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The banter was nightly, the uncomfortable feeling brief but fatal, killing every conversation just as it got interesting, in Schuldig's point of view. Yohji started to occupy his mind during the day, as well at night, the bizarre circumstances under which they lived leaving him as confused as Yohji. Why hadn't they killed each other yet?
One night, as Yohji was trudging up the stairs home from work, Schuldig figured it out. He didn't like the conclusion he came to, but there was no denying it. Well, Yohji was in denial about it, but Schuldig didn't have that luxury. He didn't lie to others, so he'd never manage to lie to himself. It was hard enough for him when people said one thing and thought another, but thinking two different things? The mind boggled.
Schuldig shook himself. No tangents. He had to talk to Yohji. Yohji. Here was Yohji, almost here. Schuldig stationed himself outside Yohji's door.
Yohji looked at him and through him as he trudged up the corridor. Schuldig frowned at the dead expression on Yohji's face.
"We're the same!" he blurted out. Yohji froze, finally noticing Schuldig's presence. Just as well, Schuldig thought, or he'd have got a key in his navel. "You and me, we're the same. That's why you haven't killed me yet. Or me you."
Yohji stared at him. "It took you this long to figure that out?" he growled. "Get outta my way."
Schuldig moved automatically and watched as Yohji stumbled into the tiny room. In Yohji's back pocket was a single bill, his total earnings for the week. It wasn't even enough to pay for the water, let alone the huge hole in the wall, and the fact that the door was now shoved up against the wall that divided their rooms, covering said hole. Schuldig followed him in. Yohji turned in the small space and glowered at him.
"What are you doing in here?" Yohji stared at him. Schuldig frowned.
"Dunno."
"So go away."
"Nein," Schuldig said expansively, and dropped onto Yohji's futon. Yohji glowered at him, but shuffled around as he normally did. He fished a can of tuna out of the stove and stared at it. "You don't want to eat that!" Schuldig exclaimed. "That's older than both of us put together."
Yohji moved wordlessly, and Schuldig realised that it was all Yohji had. Yohji opened the can and studied its contents.
"You don't happen to have some psychic mind trick that will make me want to eat this, do you?" he asked.
"Sure, but it won't stop the killer food poisoning," Schuldig grinned. "Want a cigarette?" Yohji dropped the can and sat down sharply next to Schuldig.
"You're my new best friend," Yohji told him. "Gimme. Please."
"Ah, the mating call of the addict," Schuldig smirked and produced a battered cigarette packet. Yohji snatched a fag from it and began to search for a lighter or match.
Schuldig produced a pearl embedded lighter, worth more than the entire contents of Yohji's flat, including Yohji. He lit his own cigarette first, savouring the first mouthful of tobacco. Yohji pressed the tip of his cigarette to Schuldig's, not waiting for the lighter.
"A smoker's toast," Schuldig joked, pressing his cigarette to Yohji's. Yohji didn't take his eyes off of the cigarette. Finally the tip flared, and he pressed it to his lips, slowly taking it into his mouth, relishing the familiar pressure and the taste and the excess of sensations. He swallowed, then breathed in, inhaling the deadly curling smoke into deprived lungs. He sighed contentedly, flopping back against the wall with a gentle thud, smoke slipping between barely parted lips in a sliver of pearly slate blue.
Schuldig watched the entire display with fascination. He'd never seen anyone smoke so sensually. Yohji made it an art form, a sexually charged exhibition. His tongue flicked out over his lips, cradling the cigarette briefly. Schuldig found himself wondering what that tongue would feel like around his cock, how it would feel to be drawn in like the cigarette and sucked on. He could feel himself growing hard, and he leant towards Yohji. Blue eyes met jade, and the energy in the air was electric.
"Thank you," Yohji murmured, and the languid sensuality that permeated the satisfied growl sent shivers down Schuldig's spine. He could imagine that voice against his ear, telling him that it had been amazing, asking to do it again. He could see those slitted jade eyes gazing into his own, silently thanking him for a night of immeasurable passion. And he knew, just like he'd known with Crawford, that he would say or do something that would prevent that fantasy ever being carried out.
Schuldig sighed. "You're welcome," he said dully. Yohji frowned at his tone of voice. Something was going on in Schuldig's head he couldn't quite fathom. He could see the tented material in Schuldig's lap, though he pointedly ignored it, but Schuldig couldn't have sounded less pleased to be there.
"So, you were saying that we were the same? What took you so long to reach that conclusion?" Yohji prompted, apparently having accepted Schuldig's intrusive presence in his small apartment.
"What? Oh, yeah. We both got left behind. We're both broke. We're both cynical jaded individuals. We're both alone." Schuldig felt deflated. He'd been certain Yohji hadn't figured this out. "That's why we're so desperate for each other's company. We've got a hell of a lot in common. We need each other, or we'll both go mad."
"Need each other?" Yohji almost spat out the precious cigarette. "I need you like a hole in the head! I'm not desperate for anyone's company."
"Sure you are. Why else do you put up with my random little conversations at night? When I grab your hand you don't jerk it away, not so soon. You're lonely as hell."
"Fine, I'm lonely. But don't flatter yourself. I'd make nice with the devil himself in those dark moments." Yohji curled up defensively.
Schuldig snorted. "According to Crawford, you are." Yohji bit back a smile. "Fine, so maybe it's not just me, but face it, we share a past. Makes it a bit easier talking to me than a complete stranger, right?"
Yohji frowned at him. "You know what's utterly wrong? You're right. We're mortal enemies, and I'm more comfortable around you than Hiroko, who's a wonderful girl, even if she does spend most of her time yelling at that kid of hers. I've tried to kill you. You've tried to kill me. You're a freak…y telepathic German. I'm an ex-PI government assassin."
"You're lucky you didn't say freak then," Schuldig warned. "Not a word I take kindly to. Come on, have you ever felt comfortable around normal people?"
"I feel dangerous around them," Yohji admitted. "Killed too many of them."
Schuldig regarded him out of one eye. "What's all this strangling people crap?"
Yohji's eyes closed, pain written across his face. His breathing became heavy, and he pressed his head against the crumbling plasterboard. Schuldig felt a pang of concern, which distracted him. Concern? Professional assassins didn't feel concern. Especially not for other professional assassins, who occasionally went off the rails and tried to strangle young women.
"If you know so much already," Yohji groaned, "why ask me?" Schuldig started, realising he'd been murmuring softly as he thought. It happened more and more often these days, as the line between thought and speech blurred and the line between thought and thought grew less and less distinct.
"I didn't realise I did," Schuldig admitted. "It's a toss up which one of us needs to spend more time in an asylum." He smirked.
Yohji looked troubled. Legally, he was fine. Except sometimes he didn't feel that way. Thinking about Weiss left him feeling very unstable, and he avoided women at all costs now. He'd tried to date again, and had had to flee after a greeting peck on the cheek. Even now, thinking about it, his hands spasmed. His head rocked against the plasterboard, feeling the dent left by Schuldig's stereo.
Schuldig watched him out of the corner of his eye and blew smoke rings. Yohji exhaled a long stream of smoke, straight through on of the rings. Schuldig grinned.
"Just like Gandalf, except without the fancy ship thing," he told Yohji, who opened one eye blearily.
"What?" Yohji muttered.
"You know, in Fellowship of the Ring… you haven't seen it, have you?" Yohji shook his head. "Ever read Lord of the Rings?" Another shake.
"It's in English," Yohji pointed out. "I never read translations."
"Ja, I know what you mean. There's a Japanese version of Hamlet, subbed in English. Except rather than go back to the original play, they translated back from the Japanese, so 'to be or not to be, that is the question' shows up as 'it is, it isn't, isn't it?'" Schuldig chuckled. "Saw that at the cinema, cracked up. So much for Crawford's dreams of high culture. You see it?" Yohji frowned at him. Schuldig opened his mouth to ask another inane question, and stopped. "When was the last time you went to the cinema?" he asked slowly.
Yohji shrugged. "Around the time we were trying to kill each other, I guess. I went with dates, and that's not happening any more. Plus, you know, I'm wasting all my hard earned cash on luxuries like food and a roof over my head."
Schuldig watched Yohji carefully. The Japanese guy gazed dully back. Schuldig turned his attention to the room. Yohji could walk out the door and never come back, and there wasn't anything here to say the place was inhabited. Hell, it wasn't exactly inhabitable, but Yohji left no mark on the squalid room. He couldn't afford to. No books, no magazines, no music, no posters, no ornaments, almost no furniture…
"When was the last time you did something for yourself?" Schuldig asked softly. "You know, went out for a drink, did a bit of personal shopping, even visited a park or something?"
"Is that supposed to be some sort of joke?" Yohji growled incredulously.
"No," Schuldig told him. "Scheisse, Yohji, no wonder you're so fucking miserable. Look," he added hastily, "I know you can't afford to. I'll be damned if I can either, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to. If I'm going to drop dead of starvation, I'd rather it be because I spent my last yen on beer and cigarettes than on decades old tuna."
Yohji took the cigarette out of his mouth and studied it. About an inch of ash fell into his lap. "You stole this," he said blandly.
"Well, yeah. Can't afford to buy a hell of a lot of stuff, and the rent on this place is gnawing away at the last of my cash." Schuldig didn't look at all ashamed. "Come on, you may be legally dead, but at least you're Japanese. You can get hired by lazy employers. I'm legally dead, an illegal immigrant and I can barely read or write. Exactly what sort of job am I supposed to get?" Yohji opened his mouth, and Schuldig slammed a hand over it. "Never again," he hissed. "I swore I would never do that again. I'd rather die than do that again."
Yohji pushed Schuldig's arm away. Either Schuldig wasn't putting up any resistance, or he was seriously unfit now. "Calm down. I don't have a problem with you nicking fags and booze. As long as it's not from where I work. Why don't you use your power to make them give you a job?" he asked curiously.
"Coz I'd have to keep it up. Keep making them forget to check up on me, keep reminding them that I really do work there, keep the whole fucking illusion running twenty four seven. I can't even keep my thoughts separate from yours. Fuck that for a game of soldiers." Schuldig looked agitated. With trembling fingers he snatched another cigarette from the limp pack and took several tries to light it.
"Fine, okay. I guess stealing is easier. Not right, but nor's getting left behind," Yohji added bitterly.
"Tell you what," Schuldig said slowly, speculatively. "You and me, tomorrow night, sneak into a film. For kicks. Bit of R 'n' R, so to speak. No paying."
"I can do that," Yohji said. "I mean, sure, you aren't exactly my first choice for a movie date, but beggar's can't be choosers."
"What the fuck's that meant to mean, 'not your first choice'? And 'movie date?' 'Movie date'?" Schuldig snapped indignantly. Yohji blinked at him. "You didn't say any of that aloud, did you?" Schuldig asked with trepidation. Yohji shook his head. "Ah shit."
It was a sentiment Yohji could thoroughly sympathise with. 'Movie date' indeed.
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