Author: Malebranche
Date: 01/27/04
Contact: xxxdre4merxxx@hotmail.com
Genre: Slash/Yaoi, AU, romance, angst, supernatural, series.
Comments: R. If you can't handle slash, go away. BxS. Lime. Mangled personalities. This story has not been beta-ed, barely even proofread. I'm deeply sorry for any mistakes.
Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz and all it's characters are properties of their respective authors.
Autumn to Ashes: Prologue to the end.
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April 2001, Los Angeles.
The sun shone brightly upon the old metal bench where he sat, seemingly isolated in the abundant happiness that teemed in the courtyard.. He shivered, even though the sun was warmer than it usually was in April. He looked pale and sick, as though he hadn't had a good night's sleep in weeks.
A red ball rolled across the courtyard, stopping inches away from his dilapidated black dress shoes. They were once shiny and clean, bought from an expensive shop at the corner of the block where he lived. The children clamored, arguing over who got to pursue the ball, intimidated by the man.
He looked up, shaken from his reverie by the sound of a little girl who looked about five years old, staring at him with big, brown eyes.
"Mister? Um, I just came to get the ball.." the girl said.
She grabbed the round object, and turned away. She paused for a second, scuffed shoes hesitating.
"Are you okay?" the girl asked curiously "You don't look like you're feelin' too good. You wanna play with us?"
The man smiled, charmed by her thoughtfulness. "Sorry, I'm too old to play."
She pouted, pink lips jutting out of alignment. "Okay mister...I hope ya feel better soon!" She beamed and joined her friends.
The man stared at the group of children for a few moment longer, and if one did not know better, one would have thought there was envy in his amber eyes.
He slowly stood up, gently dusting his slacks, a tattered thing that spoke of a grander past. The sun reflected in the man's coffee-hued locks, which fell gracefully past his ears, then sloped downward to tease the nape of his neck.
He walked out of the courtyard, taking in the scenery around him. An oasis in the middle of a scorching desert, that is what this place was. His unsteady steps, caused by remaining immobile for too long, led him slowly away from a dream and back to reality.
His surroundings blurred around him like a watercolor painting. A taxi honked, tires screeching by as he walked across the street. The sounds startled a flock of pigeons who had landed on the telephone wires above him, and they flew away to find a more peaceful haven in the busy metropolis. The man walked up the steps to his house, the maid who was tending to the hedges looking at him in concern.
"Sir Crawford?"
The man paused, before continuing his ascent.. "Aya-chan, don't call me that. You know my name."
"But, Sir...Brad..." She followed him cautiously into the house.
"Stop worrying about me." Brad said with irritation, and one got the feeling that this argument was not a new one.
"Brad, you haven't eaten for days. It was bad enough before, when I had to convince you to eat, but now nothing will move you!" Aya-chan said, a matronly tone seeping in her voice.
Brad laughed, a tinkling, mellow sound. "From servant to mother, eh? What makes you think I don't eat when I go out?"
She scowled. "Because you never bring your wallet, and I know you don't really associate with people, not since-" She stopped, eyes widening. "I'm sorry, sir, I mean to say that...I mean," she said, stumbling over her words.
Brad shook his head, hair shielding his eyes from sight. "It's alright, Aya-chan. I know..."
He removed his shoes and headed up the stairs as if he had lead weights tied to his feet, the thick white carpet dampening any sound he made. Hands clenched so tightly his knuckles were white, he opened the door to the unlit room beside the master bedroom and went in. The door closed after him.
Aya-chan sighed worriedly. Working for the Crawford family, who were bred to be aristocratic and condescending, for five years, she was used to polite, meaningless conversation. However, since she was transferred to look after the Crawford family's younger son, Brad, she was slipping back into "big sister mode", which she acquired by raising her younger siblings by herself for the past six years.
She bit her lip, and hoped that if she made Brad's favorite meal tonight he would eat.
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The darkness was comforting to his tired mind, soft and enveloping, Brad collapsed upon the bed. His eyes searched the dark room, fingers gliding over the silk sheets. He knew that nothing - no one - was there, and would never be there ever again. His thoughts wandered to his company, Crawford Software Inc. It was still raking in money, but without him there revenue was taking a slow, relentless decline.
He was close to being taken out of his father's will; what sort of business man would the man be if he let his son, who was mooning over someone dead and buried, inherit the fruits of all his hard work? Not to mention that his father was certain that he was half-crazy, thanks to the incident that had been the cause of his current predicament.
How could he want for money when the one thing he could ever want was out of his reach, now and forever? How could he care enough to make sure he was in a stupid will, if he had everything he needed already to waste his life away, minute by minute, day by day, until at last he grew too tired to live? How could he look forward to tomorrow when was no tomorrow, only a series of days which repeated again and again?
The memories haunted him. It did not matter if they were happy, or heartbreakingly sad, he remembered. He remembered every word they had spoken, every time they touched, every kiss they shared, but it was never enough. Nothing could erase the reality, that he, the cause of his pain and his only mean of salvation, was not here.
Brad cried silently, tears running down his cheeks, for what seemed like the thousandth time since his lover was gone, taken away from him by a pair of abominations.
He would only exist in the dust motes that floated through the air, the scent of him in the abandoned master bedroom, and the precious, deadly memories in Brad's heart.
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Author commentary: Cookies Good, Dung Beetles Bad
1. I had better warn you now; everyone in this story (from WK) is OCC. Their powers (ie. clairvoyant/telekinetic skills) may be warped or possibly non-existent.
2. Chapter 1 will be out no later than February 1st; if it's later than that I'll kick myself.
3. Thanks for reading this story. It'd make my day if you would review.
4. I'm an avid BxS fan. Anyone got a good story for me?