiercely. //Why should I be?//
It sounded sulky, even to me. //Besides I don't believe you.//
//He's not denying it, is he?// His laughter mocked me inside my mind. With that, he flashed pictures of himself, twined underneath Crawford, both naked.
Flushing, I turned to the window, trying not to show how much he was getting to me. Although, trying to hide my thoughts from a telepath was pretty futile.
//You got that right. Pity, being in love with someone you can't have.//
//Who says I love him? I barely know him.//
But hearing the words, I knew it was true. Over the years and in his absence I had fallen for Brad Crawford. Or more accurately, I had fallen for the Crawford in my mind, the strong savior whom I modeled myself after. I wanted to be like him. Be him. Be with him. Become one.
//You're one messed up kid.//
I slammed down my mental shields like I had learned and did my best to ignore Schuldig the rest of the way to my new home. It was harder to ignore him that night as he moaned and screamed out Brad's name, proving that he wasn't lying about their relationship. As if that wasn't enough, Schuldig kept sending mental flashes of what they were doing. I lay in my own bed, a strangely tight sensation in my groin. My first erection and I was angry and resentful of Schuldig for manipulating me this way. Angry at myself for being so weak and not blocking him.
I wanted to be mad at Crawford, for abandoning me at Rosenkreuz so that he could play with the German telepath. But I couldn't. He was perfect, blameless. He had saved me from my past life and given me hope to sustain me through those years of training. Night after night, the feelings of rejection and loneliness coursed through me as I listened to them, wanting to stop but unable to.
It wasn't his fault. Schuldig is a manipulative whore.
-----
I was fifteen years old when I lost someone I loved.
Well, maybe that's too dramatic. I'm not sure I loved Tot, at least not in that way. There was no doubt that I was attracted to her. She was the exact opposite of Crawford, young and naive and oblivious to the world in general. She smiled in the purest delight as I made the sakura petals spin in the air for her, as if it was the greatest accomplishment in the world. She made me feel wanted and liked, her laughter somehow full of innocence.
Crawford never smiled. He was tightly controlled and focused.
He continued to treat the three of us — we had gotten a new teammate, Farfarello — coldly during the day, yet he still fucked Schuldig every night.
I wondered about that. Why him? Watching, Crawford seemed to hold contempt for Schuldig, yet that didn't prevent him from sleeping with him.
He gave me fond looks, in contrast to the exasperated looks and the snippy comments directed at Schuldig about some screw-up or another. I followed his orders to a tee, with devotion and loyalty, not questions or sarcasm. He often commented how I was the most mature one, the one he could trust. So why not me?
I thought about it until I worked out a theory that satisfied me. It was my age. I looked too young as it was and I was still underaged. Schuldig was old enough for Crawford, and attractive at that, as much as I hate to admit it. He was just a body to use while Crawford waited for me to catch up to him. It was just lust with Schuldig, but love with me. Waiting the nine years since he had sought me out and claimed me, heart and soul, proved the strength of his feeling.
I could see it in the way he opposed my crush on Tot and forbade me to be with her. And I played on his jealousy, slipping away to see Tot and knowing he'd know. And the scoldings he gave me proved time and time again that he loved me.
I could feel it in his hand as he slapped me, the force strong enough to rock me back and bringing sharp tears to my eyes. Coffee brown eyes blazed with anger behind his glasses, full of ardor and possessiveness.
Yes, I laughed to myself that night, caressing my bruised cheek, he loves me.
I had grown fond of Tot during the time, a side-effect I hadn't expected. Before I knew it, I was kissing her, when I had been saving myself for Brad all this time. It was... nice... being with her. Being wanted. I realized with a jolt that I wasn't going to her simply to provoke Crawford, but to be with her.
When she almost died, I lost control of my powers, lashing out at everything.
It shook me up afterwards. I hadn't known what I was doing. I could have hurt Crawford, unintentionally. I had betrayed him by falling for her, even though the feelings paled in comparison to the love I had for him. I owed him my entire being and it was now clear why no other part of my affections could lie anywhere else.
I was confused and wary of my powers for the first time. The responsibility that Crawford had been bearing for me, the responsibility of choosing and coming up with my own decisions, came crashing down on me. And I felt a despondency that hadn't been there before.
Heartache.
My thoughts strayed to suicide once again but it wasn't a realistic option considering one teammate was a precog and another a telepath.
-----
I was eighteen when I slipped into Crawford's bedroom.
Although Schwarz had officially broken up, we stayed together because none of us had a place to go.
It had been hard waiting, but I had finally turned eighteen, the age that Schuldig had been when he had started warming Crawford's bed. Or so I figured from the bits of conversations I had heard over the years, mostly from Schuldig because Crawford never talked about them as a couple. More proof that it was a one-sided relationship, if it could even be called that.
As soon as the numbers on the digital clock flipped to midnight, I crept out of my own bed and tiptoed down the hallway to Crawford's room. I planned to surprise him by slipping in next to him and offering myself to him, a virgin sacrifice for his greatness. We could confess our feelings freely after all these years.
Heart thumping in anticipation, I eased the door open and went in. I curled up next to the warm figure, wrapped my arms around a slender waist, and planted a fumbling kiss in the dark. It was less awkward than the one shared with Tot, years ago, but it still carried the same sincerity, affection strengthened by promised devotion, unconditional adoration, undying loyalty...
"I love you," I blurted out as he rustled to face me.
"I love you, too, chibi," a familiar nasal tone, laced with amusement, replied.
"Schuldig?"
"You were expecting someone else?" he smirked. "Like, Brad perhaps?"
I hastily scrambled out of the bed, romantic thoughts thrust out due to his intrusion.
//Intrusion?// he parroted, sounding mildly offended. //Babe, you know as well as I do that this has been my spot for over six years.//
"Besides," he continued out loud. "He's not here. Maybe he foresaw something he didn't like and made sure to avoid it, ne?"
Burning with anger and embarrassment, I swirled around and stormed away.
"I'll make sure to give him your message though!" he taunted my retreating back. "The kiss and all those hentai things you were fantasizing about."
I lay in bed until noon the next day, when Crawford finally ordered me to come out.
He presented me with a cake in the shape of a clown. A kid's cake. At least he had remembered my birthday.
"You're growing up. Soon, you'll be out on your own," he said in way of congratulations.
I blew out the candles and wished fervently that I could turn twenty-six on my next birthday. Or at least that a certain red-head would stop groping Crawford so blatantly at the dining room table.
-----
I was twenty-one years old when I left Crawford.
It was the year that Farfarello snapped and turned on Schuldig, so quickly and viciously that Schuldig resembled something that came out of the slaughterhouse afterwards. I'm not sure to this day why Farfarello did it and he probably doesn't either.
"He holds the keys," was all he would say as they took him back to the asylum that Crawford had once freed him from.
For the first time, it was just the two of us at home. And Crawford was so distraught about the ordeal that he never saw me coming. I climbed into his lap and pressed my body against his. It took two minutes of me feathering light kisses and nips along his neck before he reacted.
"What do you think you're doing?" he asked icily.
Ignoring the harshness of his tone, I continued my gentle ministrations. "You need me, Crawford-san. I'm here and willing."
It was at this point that I realized there was something more to Crawford and Schuldig's relationship than sex. He threw me off and cast a scornful look.
"I'm quite capable of caring for myself. I don't need anything from a kid like you," he sneered. He went to his bedroom and shut the door firmly behind him, closing me out. Stunned, I sat staring at the door.
The next day, it was as if nothing had happened. He gave me a nod in acknowledgment before heading off to the hospital with flowers. Every day he visited, despite the fact that Schuldig was out of it for the first few weeks and wouldn't have known otherwise.
He's a creature of habit. He feels guilty for not seeing the attack coming, my mind tried to rationalize. He wouldn't feel right accepting my advances with his teammate at the brink of death. I never accompanied him to the hospital, afraid to face what I didn't want to see.
Schuldig was deemed recovered enough to go home and we were three. I hated that number.
Try as I might, I couldn't help noticing the lingering touches, the soft murmurs and gentle looks I caught. Crawford looked reproving as he caught me staring one time too many, intruding on their privacy.
Schuldig was much more subdued than before, acting more his age. He stopped harassing me, mentally and verbally, and gave me looks that almost looked sympathetic. Damn bastard. I don't need his pity. I'd rather have his arrogance. It was easier to hate him then.
The morning right after Crawford proposed to Schuldig, the matching rings on their fingers drove home the fact I've purposely misread all these years: Crawford was in love with Schuldig.
So I walked away.
owari...?
----------
June 3, 2002