Presage
"You are not worth it."
The boy thought he saw Crawford's bad arm twitch - a sign that betrayed the man's seemingly calm composure. He did not point it out to him, of course. Stupid to do so, really, especially since he had known Crawford long enough to know how much the man hated acknowledging his own failings.
Ken looked away and shrugged nonchalantly, running a hand through his hair as he breathed, "Probably."
"Then you should know better," Crawford folded his arms and glared down at the boy standing before him. It was incredulous – what Ken had come to him for. Almost insane, actually.
Oh, hang on – that was Ken that he was talking to. Insanity was one of his personality traits.
With his good arm he reached up to pluck the monocle from his face, and then he proceeded to wipe it with a corner of his coat. All this while he carefully kept his gaze adverted from the brunette standing before him, not willing to read the boy's thoughts from his posture.
He was afraid of learning too much from a single stolen glance.
Replacing the monocle, Crawford turned on his heels and made for the chair behind his desk. He was both curious and annoyed at Ken's demand, little prickles of heat running down his neck as he read the boy's strong, unbending aura with his skin alone.
He wondered if Ken would commit violence to him now that his back was turned – exposed and vulnerable. So that the boy could force him to his demands.
But nothing happened. All this while Ken had held his stance so firmly that he seemed a stone statue – unmovable.
Crawford brushed his hand along the top of his chair, feeling the cool leather under his fingers. The nights were getting colder now – he would be forced to turn up the heating later on. But for now, the cold was oddly soothing.
He pulled the chair out and eased himself into it, taking care not to push into his injured shoulder accidentally. It would not do anyone any good if he tore the stitches, especially not at that moment. Crawford then propped the other arm up on the desk and leaned slightly against it, finally returning his gaze to the boy standing rock-solid on the carpet.
Turquoises finally met his gaze – "I'm sorry about the shoulder." The tone was apologetic, but that was all.
Crawford dismissed him with a scowl, "Forget it, Hidaka. I was the one who agreed to partake in that mess. If you are sincere, you may buy Schuldich a new jacket once you locate him."
At this, Ken lost it. He practically stomped over to Crawford's desk before banging his fists soundly against the surface. The glass paperweight bounced slightly, and Crawford reached over to cup his hand over it to prevent it from jumping to the floor from Ken's poundings.
"Fucking dammit, Brad Crawford! That is what I am here for – I need to find Schuldich. I won't be here, begging for your help if I knew where he was! Hell, I won't even be here looking for you because your Gift can't help me in what I need to do!" He brought one hand down over Crawford's cupping hand firmly – not enough to hurt, but not gently either.
Crawford had simply gazed back at him impassively.
"I did not see you beg, Hidaka." He stated plainly. Crawford looked almost bored then.
If Crawford had the audacity to smirk at that moment, Ken was sure that he would smash the man's face in good and hard.
"Fuck you," he snarled. In one sweeping motion, he had his hands around Crawford's collar and was glaring back at the man straight in the eyes. He employed no muscles in supporting the man's weight – feeling that getting Crawford to meet his gaze sufficed his purpose.
Turquoises into ambers, and back again.
Ken's breaths were coming out in sharp, harsh puffs. He could feel his skin becoming coated with a thin sheen of sweat – angry as he was already. But Crawford looked as unaffected as ever… damn that man.
"Unhand me." The command was spoken in a strong, clear voice.
Automatically, Ken's hold loosened and his hands hovered away from their previous perch. Crawford proceeded to adjust his suit before turning to regard the boy with a cold, steely glare.
"You have given me no reasons for your demand, Hidaka. Be grateful that I have at least performed the act of getting you out from your hellhole."
Ken bit his lower lip, thinking to himself that it would probably do the both of them more good now if Crawford did not know that he voluntarily took up the prison term held out before him. He understood that Crawford would never do anything if he did not stand to gain from it, and in that way he was certain that his freedom had meant something to the man. Whether Crawford would admit it or not was another issue altogether.
"Yes, I owe you on that one. I'll buy you dinner sometime for that. But right now, I really need to know where Schuldich is." Ken waved dismissively at Crawford.
The man looked at him, and then he deadpanned:
"You have fallen for Schuldich."
There was little Ken could do to stop himself from laughing out loud; so he didn't even try to stop himself when the amusement sneaked up from his throat and came out of his mouth to form a series of noisy and extremely rude snorting laughs.
Crawford continued, "I fail to see what is so funny about that, Hidaka. You have developed a school-boy crush on my associate, which is an obvious sign that your taste in partners has seen a complete drop recently."
"Oh, God," Ken half-choked back a laugh, "Between us, I won't go for Schuldich in that way, okay? He's just not my type – period."
Crawford raised an eyebrow, "Then why do you need him so desparately?"
"Er… I think I said I need to find him. I don't think I ever said that I was lusting for him," Ken pointed out as the funniness of the situation began to fade in place of the more serious issues he had on mind.
"Why?"
Ken scratched his head, not knowing whether to tell Crawford the truth or not. It shouldn't be that hard a decision to make, really, considering how Crawford had commented about him being as easy to read as a book. If his lie was found out, Crawford might just throw him out and then he'd be back to square one – not something that he was aiming for.
He took a deep breathe, then began, "You know about my teammate, Aya, don't you?"
Crawford did not speak, and Ken took it as a hint to continue.
"Aya left for America sometime before I landed in prison. He won't tell me where he was headed – he boarded a flight for New York, but he might just have done that to throw me off," Ken paused to look up at Crawford, trying to detect any changes in the man's expression. Nothing.
Ken cleared his throat, suddenly finding it hard to return the steely amber gaze. He kicked one foot back and forth on the carpet lightly, making a scuffing noise as he did so. At length, he found words again – "So basically, I need that telepath teammate of yours to help me find Aya."
Amber eyes narrowed.
"You still did not tell me why you need to do so," Crawford uttered with disdain, "It is not worth my trouble to contact Schuldich for you."
Turquoises fixed themselves on the carving adorning the edges of the desk, their owner's mind struggling furiously to come up with an answer to Crawford's question.
This time, Ken knew that he could not afford the truth.
"I know the answer," Crawford's voice sliced through the fog of his mind, catching his attention instantly.
The boy blinked in surprise, then said almost too gleefully, "Then you'll help me?"
Crawford rose from his seat and strode over to Ken, stopping but two feet away from the boy. He patiently held his silence, knowing the future but not willing to assist it along for the first time in a very long time.
The answer came abruptly:
"No."
Ken's face fell – "Why the hell not? Since you say you know why I need to find Aya, why can't you help me?"
Crawford breathed in deeply, held his breath for a moment, and then released as he drew a step closer – almost close enough for their skins to touch. A finger was lifted and slowly lowered to the nape of Ken's neck, where it was held unmoving for a couple of seconds. All this while he said nothing, opting instead to gaze back into the boy's eyes wordlessly.
Muscles contracted to gradually scratch a line diagonally down the brunette's skin. Ken flinched – not because it hurt, but more due to the oddity of the situation at hand. When the scratching fingernail was lifted away, it left a red mark that was several inches in length. Neither pair of eyes bothered to look down at the patch of offended skin; both were only concerned with meeting the other's gaze – as if the first person to look away would automatically declare the other victor.
Neither man would allow himself to lose, especially not this duel.
Ken lifted his hand hesitantly, as if to test whether Crawford would reject his actions. The man did not seem to notice his hand; ambers continued to focus on the blinking turquoises, gazing past the spread fingers as if they were made of clear glass.
Slow, deliberate movements – more in the manner of Crawford than himself – he hooked a finger under the man's scarf, then closed his fist about the soft green material. Peeling his eyes away from the man's hard glare, he turned his attention to the scarf in his hand.
A firm tug – an inward motion applied.
Crawford obliged him.
The first thing he tasted was the moist heat on the boy's lips. It almost shattered his resolve.
Almost.
It was a polite kiss; one that an onlooker might even call a cold one. Crawford did not linger for even a second, pulling his head back even as Ken's hold tightened.
"Hidaka, if you'd let go of my scarf now," his breath washed over the boy's lips – warm but businesslike.
Ken blinked as he released Crawford, watching with wide eyes as the man pulled away to begin tucking his scarf into place. Tonight's encounter had taken one too many odd twists and turns for his comfort.
"I thought you used to call me Ken," the brunette directed his observation to Crawford who had by then moved to stand in front of the window, "That's the fifth time tonight you called me 'Hidaka'."
Crawford did not turn to face him – "You do not deserve that intimacy."
He knew it to be a persuasion directed more to himself than the boy.
He could make out the sound of a truck backing across the road – the monotonous beeping of the vehicle as it ground across the sleet-covered tar. As he turned to seek out the truck with his eyes, his ears registered Ken moving across the room and towards him. Crawford knew what would happen next.
But he decided not to stop it.
Ken's fist connected without a hitch – right across Crawford's cheek and knocking his monocle to the ground. It hit the carpeted floor with a sharp 'clink' as the lens detached itself from the frame. Just as Crawford bent over to retrieve both parts, Ken redoubled his efforts in the form of a hard shove applied to his side. Effectively knocking the man off his feet, he proceeded to ensure his dominance of the situation by catching both Crawford's wrists and pressing them into the thick rug.
Ambers half-obstructed by cascading locks looked up at him.
"You know what, Crawford?" Ken breathed out his words in a strangely low tone, ending his declaration in a triumphant chuckle – "I don't even need your help. Come to think of it, why don't I just go to Yuushi and the others for information? It's not as if Schuldich will be willing to help me anyway."
He let the boy's odd laughter ring against his clothes until it died away, then said, "I have been informed by Nagi that Crashers thinks that your team was eliminated. You will not be able to learn anything useful about Fujimiya from them. Schuldich, on the other hand, can find anyone, anywhere – as long as I tell him to do so."
A feral look took hold in Ken's eyes as he closed his fingers harder around Crawford's wrists, bending in close to mutter against the man's lips – "Then stop fucking with me, Brad Crawford. I have to find Aya by hook or by crook, and God help me if I have to kill you to do so."
"Then do it."
Ken startled, releasing the man as he sat a-striding his thighs. Crawford used the chance to sit himself up, locking a leg behind Ken's back to prevent the boy from falling off as he did so.
Suspicion dominated the boy's features, "I've killed more men then you would in this lifetime – if that is a challenge I will take it on."
Crawford did not even seem to have heard Ken's threat.
He felt Crawford sliding one hand to rest on the flat panes of his back; automatically, he stiffened against the touch. If the man had any weapon in his gliding hand, he could just as easily kill Ken.
It was a mistake, lapsing into the hypnotic lure of those stern ambers.
A cold smirk, then, "You can't do it."
Ken tensed as Crawford used his hand to push the boy towards himself, dipping his head as the boy neared to place his lips over the still reddish scratch mark on his neck. The action invoked a brief involuntary bout of shivering from Ken – the heat from another body portraying a stark contrast to that of the surrounding cool. The hand from behind nudged him closer still, closing the distance between both bodies further.
"Fuck," he breathed as he felt another hand slowly trailing down his front.
"Yes, exactly," Crawford whispered against his skin.
It took his heat-oppressed mind several moments to process Crawford's words – just in time for him to stop the man from reaching a certain southern point by backing roughly into the propped-up leg. Sensing the boy's predicament, Crawford stretched out his leg, allowing Ken to clamber off him. The boy's actions were almost awkward as he scrambled to his feet before he took a few backwards steps from Crawford, all the while betraying his confusion and embarrassment.
Crawford, on the other hand, took everything in his stride – rising to his feet and adjusting his attire before returning to his seat. He then spun his chair to face the boy and waited from the reaction that he knew would come.
"Look, it's been almost 2 years..." Ken began.
"Yes, I noticed that I've not received any Christmas cards from you during that period of time," he subconsciously flexed his injured shoulder to push away gnawing ache which began since it made contact with the floor, "You simply left one afternoon for Europe with Kudou – an 'information-gathering mission' which you did not bother to inform me about."
"Well, you just officially proved your status as a creepy stalker by telling me that."
Crawford brought a finger up to his temple, rubbing in small, circular motions. "I'd like to think that you knew better than to do that."
Ken looked at him out of a corner of his eye, saying, "I am not yours, Crawford."
"I know." The man's reply was instantaneous.
"I have to find Aya," Ken returned to the topic, not willing to linger any longer with their current topic, "I must find Aya to tell him something important."
"I am aware of it all, Hidaka."
Ken tilted his head to look at Crawford, a small frown etched on his features at the man's confusing answers.
"But it is not to my advantage to help you this time," he pushed himself out of his seat to walk over to the boy.
Ken scowled, "Why?"
He thought he caught a fleeting glimpse of untamed emotions slipping across Crawford's face, only to have the man's usual stern expression take hold immediately after. Crawford stretched out a hand to catch his chin, turning the boy's gaze towards him. He had unknowingly used his bad arm – Ken could feel the slight tremors within as Crawford's hold stiffened. He knew he would have no trouble rejecting the man's hold, but being held prisoner to Crawford's severe glare was another matter altogether.
"Because you will leave," Crawford's expression did not change.
Ken swallowed, then said quietly, "I would leave anyway. I am not your property."
Crawford's hold slackened to instead slide to one side, effectively cupping Ken's cheek with it. He looked hard at the boy, wondering if there were folly in the words that he was about to use. He suddenly realized that he was biting on his lower lip, prompting him to quickly stop doing so.
He did not want to be seen as a weakened man.
"You will find Fujimiya, and you will never come back." He said it confidentially, as if he were predicting the future.
Ken understood what Crawford meant.
He only wondered if the slight trembling of the cupping hand was due to the man's injury or otherwise.
"Yes," Ken met his gaze, "That is what I will do."
He did not reject the man's lips, finding the lingering touch oddly sad for the first time. Neither knew who pulled away first – it didn't seem to matter now anyway; not when one was left looking out of the window and the other at the darkness of the room.
"I will not help you," the voice was firm.
Ken nodded while gazing absentmindedly at the red rear lights of the parked truck – "Yeah, I guess not."
"I will not help you because you would leave."
The boy pressed his knuckles to his lips and continued looking outside, pretending not to know of Crawford's discomfort. They have both walked into a forbidden zone that neither knew how to climb out of.
With strange coincidence, both turned in time to meet each other's eyes – one questioning and the other drained of its usual purposeful confidence.
The words formed on the man's tongue took him an eternity to voice:
"I won't let you leave me again."
Ken's features softened into a sad smile.
- End chapter 1