Yea, sorry about the lateness! Starting school, you know? Hectic and all… anyways! The chapter!

Chapter 4: Crossing Borders of My Mind

Morning came too early for good health. Crawford was up at three and didn't look at all tired, most likely because he had drunk an entire pitcher of coffee. Schuldich was tired but happy and Farfarello looked like he was nursing a hang over, which meant pain, which meant he was almost gleeful. There was no surprise, in my mind at least. I, however, was just there. I was just tiredly, annoyingly, boringly, suffering, heart-brokenly there. My eyes were still puffy from crying myself to sleep again.

What had I been thinking? Why in the name of all Japan did I kiss him? And now I had to live with it over a 14-day period in a foreign country and struggling with a language I pretended to understand. This summer could not get worse, yet.

In the airport, I waited on a leather bench until Schuldich finally got through security. It was almost foolish. They were complaining about his malicious grin and sly gaze. Crawford was rabid at seeing them pat him down. Back then, I didn't know why he would get so uptight about a few guys checking Schuldich for knives or drugs or something, but now, unfortunately, I do.

Farfarello, on the other hand, had to keep most of his blades in his mouth to hide them from security. I didn't know why he wanted them so badly. He could've just bought new ones in Italy. He nearly cried when they confiscated his half-empty bottle of Guinness. Miraculously, the security guard said that they served alcohol on the flight. I shook my head and prayed that I was sitting by myself, though I knew I wasn't. It always went "Crawford and Schuldich, " then "Farfarello and Nagi." It sucked, but that's the way it went, the way it always went.

Astonishingly, they didn't find my stash, which would have killed Schuldich to find out that I was an addict. Before a long flight too – he would lecture me the whole time in my mind, which is worse than in person. Right before I had sat down after security, I swallowed another three painkillers.

I don't really remember why I became addicted, or how, but I knew it was around my 9th birthday. So, it was six years ago, but somehow it seems only months ago, or I wished it were. After all, "I can quit any time I want".

Fiddling with the black lighter in my hand, I reached into my pants pocket and brought out a half-empty pack of cancer sticks. After removing one and placing it firmly between my two lips I lit it and blew out the smoke I knew would someday choke me until I couldn't breathe anymore and died. Still, I let the gray mist swirl around and around in the air, trying to imagine my cares and worries drifting away with it. Too bad it didn't work.

"Hey kid," Schuldich said kindly as he sat down across from me. I didn't even look at him, I didn't want too. I felt as if I had betrayed him by kissing Siberian, as if I had betrayed my entire team, but I wouldn't tell him, and he couldn't tell, could he? You never know with Schuldich. Still, I felt as though he always knew what was wrong with me. And I don't think it was just telepathy that he could read minds through (maternal instinct probably).

I took another drag and blew out the gray smoke cloud again, swirling it into a pattern with my mind. It looked almost like an ocean. Some pain in my heart returned and I longed to take another few pills.

"Venice, eh?" The German was trying to make conversation with me, for what reasons I did not know. It scared me, so I crumbled and looked at him, expecting him to shove a cream pie in my face.

But he wasn't holding anything. He was looking at me with sad eyes, which was quite an unexpected sight. I blinked and sat back, startled by the kindness in his manner. Deciding to answer him, I stuttered out, "Y-yeah… cool…"

The orange haired man got up and slid into the seat next to me, taking the cigarette out of my mouth and staring at it, pain underlying the melancholy in his gaze. This was very new to me. Never had I seen Schuldich look at anything that way, even when he turned and looked at me like that I was at a loss for words.

He smirked and put the cancer stick back into my mouth, giving me a look of weariness. "When'd you get hooked on those?"

I resented that remark; I had been smoking over 3 years and he hadn't the decency to notice the smell of nicotine and arsenic stuck in my breath next to the minty-freshness of mouthwash. Still, it wasn't as though I did it openly, but it did make me feel very small in the world. "A while ago," was the best answer Schu would be getting out of me.

The German looked over to the coffee shop, where Crawford stood, looking incredibly important and pompous as an ass. Yet Schuldich smiled, and in those gold eyes were memories, which I could not see, but feel. Then it dawned on me; they were in love.

All this time I've lived with them and I didn't even notice that they were lovers. It sucked my breath out as I held my fag loosely in between two fingers. Lately it had been more and more obvious, but I never caught on to the thought. The idea that Schuldich and Crawford were an item kept escaping my grasp like I was chasing a mayfly, but suddenly it had become incredibly apparent. As if an invisible file had been placed into my head and I was only just reading it, I realized it, and saw in the German's eyes just how deep that love was.

"Sch-Schuldich…" I said looking at him as a wad of ashes fell off my cigarette and onto the cheep fabric on the ground. The orange-haired man looked back at me and smiled, as if understanding entirely what I had just found out. "You and Crawford?"

"Yeah… Quite a shock, eh, chibi?" he answered, his smooth voice flowing in and out my ears. I just took another drag on my fag and stared into space, running a hand through my hair. It made sense… that's all I could really say to the uncovered relationship, that it made sense. (Author's Note: chibi means "little" in Japanese. I think this is a cute nickname Schu has for Nagi.)

After Schuldich had moved to sit with Crawford in the coffee café, I sat there thinking that I would have been a lot happier if I hadn't of kissed Siberian. It was more than just stupid, it was idiotic and I was plainly to blame. What the bloody hell did I think a stupid kiss would do? (Besides of course making the Weiss member question his own sexuality and my sanity.) Really, it must've been the heat of the moment… whatever heat the moment was holding…

I was lost in these thoughts until someone called my name: a certain crazy Irishman, who held ice cream in both hands. "Nagi, care for some breakfast?" he asked, grinning like the maniac he was. Not only did the sight of the ice cream make me feel guilty for not eating a GOOD breakfast, but also it made me feel guilty for keeping these secrets locked up inside me, unable to be shared with my team mates. Grimacing, I took the cone from Farfarello and began to lick at the strawberry-flavored frozen goodness, trying to look on the positive side, for once. Needless to say it didn't work.

"So, you know what we're gonna do in Italy?" he asked, licking his own ice cream. I rolled my eyes and closed them, imagining being back in my head. Licking my lips I said, "Travel, duh."

"Well, yea, that's a given, but what're we really going to do? What do you want to do?"

"Sleep." I said in all honesty. I think he took it as an insult, but I was serious. I was sure that there was nothing to do in another stupid country, so I just planned to do as little as possible in my all-black wardrobe and eyeliner-penciled dreams. Dammit, I should've stuck to that plan.

On the long flight, I was stuck with an aisle seat as Farfarello snored next to me in our very large and comfy first-class seats. We switched planes a number of times, but our baggage was checked the entire trip through, so we never had to collect it. All I did was sleep and watch movies, and steal those packets of peanuts with my telepathy from the snack carts.

I hate flying: it makes me feel helpless. Think about it. You're up about 20,000 feet in the air and going faster than any living thing could go, so if something goes wrong, you're at the mercy of a 5-ton machine and the laws of physics. That's enough to scare anyone out of flying. But during these flights, I sat in back of Schuldich and Crawford, and that was pretty entertaining.

On the last few hours of the day, when the sun was just rising in Rome, where we were landing, I looked in front of me and saw Schuldich, obviously asleep, leaning his head on Crawdad's shoulder. Crawford looked at him and kissed his nose lightly. Something about that was inexplicably cute, and made me wonder, that if two guys like that could wind up together… that maybe, just maybe, I could be happy with Siberian…

So we landed and got a taxi to take all of our bags and us (which were small and few) to our hotel. It was the Hotel Guiliette near the Trevi Fountain. We checked in and were given keys and let me tell you, I doubt that there was a more thankful time in my life up till then we I finally jumped onto my own bed in my own room of a small Italian hotel just as some Vespas whizzed by below my window.

I can't remember how long I slept, because there was no working clock in my room, but I woke up around twilight. Being reenergized and almost happy, I then grabbed some of my stash and chugged it down. Outside, people were singing and yelling at some restaurant down the way. I wondered where the other Schwarz members were.

Down the hall I wandered, knocking on Schu and Crawdad's door. Crawford opened the door slightly, still in a starched suite and necktie, looking at me as if I were about to burst into flames because of my own damn fault. I asked him what there was to do and he said promptly for me to be back around midnight, gave me about 250 Euros and sent me on my way. Of course, then I didn't ask why he wanted me to leave so badly, but, again, I do now.

Going back into my room, I took a quick shower, put on some more black clothing, despite the heat outside, and fixed my eyes with black eyeliner. As I looked in the mirror, I thought that I looked pretty cute, which was a big deal for my low self-esteem and me. But really, I was. I had nicely shaped blue eyes, looked innocent and somewhat tragic, and my hair was soft. I grabbed my money and Crawford's gift of Euros and hopped out into the cobblestone street.

I had no idea where I was going, but if worst came to worst, I could always grab a taxi. The streets were fill with little groups of people, Italian and tourist, young and old, men and women, all there just to enjoy the night. I passed many restaurants with waiters beckoning me in, but I didn't oblige until a waiter of about 20 years offered me a rose, calling out, "Bella, come, eat with me in this fine night." How can anyone say no to that? And I was getting extremely hungry.

I sat and ate, watching people pass and wondering what had happened to Farfarello. He was probably in a bar somewhere complaining about the lack of Guinness. But really, who comes to Italy to drink Guinness? No one. That's why I ordered a bottle of champagne.

Dinner came and went, consisting of past, red sauce, alcohol, and an after dinner mint. I paid with a rather large tip for the "scenery", and was off on my way again. Suddenly, I passed a cute little ice-cream type place and walked in. All around were tiny bowls and cones, and little sherbets and creams, which I guessed was the famous gelato.

"Young sir, what are you having?" the old man behind the counter asked. He was almost ancient, and looked too tired for good health, but his eyes still smiled. Quietly I got a cone of lemon and walked out again.

No one knew me here. They didn't know what a horrible mess I was, my past, or my present. They didn't know about my assassinations, my freak powers, my drug addictions, my smoking habits, or my infatuation with another rival guy. It was almost refreshing… but I couldn't help wishing someone did know me. I felt alone in the company of my own teammates.

I turned my gaze upwards, above the streetlights of Rome, were the same stars I see in Japan… but they were different. With all my heart, I wished for someone who would understand me and where I was coming from… Someone to love me the way I loved Siberian. If only I knew even his real name.

Now, thousands of miles away, the same feeling, only duller, came back to my lips and a tear slid down my cheek as I began the long walk back to my hotel room.