Title: And Smile
Author: Lovecraft
Rating: PG-16, only for language and angst
Warnings: Author-induced Omi-Spaz.
Summary: Schuldig (Schulderich, Schuldich, Schu-babe, or whatever your current preference may be) contemplates (the Weakest Link! Oh, no, wait.) Bombay.
Further Notes: This is my first try in the Weiss-fandom. It's not perfect, but I don't need to get my ass chewed out because someone didn't like the content, the language, or the slight homoerotic overtones. And yes, they are there. Schu's a little wacky like that.
Tangent Note: Has anyone else noticed that the Microsoft Spell-Check mistakes "Schuldich" for "childish"? -grin- Oh, I was vastly amused!
~*~
Little Bombay has certainly grown up.
No, not physically. He hasn't hit his growth spurt yet and I highly doubt he'll ever reach his full potential in the weight department. Not that his precious teammates have noticed.
...Which just goes to show you how much stronger the kitten has become.
What a lovely little boy, that Bombay. He is truly amazing.
Slender, deft fingers on fine-boned wrists pick at flowers and arrange them with careful ease. They are beautiful hands, confident and steady. Those delicate hands are even more beautiful at night. Night shades the pale skin and brings a rush of crimson over them, an enchanting sight to behold, if one knows how to look.
Balinese orders the younger kitten out, the last bouquet of flowers for the day clutched in his so-slim embrace. The flowers are brightly colored, decadent. They almost over-shadow the fragile form holding it.
But the little one only smiles; bright, even teeth peek out from behind lips reminiscent of silken peony petals. Huge blue eyes simply sparkle at the taller form as it disappears back into the building.
I'm the only one that can hear the, 'Fuck you.' in the matter-of-fact voice that lingers in the boys mind.
The boy gets onto his moped and cautiously makes his way to the customer's house. He is gracious and charming; his smile is ever-present. He even waves to a few of the more familiar pedestrians on the street.
Mentally, he ticks off scathing comments about them, everything from bad dye jobs to the fresh needle tracks he'd noticed at school the other day.
And when he gets home to where dinner is being served, he seats himself at the table and quickly dishes himself some food. If the portions are a little meager, no one comments. He simply smiles and chatters and punctuates his chatter with a pair of nearly clean chopsticks. Throughout the meal, he takes maybe a handful of bites.
When everyone else finishes their dinner, the little one stays behind. "If I don't clean, who will? Yoji-kun?" And the older kittens laugh and quickly file out of the kitchen, content in the knowledge that little Bombay will clean up the mess.
They never see the boy dump his plateful of food into the garbage and quickly disappear into the bathroom.
They never see the boy hunch over the toilet and purge himself.
They never see him peer into the mirror intently before pulling out his toothbrush.
They never see the petal pink lips stretch slowly back, in a grotesque parody of a smile, to bare even white teeth.
They never see the empty, hollow eyes fill with warm compassion, then gleeful joy, then sparkling happiness, until finally fading into emptiness once more.
They never hear the coldly stated, 'Fuck you.' that reverberates within his skull.
They only know that the next time they come downstairs, they'll find the dishes done, the leftovers neatly stacked in the refrigerator, and the garbage taken out. They'll grab themselves a soda and leave the kitchen, barely looking twice at its immaculate, so-white counter.
Nagi wonders about my obsession with the kitten. He doesn't see the appeal.
He sees Genki Personified. Mr. Happiness.
I see the lies, as told, straight from his beautiful, scathing psyche.
Crawford, for all his Sight, sees only a child, the weakness of Weiss.
I see the strength of someone held too long within the forge, the one vying for some control in his life when everyone else is grabbing for more than their share.
Farfarello, madman that he is, sees a little lamb baring his neck to the wolf.
And I agree. The kitten is walking a tightrope, joyous on the outside, bloodstained on the in, with only his skin to separate the two. The blood is beginning to eat its way outward. With every mission he becomes more erratic, more willing to put himself in even more dangerous situations.
Suicidal.
He's falling and his descent is so fucking beautiful I can't help but stick around, tasting his despair while basking in his smile.
"Omi? Did you burn that cd for me?"
"Hai, Ken-kun! I left it on your desk."
Smile and roll eyes with fond exasperation.
'Fuck you.'
Smile wider.
'And fuck me too.'
Author: Lovecraft
Rating: PG-16, only for language and angst
Warnings: Author-induced Omi-Spaz.
Summary: Schuldig (Schulderich, Schuldich, Schu-babe, or whatever your current preference may be) contemplates (the Weakest Link! Oh, no, wait.) Bombay.
Further Notes: This is my first try in the Weiss-fandom. It's not perfect, but I don't need to get my ass chewed out because someone didn't like the content, the language, or the slight homoerotic overtones. And yes, they are there. Schu's a little wacky like that.
Tangent Note: Has anyone else noticed that the Microsoft Spell-Check mistakes "Schuldich" for "childish"? -grin- Oh, I was vastly amused!
~*~
Little Bombay has certainly grown up.
No, not physically. He hasn't hit his growth spurt yet and I highly doubt he'll ever reach his full potential in the weight department. Not that his precious teammates have noticed.
...Which just goes to show you how much stronger the kitten has become.
What a lovely little boy, that Bombay. He is truly amazing.
Slender, deft fingers on fine-boned wrists pick at flowers and arrange them with careful ease. They are beautiful hands, confident and steady. Those delicate hands are even more beautiful at night. Night shades the pale skin and brings a rush of crimson over them, an enchanting sight to behold, if one knows how to look.
Balinese orders the younger kitten out, the last bouquet of flowers for the day clutched in his so-slim embrace. The flowers are brightly colored, decadent. They almost over-shadow the fragile form holding it.
But the little one only smiles; bright, even teeth peek out from behind lips reminiscent of silken peony petals. Huge blue eyes simply sparkle at the taller form as it disappears back into the building.
I'm the only one that can hear the, 'Fuck you.' in the matter-of-fact voice that lingers in the boys mind.
The boy gets onto his moped and cautiously makes his way to the customer's house. He is gracious and charming; his smile is ever-present. He even waves to a few of the more familiar pedestrians on the street.
Mentally, he ticks off scathing comments about them, everything from bad dye jobs to the fresh needle tracks he'd noticed at school the other day.
And when he gets home to where dinner is being served, he seats himself at the table and quickly dishes himself some food. If the portions are a little meager, no one comments. He simply smiles and chatters and punctuates his chatter with a pair of nearly clean chopsticks. Throughout the meal, he takes maybe a handful of bites.
When everyone else finishes their dinner, the little one stays behind. "If I don't clean, who will? Yoji-kun?" And the older kittens laugh and quickly file out of the kitchen, content in the knowledge that little Bombay will clean up the mess.
They never see the boy dump his plateful of food into the garbage and quickly disappear into the bathroom.
They never see the boy hunch over the toilet and purge himself.
They never see him peer into the mirror intently before pulling out his toothbrush.
They never see the petal pink lips stretch slowly back, in a grotesque parody of a smile, to bare even white teeth.
They never see the empty, hollow eyes fill with warm compassion, then gleeful joy, then sparkling happiness, until finally fading into emptiness once more.
They never hear the coldly stated, 'Fuck you.' that reverberates within his skull.
They only know that the next time they come downstairs, they'll find the dishes done, the leftovers neatly stacked in the refrigerator, and the garbage taken out. They'll grab themselves a soda and leave the kitchen, barely looking twice at its immaculate, so-white counter.
Nagi wonders about my obsession with the kitten. He doesn't see the appeal.
He sees Genki Personified. Mr. Happiness.
I see the lies, as told, straight from his beautiful, scathing psyche.
Crawford, for all his Sight, sees only a child, the weakness of Weiss.
I see the strength of someone held too long within the forge, the one vying for some control in his life when everyone else is grabbing for more than their share.
Farfarello, madman that he is, sees a little lamb baring his neck to the wolf.
And I agree. The kitten is walking a tightrope, joyous on the outside, bloodstained on the in, with only his skin to separate the two. The blood is beginning to eat its way outward. With every mission he becomes more erratic, more willing to put himself in even more dangerous situations.
Suicidal.
He's falling and his descent is so fucking beautiful I can't help but stick around, tasting his despair while basking in his smile.
"Omi? Did you burn that cd for me?"
"Hai, Ken-kun! I left it on your desk."
Smile and roll eyes with fond exasperation.
'Fuck you.'
Smile wider.
'And fuck me too.'