Author: NagiLite

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Do I really need one? Don't own 'em.

ACT TWO: Realization

Nagi was by no means a stupid boy. In fact, when it came down to it, he was exceptionally intelligent. He was a hacker for a group of professional assassins, how could he not be? But when it came to emotions, the small Japanese boy was clueless.

So it was completely understandable that he wondered around for the next few days, himself again but somehow empty.

HE didn't have the slightest idea what was wrong.

But Schuldich did. And he was enjoying the show, thank you very much. Ah, yes, the gratification of seeing little Nagikins endure what psychiatrists cruelly called 'adolescence'. Honestly. The name did not fit the time period. 'Age of Angst and DOOM' was more like it. Schuldich made a mental note to remember that.

The sly German watched with interest as a blue gaze traveled from the computer to Bradley, back to the computer...a slight flickering of eyelashes, and a mental scolding...back to Bradley where they remained for a few moments before hastily returning to the computer.

/Pathetic./

The boy had only recently gotten over his obsession. It was quite funny. Nagi, of all possible people, in love with Crawford. Cold, seemingly heartless Brad Crawford. Well, Schuldich never claimed to have precognition, and he had no idea how fate would work itself out. For all he knew, Brad and Nagi might even end up together. Happily ever after, or as close to it as they'd ever get.

/Nagi, Nagi, Nagi. He's nearly old enough to be your father. How did you manage to fall for him, eh/

Nagi knew he was only playing with Farfarello because Crawford would be home soon, and the Japanese boy didn't want to miss one of the few times he had to observe the older man. Somewhere deep in his subconscious, Nagi sensed there was a darker, and perhaps sweeter reason for his previous need to imitate and his current desire to see the man he called boss. But he didn't care to dwell on it.

Who KNEW what the truth might be?

He floated toothpicks to Farfarello, who promptly shoved them (painfully) into the pale flesh of his own arm. Nagi barely winced.

Finally Crawford walked in, shrugging out of his creme jacket and massaging his shoulder-blades. The muscles were visible but not prominent. Hidden strength. Nagi listening closely to the intonation of the clear Japanese. Velvet on steel. Humidity before the lightning struck.

Schuldich ordered out, pizza, an American food that Nagi had grown fond of. Nagi liked squid on his, but Crawford wouldn't eat it that way, so they always got pepperoni. The three of them (minus Farfarello, who was having too much fun with the toothpicks) sat around the rickety kitchen table, slurping on beer (Schu and Crawford) and soft drinks (Nagi) and chewing on the cheap cheese of the meal.

Schuldich quizzed Nagi on his school life. Nagi gave him vague answers which Schuldich elaborated on mentally, digging through Nagi's thoughts like they were odds and ends in an old trunk. Nagi didn't bother trying to block him; too much effort for a lost cause.

Crawford ate, drank, and left silently.

Nagi watched.

Schuldich laughed in the boy's mind, the sensation akin to a spider's legs tickling his thoughts.

/Paying a lot of mind to Bradley-chan, are you/

"N-no!" A faint flush followed the denial.

"Suuuuure. You say that, but I know what goes in in that little head of yours."

Nagi snorted and shoved another piece of pizza into his mouth, letting the chewing distract him.

He was fifteen. And yet he'd never had a wet dream before. He'd heard of them, dreams that dropped you into a world of desire and even sex, but he'd never experienced it. Nagi pressed his legs together, desperately trying to rid himself of the tingling heat that resided there. He remembered soft moans, bare skin, sweat, heat, and most of all--a pair of coffee brown eyes.

'So THIS is growing up,' he thought bitterly.

The next morning, things were much clearer.

He'd dreamed of Crawford.

Shit.

He'd dreamed of CRAWFORD.

Why?

He didn't know. Because he'd have to like Crawford to have a dream like the one he'd had, right?

Like Crawford.

He ADMIRED Crawford.

A lot.

Okay, so maybe he did like Crawford. So what? No big deal.

Nagi pulled on the top of his dove gray uniform, studying his reflection for a moment. Hmm. The exact details of the dream returned, and his cheeks lit up.

Crawford.

Brad.

He sighed and prepared to leave for another day of High School Hell.