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Yohji staggered out of the supermarket, red eyed and pale skinned. He felt like a piece of paper, so thin he might blow away, so dry he was burning up…
"So sharp you'll cut someone?" Schuldig finished the thought, dropping into step beside him. He wrapped a friendly arm around Yohji's bowed shoulders. "Cheer up, pet, we've got a hot date, remember?"
"Shut the fuck up," Yohji sighed. "Just, shut the fuck up, okay? About that, about everything."
"Grumpy little sod, aren't we?" Schuldig's buoyant mood would not be weighed down. "Come on, it's just the cinema."
"I'm too tired."
"Of course you are, you've been working all day. All work and no play makes Yohji a dull, and loopy, boy. You'll feel much better after watching… Spiderman? Is that all?" They'd stopped outside a small one-screen cinema with popcorn infested lobby carpet and the smell of cheap beer and overly sweet soft drinks saturating the walls. The doors were open, creaking back and forth in the gentle smog-laden breeze. "Fucking Spiderman? I'm not paying to see a bloody flick about a bloody comic book bastard!"
"You're not paying," Yohji pointed out.
"That's true, and I do know that the fire exit doesn't switch on the alarm in this building because the batteries went flat in it months ago, so we can sneak in the back very easily. Still, a webcrawling yank?"
"It's all there is," Yohji tugged on Schuldig's arm, "and we're already missing the beginning. Come on," he urged. Schuldig didn't take a lot of persuading, and within minutes they were happily sitting in the back row. Schuldig swiped a box of popcorn from a couple in front of them who were too busy groping to notice and Yohji struck a match on the no smoking sign and lit up one of Schuldig's cigarettes.
"I haven't seen this much lycra and spandex since I worked in a gay bar in Berlin," Schuldig commented. Yohji snorted. "That death was totally fake. I mean, come on, if you hit that guy there it would take fucking hours for him to die."
"Not if you twist it. But no bullet would do that. Come on, where's the exit wound people, where's the bloody exit wound?"
They were duly shushed by the people in front. Schuldig threw popcorn at them.
"She's pretty hot," Schuldig mused. "You can completely see her nipples through that top."
"That's the whole point," Yohji gave him a scornful look. "Why do you think it's raining?"
They were evicted from the cinema three times before the film ended. Schuldig nicked several pockets full of confectionary on the way out each time, and Yohji grabbed more than a few boxes of cigarettes. When the film finally ended, and their stream of abuse slowed to a trickle and the credits rolled, Schuldig got up to leave. Yohji tried to stand up, but he slipped on an empty popcorn container, and slumped back into his seat, legs shooting forwards and tangling in Schuldig's. Schuldig gave a startled yelp and spun around slightly, tumbling forwards. He ended up straddling Yohji's lap, face pressed against Yohji's in a mockery of a kiss, one hand on Yohji's shoulder and the other in his crotch.
Yohji tried to jerk his head back, but the seat forced him to keep still. Schuldig jerked his hand from Yohji's lap, losing his grip on Yohji's shoulder, to fall face first into it. There was a slight ripping noise, ominous in the darkness, and Schuldig found himself with a mouthful of Yohji's cotton coated erection.
There was a very pregnant pause.
Eventually, Schuldig managed to struggle back to his feet, pushing away from Yohji and stumbling to the end of the row. Yohji stayed where he was, breathing heavily. There was a damp circle on his boxer shorts where Schuldig's mouth had rested, with his erection rising through it and distorting it like the stream of smoke through the smoke ring.
His trousers had split at the flies. There was no way he could walk home like this. Of course, at this point in time he'd be lucky to just walk. Maybe it was just the prolonged abstinence, self enforced by nightmares of purple ringed necks and choking girls. Maybe it was the place and situation, in the back of a darkened cinema, like so many where girls had gone down on him in the past. Maybe it was the proximity of another body, awkwardly pressed against his. It hadn't taken long, what ever it was, to leave him wanting more, even if it was with a guy.
Really? Even then. Yes, even then. Yohji could admit to himself that he would not be unwilling if a man solicited him. Well, not any man. But he'd sunk so far recently, what more shame could liking men bring on his family and his name? It was acceptable, in these days, though he remembered several stern lectures from his father announcing otherwise. He'd never liked his father. So what if he thought some guys were attractive? Maybe he had entertained thoughts of being with them, once or twice. It meant nothing. He'd entertained thoughts of suicide, once or twice, but that didn't mean he was going to do that. The odd fantasy wasn't a sin, was it? According to his father it was, but Yohji had hated his homophobic, bigoted, chauvinistic butt, and sometimes had felt like getting into a male/male relationship just to spite him. Let him come home one night to find Yohji in a clinch with a guy, a foreign guy, who was into women's rights. Yeah. But that was a long time ago now. Time enough to let go. So why was he thinking of sleeping with a guy now, if not to spite his father?
"Yohji? Are you going to sit there all night?" Schuldig's voice sounded small and distant. Yohji roused himself from his confused reflections to see a curtain of orange hair. He tilted his head back to see Schuldig leaning over him, hands resting on the back of the chair.
"Maybe," Yohji said dazedly. Schuldig's hair tickled his nose, and he sneezed. It suddenly occurred to him that he was quite cold, and it would be nice to be back in his little apartment, the door blocking the hole that had linked them together from the beginning.
Schuldig led Yohji out of the fire exit and towards the block of flats they both reluctantly called home. He wasn't certain what had just happened. Yohji had slipped, he'd slipped, his mouth had fastened, albeit briefly, over Yohji's (all those excuses come true) and suddenly he'd had a mouth full of dick and his only thought had been 'I wish Yohji had gone commando'.
Schuldig knew perfectly well he found Yohji attractive. The Japanese man had fascinated him for a while, with all his traumas. He'd been fun to torture. With Asuka and Neu and all those aborted relationships and one-night stands, Schuldig had happily declared him an emotional volcano, awakening fitfully from its dormancy to douse passers-by and innocent bystanders with liquid hate and burning pathos. Schuldig had also harboured the suspicion that Yohji was a repressed homosexual. Who else would date quite so many women, unless he was in denial?
But still, all things considered, he hadn't expected such a… a 'ready' reaction from the ex Weiss assassin. Sure, he'd thought Yohji found him attractive (who wouldn't?) but their closeness and induced a violent reaction that Schuldig wouldn't have expected even if Yohji were actively lusting after him.
The silence lengthened with the evening shadows, and Schuldig was aware he'd have a long night ahead of him. As Yohji calmed down, Schuldig became more aroused. He could still taste the blonde's underwear, and the idea that Yohji might be more than willing, in flesh at least, reminded him that it had been a very long time since he'd last had sex.
They entered the building as the last natural light faded into the constant light pollution, the eternal twilight that was increasingly common in cities across the world, but nowhere so spectacular as Tokyo. If you squinted and strained your eyes, you could maybe make out a few faint stars, lost in the orange haze. Later, when more people were asleep in bed, the sky grew clearer, but it was winter and parent's were still settling kids down for the night or sitting down to a nice meal, while Yohji and Schuldig faced the many hundreds of harsh concrete steps to their respective hellholes.
Schuldig sat down on the first step. Yohji barely spared him a glance as he started to make his way up the steps. Schuldig grabbed his ankle.
"Do you think we need to talk?" Schuldig asked.
"No."
Schuldig couldn't think of anything to say to this, so he let go and listened to Yohji's monotonous plodding as worn shoes grated on rough concrete. It was a steady, regular rhythm, and Schuldig found himself being hypnotised into a doze by the heartbeat like thudding.
"Oy, what you doin' 'ere?" a tired voice groaned. "Get outta the way, you great oaf." A middle-aged woman pushed past him, petite but round, like a soft doll. Schuldig resisted the faint urge to grab her legs and press his face against her stomach, like he had to his mother, a long time ago. Mothers everywhere seemed to have the same apron, stained with a thousand meals prepared and tears dried. The pitiful nostalgia threatened to overwhelm him, and he forced himself to his feet before he could get too sentimental.
He wasn't a sentimental person, by nature. He had no great love for the touchy-feely side of things. Schuldig was all 'id', all primal pleasure urges. Lust, want, hate… what he did feel he felt strongly, in waves of unbridled passion that drove him through an otherwise mind numbingly boring life. Without passion he was just a vaguely malicious young man, like billions of other young men.
On the fifth floor he encountered Yohji, who had collapsed, physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted, curled against a whitewashed wall. One side of his head was covered in white dust, making him look older than he was. No, that was just the years of pain showing in Yohji's eyes and long-suffering expression, the whitewash just lightened the blond hair.
Schuldig didn't have to say anything. With a sigh Yohji clambered to his feet and fell into step beside him. Both pale faced and sallow, papery skin and bloodshot eyes, lank and greasy hair, lethargic and apathetic, it seemed the only difference was the hair and eye colour, and those were barely noticeable.
But no matter how terrible they felt, the fates had more planned for them. Dead-eyed and deadheaded, Yohji walked straight into his door. He stepped back, frowning. He was tired past exhaustion, shattered more than he'd imagined he could be. Even the most strenuous mission had never taken it out of him like this. The only comparable time had been after Asuka's death, when the pain and loss had left him desolate.
Schuldig, who'd opened his own door, glanced across tentatively when he heard Yohji rebound from the cheap chipboard. Yohji was frowning at the door.
"I left that inside," Yohji murmured.
"Yeah, and you didn't have one of those when you left this morning either," Schuldig gestured to the piece of paper pinned haphazardly to the door. He was willing to bet you could see the point of the pin on the other side. Yohji looked baffled, then the last colour drained from his face. He turned, ashen to Schuldig, stubbing his toe on something by the door. It was the can of tuna.
"I've been evicted," Yohji said, voice leaden. "Goodbye."
"No," Schuldig caught his arm as he walked past. "You… you can't."
"Can't what?" Yohji asked, voice acid. "Who the fuck are you, to tell me what I can or can't do? I'm tired, Schuldig. My life fucking sucks. Stay out of it, okay?"
"No. I can't. You can't leave me here. My life ain't exactly peachy either, if you hadn't noticed." Schuldig pulled Yohji closer. "Come on, you can't quit now. Ain't this the point when things can only get better? Only way is up?"
"Sure, then there's a hell of a lot of down, and a splat. I want the splat."
"No you don't."
"Yes, I do."
"No, you don't. You can't. There's more than 'splat' to life."
"There's more than 'splat' to death, too, but it's cheap and easy. Or would you rather I garrotted myself with my wire?" Yohji tried to push away from Schuldig, who tightened his grip. "When did you decide to grow a conscience, anyway? What's it mater to you what I do?"
"If you die, I'm going to follow. I can't be alone here, Yohji, I'm going nuts." Schuldig shook him. "All these voices, all this pain and misery and then there's you who's full of more pain and misery but it's familiar and it's what I expect from you and… and…"
"You really are going nuts," Yohji said. "Look, I'm sorry. See my point of view? I'm legally dead. I have no friends, no family. I have no money, and fucking terrible job which I lost today, thank you very much, I have no home, no food and to be quite frank, I have no fucking idea what to do about any of it. So if you'll kindly let go, I'll make the world an overall happier place by removing myself from it."
Schuldig kissed him. It was desperate, it was futile, it was messy. It was in no way romantic. There was no instant ecstasy, no realisation of true love, nothing but one guy sticking his tongue down the throat of another. As frantic gestures went, it was probably one of the least romantic Schuldig could have made.
"Are you quite done?" Yohji pulled back sharply. "What was that?" Schuldig flinched.
"I didn't do that for the reason you think I did that," Schuldig told him.
"Oh, and what reason is that? Pray enlighten me," Yohji snarled. In Schuldig's experience, by the time someone started using the word 'pray' he or she was too angry to think about anything other than the fight. Yohji looked apoplectic, which was an improvement on depressed and melancholy. At least he'd put off committing suicide until he'd killed Schuldig.
"You think I did that because you're going to kill yourself and I thought I was going to miss an opportunity. Bullshit."
"Bullshit? I know you want to fuck my arse off," Yohji clenched his fists and stared at Schuldig. "You spent so much of today being so bloody nice and so fucking sincere… that was all you wanted, wasn't it? You think now I've made up my mind to die I want care what the fuck I do. You think I'll spread my legs for you, coz it won't make a difference. Well, I do. I'm not gonna spend my last few hours like some fucking whore!"
Schuldig slapped him.
"You're going to spend the last few hours of your life in a comfortable bed surrounded by grieving friends and family," he snapped. "I'll kill you before I let you kill yourself!"
Yohji snorted. Schuldig's brown furrowed and he took a threatening step towards him. "You know I will," he warned.
"So why did you do it?" Yohji almost shrieked. "Why the fuck did you kiss me?"
"Because you thought you were going to kill yourself and you didn't want to miss an opportunity!" Schuldig grabbed him, hands closing like steel vices around Yohji's arm. There would be rings of bruises the next day. "You're alone, Yohji. You hate it. I'm alone. I hate it. We're not alone. Get it?"
"So, you think I want you, but you kissed me for purely selfish reasons?" Yohji asked snippily. "Sure, I understand. I won't kill myself because you'll be miserable. I'm sorry I even brought it up."
Schuldig shook him. Yohji's head slammed into the wall a few times, but Schuldig didn't stop. Schuldig's eyes were wide and bloodshot, a vein pulsing in his temple. Yohji was reminded of the first time Weiss had seen him since the Omi incident. Hate and rage crackled in the air, almost tangible.
"You will not die! You can not die! Stop it! Stop talking about it! I won't let you leave too!"
"Too?" Yohji asked, dazed but clear headed. Schuldig abruptly released him. "What happened, Schuldig? Where are the rest of Schwarz?" His voice was soft, conciliatory. It hadn't occurred to him to wonder, before. He'd assumed Schuldig had left of his own volition. But if this wasn't the case…
"They left," Schuldig said shortly.
"Are they dead?" Yohji asked.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Schuldig bit out. To the surprise of both, Yohji shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe. I climbed out of the sea, and I didn't know where they were. I mean, I know Brad could swim, and I'm pretty sure Farf could, but I've no idea about Nagi. But I climbed out the sea, and I was wet, and my ears were ringing, and my head hurt, and it never occurred to me to check… Brad always knew where to find me…"
"God," Yohji murmured.
"Yeah."
"At least I know Weiss are alive," Yohji said to himself, "or were, last time I checked. I mean, they might be dead, I guess… That would explain why no one's contacted me, right?" Yohji frowned at the filthy floor. Schuldig frowned at him.
"No, it wouldn't. Kritiker still have you on their files." Schuldig rested a hand gently on Yohji's shoulders. Unconsciously, Yohji's hand crept up to hold him, entwining his fingers into Schuldig's. "All we have is each other now, Yohji. Don't leave me. You know I'll only follow," Schuldig offered a small grin.
"Where else can I go? I have nowhere," Yohji pleaded. The longer Schuldig kept him here, the less he wanted to commit suicide.
"Live with me," Schuldig said easily.
"Where? That's practically a closet in there! We wouldn't be able to stand in there together."
"So? It's what estate agents call 'cosy'."
"I…"
"Have no other option and would love to take you up on your offer, most wonderful Schuldig?"
"Sure, why not?" Yohji bobbed his head and smiled. Schuldig moved his hand from Yohji's shoulder to around his neck, pulling him into a light hug. Yohji stood there awkwardly while Schuldig nuzzled his neck. Back poker-straight, arms clenched against his sides, eyes staring blankly ahead, Yohji was the picture of discomfort. He'd had his moment of gay-interest for the day, he felt certain, and Schuldig nibbling on his ear and tousling his hair was reawakening his earlier suspicions.
"Calm down," Schuldig soothed. "If I wanted you as badly as you seem to think you'd be mine already. I can control your mind, remember." He pressed his nose into Yohji's hair, and regretted it. It was in desperate need of a proper wash, and smelt pretty foul.
"So why did you try to persuade me to stay? Why didn't you just make me?" Yohji tried to pull away, but Schuldig held on. It was nice having some kind of physical contact with a person. It made it so much easier to define whose thoughts were whose.
"Because as soon as I slept you'd snap out of it. Besides, it's not the same."
"I'm tired," Yohji admitted. Schuldig finally released him and stepped back.
"Yeah. It's been a tiring kind of day, hasn't it?" Schuldig leant over and hit the doorknob with the pack of his hand. There was the sound of overstressed metal giving up on a bad job, and the door swung open. Schuldig wandered into the tiny room and sat down on the futon. Yohji stood awkwardly. The sky glowed through the cracked window, splintered into spider webs of light by the faults in the plastic that separated inside from out. Technically it was night, but both men could see each other in the dim glow.
"Is it very stupid to ask where I'm going to sleep?" he asked dejectedly.
"Pretty much," Schuldig smirked, taking off his boots and lying down. "Snuggle up, katzchen."
Yohji didn't move. "Perhaps this isn't such-"
"Sure it is. Look, I'm clothed. Look at the clothedness of me. The multiple layers of clothing. And, oh look, you're clothed too!"
"Can it," Yohji said, lying down in defeat. The narrow futon ensured they were pressed together. Schuldig pressed back against the wall, careful not to press through it, but there wasn't much he could do.
There was a noise in the darkness.
"Is that your stomach?" Schuldig asked incredulously. Yohji blushed. "But you ate so much in that cinema! How can you be hungry?"
"I'm not," Yohji growled. "My stomach's just not used to having that much food in."
"You're not going to be ill, are you?" Schuldig asked cautiously.
"No."
"Sure?"
"Yes."
"Good. Do you mind if I put my arm over you? If I'd known how uncomfortable this was going to be…"
"Knock yourself out," Yohji said with resignation. The warm weight on Schuldig's arm, pale in the ghostly city light, settled itself comfortingly over Yohji's waist. It was going to be a long night.
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