Summary: Omi's having trouble coping after Esset's downfall but none of Weiss sees it. Lost in their own problems Omi is left to deal with his alone when he doesn't want to. The only thing is his problems have a way of making him deal with it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss Kreuz characters.

This story has been on the edge of my mind for a while now, and only now have I decided to write out the prelude. Hopefully the next chapter will come freely, as I intend on starting in tonight, but don't put to much faith in seeing the next installment anytime soon, at least for not another week or two. Sorry for the shortness but this only happens to be a prelude, the next chapter should be longer.

Forgotten Freesia

Prelude:Wilting Flowers

The sun was setting. The moon, even though it was still light out, was giving its faded glow from far across the horizon. It was waiting. Waiting like a young assassin was, but at least the moon knew what it so patiently waited for. Quite simply, it was waiting for the bright, annoying, loud sun to depart so that its calm, peaceful quiet that only darkness could settle. Maybe what the young assassin was looking for, what the boy was so patiently waiting for, was not so different from that of the moon.

Darkness didn't seem so bad after all

Omi shifted the bouquet of flowers in his hands, switching them from right to left as his blue eyes scanned warily around. Stepping forward he reached out with his free hand, clasping onto the cold metal of an old painted black fence. It was taller than he was, vertical bars like a cage reaching up until hitting a curved piece of metal arching skyward towards the center of the two doors; vertical bars ending with points as if to scare away intruders, though Bombay didn't know of a time when the doors were locked. Vines tangled themselves around the gate, which only showed how much the place was left alone.

The boy gripped harder with his right hand, seeming only because he didn't want to hurt the delicate blooms in his left. He could feel the paint of the metal crackling slightly under the force of his grip, but paid it little to no heed.

The gate creaked and squealed as he pulled it forward, causing him to cringe slightly, eyes studying the ground for a moment. Had he not been gripping the gate he probably would have let his shaking knees buckle. The boy shut his eyes tight felling the urge to just runaway, screaming and yelling. To knock people out of his way, to cause them some ounce of pain he was feeling.

How could they not see him screaming on the inside?

But no Omi Tsukiyono was a quiet boy, nice and polite, who never got mad or upset at anything. At least that's what everyone else believed, what he wanted to believe and wanted to be. Whoever said pain was what made them human? He didn't believe them. If anything it made them inhuman. With all the blood he had shed from himself and others... how could he be human?

The sound of the wrinkling plastic the flowers were so delicately encased in caught his attention and he hastened to ease his grip lest he bruise the delicate lives in his hand. After all, they weren't for him. They were to wilt away with someone else to show how much he really did care.

Straightening up he took a few breaths to calm himself, almost unaware as a hand came on his shoulder giving it some pressure. He didn't need to turn to know who it was, but he did anyway, blue gaze meeting the brown one, ignoring that his own hair was obscuring some of the view.

Again Omi wanted to run, but he refrained. He settled for staring at the other whom was so much taller than him and a few years older, his best friend. It seemed only because he made a promise.

Ken shook his head a little bit, hand still resting on Omi's shoulder, clearly stating that he didn't have to do anything. The younger just bit his lip lowering his gaze to the ground before turning, feeling the hand slide off his shoulder as he did so.

The assassin kept walking, past the vine-covered fence, the sound of dirt grinding under his shoes and sometimes the crackle of plastic or maybe the rustle of a tree. It didn't matter to the golden-brown haired boy, not even the slowly darkening sky or faint whispers from the wind, and not once had he turned back to his friend. He hadn't needed to know that his next glance would mean his friend would once again be gone.

Often times he left like that, just leaving without a word, but by now the teenager was used to it.

Vines had crept up on everything he passed, and every so often would he kick a stray stone sending it scattering down the path. The stone would fall and crack up against the other stones it landed on. Idly, Omi thought the process was almost like Weiss. They were kicked so many times, sometimes taking others down with them. It wouldn't be long before they would crack.

Another step in the wrong direction and everything could fall apart; shatter like fine china dropped from a high distance. He could only hold so much weight.

Omi's footsteps faltered and then stopped all together, rendering him to be just standing and staring, wind ruffling his hair while his blue eyes locked onto the object of importance.

Finally he kneeled, slowly until his knees touched the grass, head lowering as he set the flowers down in front of him, lying before a tombstone. Gently Omi let his fingers run down the stone before slowly pulling off the weeds that tried to grow over the headstone and the name engraved upon it.

Small droplets of water fell from the sky onto him, but the boy paid no attention to it, slowly pulling the remainder of the vines off the grave, before he sat and stared at the name.

"I'm sorry," he murmured quietly his voice nothing more than a whisper above the now heavy rainfall, but it didn't matter to him that he'd be soaked in a matter of minutes. All that mattered was this, his promise.

Slowly he raised his hand, moving it to touch the almost glassy surface of the stone, wet fingertips gliding listlessly over the name.

Hair was hanging in his face, but he made no move to brush it away, tears marring his visage as he stood up, casting a small glance at the purple flowers on the ground laid ever so carefully in front of the stone.

As he reached the gate, the slick metal gripped tightly in his hand, he turned, casting one last look at the stone and flowers. The name his fingers had so delicately run over remained locked in his mind.

You always did like gentian, Ken Hidaka.

Reviews would be really nice. Idea's, comments, improvements are all loved so don't hesitate to hit that review button. If you feel want to talk or just feel the need to email me you can at: blood(underscore)red(underscore)petals(at yahoo . com)

For some unknown reason.. fanfiction won't let me type underscores and at signs so that's what's with the whole: (underscore). Mah stupid fanfiction . net

I would also like to thank my beta reader.. 'Ryuumei-kun' go check out some of the Weiss fanfiction Ryuu has!

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