Torn Apart: Part Four
By. Bento Box
10/14/01

---

There was something fascinating about the way your chest would fall and rise in subtle movements as you'd breath in and out.

There was something calm with the way silence took the form of one sleeping; peaceful and content on the outside, but inside there was always a wagering war of demons that had torn their way through from the outside world.

And they would test your control, test your perceptions, test everything about you.

About him.

It's not as if he cared though. He was above caring, above feeling, above the tears that had long gone dry.

It wasn't long before he was accepted, before he passed through the flaming gates. Everything ended, and he looked all the more innocent on the outside when the world welcomed him back into its reality.

He had forgotten how the sky could suffocate and smother him.

Many people only saw the delicate features. The childish, girlish features that made him an easy target or easily mistaken for something he was not. People always assumed. It was by human nature to give one another personalities and judgments.

They judged him innocent. Untainted. Unstained.

He had lured them so easily, so sadly, and so pathetically. He wanted to weep and scream at them to see who he really was--but the tears would never come.

They only saw the small, elegant hands and fingers, now knowing how stained they were. He was not untainted, not unstained and not innocent.

How many deaths had been caused by those hands? His invisible hands, wrapping around a neck.

Suffocating.

They didn't see the wild look in his eyes when the leash was loosened as time held its breath, and then the mask would slip back on again and his eyes were wide and guileless; so cold and dead inside.

They would stand too close to him, their bodies accidentally brushing against his, and he would almost scream, but he always choked it back. He resisted the wailing of the demons inside of him, pounding against his walls to let them free and to kill those who had touched him.

He couldn't though, because that would jeopardize his...no, their cover.

He wouldn't let the rest of Schwarz touch him at first, although that hardly mattered to the German redhead he was introduced to.

The German had been taken in by surprise when they had first met. Nagi had felt a pressure around his mind, and without warning, his walls were shattered, and the images flowed forth in a pulsing ascension into a spiraling dance.

It was Crawford who had saved them both, dragging them kicking and screaming, from the brink of utter madness.

'How...how can he control it? His sanity....'

There was no answer.

The German's tortured thought had leaked into Nagi's mind because they were somehow still connected.

Schuldig had given him a wary respect then, but it was carefully masked by the German's flaunting and flighty personality.

Nagi was not the only one with masks and walls.

Schuldig ceased to pry into those areas of his mind, but he would skirt the surface of his thoughts, or other certain, less dangerous areas.

Later that night, the first day as a complete Schwarz member, Crawford had approached him in his newly appointed room. The stoic man warned him of their residential psychopath, the Irishman. Nagi was not to approach the Irish madman alone, he was not to enter Farfarello's premises under normal circumstances, and if he did, it was always with Schuldig or himself.

And he was not to mention God or anything pertaining to religion.

Nagi nodded, not questioning or asking anything. Crawford seemed pleased by this; curiosity was not a good trait in this field.

Nagi didn't much care for God anyway. He had never been religious, and that whole "God has a reason for everything," was a load of bullshit in his eyes.

What could be the reason for shattering innocent souls? What was the reason for the screams that could never be voiced, and the tears that could never be shed?

No, he didn't care about God. Any god.

But the warnings were turned into a blurry haze when Nagi first met the Irishman.

Nagi had always shied away from any unnecessary human contact, always felt the torrents of near-madness tremble inside of him if he felt someone was standing too close.

But Farfarello had this... air to him. This magnetism that drew Nagi, and he had watched from a distance, admiring silently

The scars were not hideous, but marks of beauty. A unique touch, that was delicate and deadly all at the same time. The skin that was not touched by scars was smooth and flawless. A pale, perfect porcelain that inspired him to want to touch it. To place a light, gentle touch on the slender wrist. Just a touch.

Farfarello had been busy rearranging his knife collection, which back then, wasn't quite as impressive as it was now. He had been rearranging it on the kitchen countertop, and the delicate brow was furrowed in concentration. Abruptly, he had looked up, and a single golden eye glittered back at him.

Nagi flushed then, the first real reaction besides aloofness and politeness he had otherwise given. The ice in the shroud around him melted a bit under that glowing gaze, and he murmured something unintelligible, and forced himself to walk with some sort of dignity and serenity from the room.

He got the feeling Farfarello knew that he wasn't calm.

As he walked away, he could feel his skin tingle all over, and his flush deepen. The gaze penetrated through the cloth on his back, and it was a blazing sun.

He could see the golden eye and parted lips easily in his mind.

---

Nagi felt the cool dampness of a soft cloth pressing over his forehead, cheeks and downwards in a gentle stroke over his neck. Mind still envisioning a golden eye and an elegant wrist, he unconsciously grabbed for the hand that held the cloth.

A humor-filled chuckle warmed his cheeks as he identified clearly who it belonged to. The voice was sweet, innocent but with a lecherous note in it.

"Now, now, we have fun next time, hm? When your 'boyfriend' isn't with us and glaring at me, ready to rip my throat out." Schuldig chuckled again, and Nagi just knew his face was burning a bright red by now.

He cracked an eye open tentatively, and when he felt safe that his vision wasn't going to turn temporarily blind, he opened them both. He gave the German a mildly annoyed look that was mixed with embarrassment, and felt his flush grow when he looked over the redhead's shoulders to find the object of his memory standing there, glowing and glowering.

"Ah, chibi?" His eyebrow twitched in annoyance at the pet name "You better let my wrist go, ja? Before Farfie there decides he's had enough watching and not enough hurting God...and me."

Nagi's flush, if possible, deepened and he muttered something incomprehensible and let the wrist go. Schuldig flashed him an impish and purely evil grin.

For a moment, Nagi felt as if everything was normal, or as normal as things could be in Schwarz.

The wistful thought was carried away though, and Nagi fell into a depressive silence once more and the paleness returned to his cheeks.

Schuldig gave an internal sigh. "I'll just go get you some food, ja? Pocky for dessert, ne?" He rose from the bed, and left the room quietly, shutting the door behind him.

Nagi played with a loose thread in Schuldig's bedcovers, and would have fidgeted uncomfortably under Farfarello's gaze had he not felt so numb.

"Why?"

Nagi's head jerked up, surprised at the soft, but clear question that cut the silence smoothly. He gave Farfarello a perplexed look.

"Why what?"

But Farfarello was silent again.

Nagi gazed at a blank spot on the wall, his attention focused on it, and yet, beyond it.

"I used to cry all of the time you know...."

His own voice surprised him, but the words haltingly spilled forth. He didn't see Farfarello's eyes narrow, or when the Irishman leaned back against the wall, the golden eye trained onto the small frame of the younger boy.

"I used to be able to cry easily. And the tears wouldn't stop, Farfie, they would never stop! They went on and on, and the pain...." His voice dropped down to a whisper. "The pain was neverending...and he loved it. Loved to see my tears and my cries and my pleas...but then...it all stopped." Nagi shuddered, suddenly cold and hot at the same time.

"I made it stop. I made it all stop and...he didn't laugh anymore. But I couldn't cry either. I was so lost and trapped inside...."

Nagi gave a violent spasm, and he whimpered, curling onto his side, balling up.

The words were halted, and Nagi knew that was all he could say for now. His face was wet again, and he almost wished that he still had the inability to cry. The pain was so fresh and fierce.

A slender hand ran through the silky strands, and the room was silent.

Outside the room, with a hand on the doorknob, Schuldich stood, his usually flirtatious and teasing leer frozen in an expression of revulsion, anger, and inexplicable guilt. He had seen the images, the memories, and the violating caresses as Nagi had spoken out loud.

He hated his ability to see and feel these things.

And he hated the fact that he could do nothing to curb Nagi's pain.

He hated it all.

He hated it.

And there was nothing he could do....

---

Author's Notes: I finished it. Yay. ^^; I'm just reaaaaally getting OOC, ne? Gomen, gomen. This is one of the best things about being a fan fic writer--you can go really, really crazy!!! Mm...I blame it on my chocolate Pocky. XD In any case, hope you enjoyed this installment! ;^_^ Farfie-sama only knows how long this will be...or how short. @_@

Italics indicates flashbacks or bizarre mental voices; normal text indicates present tense or memories.