Chapter 5
Much gratitude extended to reviewers KyraEnsui, Liz Rose, katsugai gummie, Misura, aionwatha, x Faded Illusion x, kaelina, gyuumajo, Wildfire 2, Zeto, Celace, tyranimo, and rebelyell59. Thank you so much for commenting!
"MMMNNnNnnnnnnnnn!…." The dark haired boy groans. His softly tousled head moves against the pillow as he stretches his neck, exposing the surprisingly graceful curve of his throat. The coverlet falls free of one young brown shoulder as he unconsciously allows the back of one hand to fly up and scrub his sleepy brow. Sated, he drowsily lets the hand fall back above his head.
His brow wrinkles slightly at the feel of cool metal. He holds his breath as confusion seeps through his fog of slumber. His fingers,seeminglyindependent of his mind,are already feeling along the smooth expanse of cylindrical bar within arm's reach, trying to find out what it is. His sense of touch still can't place this metal bar, or its companions, in a familiar memory, and Ken is roused out of the last remnants of dreaming. His eyes blink open, baffled, to stare at an unfamiliar, but not unpleasant, scrap of ceiling.
His eyes roll to his upraised limb that grasps what turns out to be the frame for the bed he lies on. His mind seems somewhat detached, but not worried. Interesting, he thinks.
He returns his gaze to his surroundings, not bothering to get out of bed. The morning air is decidedly cool, and he is decidedly warm and comfortable, as is. No need to go changing things.
The walls around him are red brick, the ceiling held up by sturdy wooden beams. It seems to be an apartment or loft of some sort. There is light spilling from the white painted window sill on his right side. He rolls to get out of bed. The pain lancing down his ribs stops him before he gets very far. Leaning down to inspect what's hurting him, he discovers his side is neatly bandaged with white gauze. And that he's down to his boxers.
With a hand to his side and a growing sense of nervous curiosity, he gingerly makes his way to the window. Urban German streets glow with the sheen of a recent morning rain. Across the street there is an apartment building, quite similar it seems to the one he's occupying. Sleek, fuel-efficient vehicles are parked neatly along the gray curb, and a florist is shooing a marmalade cat off her store's doormat while a guy in a dark coat flicks a cigarette butt into the gutter. It's a pretty normal cityscape. Except that, for the life of him, Ken can't figure out why he's here.
A light tapping and polite cough announce the presence of someone at the door. Opening it, an older woman with her iron colored hair done up tightly in a matronly knot hints at a brief smile before her face becomes more business-like.
"Master Schuldig will see you now," she murmurs, indicating that he should follow. He gulps. Her mouth straightens into a thin line as she takes in his state of undress. "Hmm." She says. She turns her back to look for something in a dresser near the door. The deal from the night before dawns on Ken with the mention of the redheaded German's name. He feels like his stomach has suddenly turned inside out. An unanticipated, irrationalsense of panic assails him. Before he knows what he's doing, Ken looks for avenues of escape. Could he hide in the closet? No way. Jump out the window? Fat chance, it's three stories up. Too late. The matron is back. She chucks clothes at him. "Get dressed," she says, tapping her foot and apparently supervising. Her level gray eyes book no room for argument, so he gulps again and meekly obeys. The clothes aren't his, but fit well enough, and Ken notices that they are of the city's latest fashion. Ken got a glimpse of the price tag for a similar shirt in a store window earlier that week. This Schuldig guy looks like he's got cash up the—
"Are you ready now? The master doesn't like to be kept waiting." Matron is getting a bit annoyed. Apparently she runs a tight ship. Or apartment building.
Ken's stomach has now skyrocketed to wedge itself in his throat. With every step down the stairs, his unease increases. He's not quite sure what he's feeling, but his indignation he remembers feeling from the night before—nights before?—has all but evaporated. He feels like it's the first day of school in a new town.
Cigarette smoke twirls transparent ribbons around the slender fingers of the young man lounging face up on the back of bench near the science buildings, his arm extended above his head with supreme nonchalance. He takes a slow drag, holds it indefinitely, and breathes it out in a seductive stream that makes smoking look romantic. It is, too, until the cloud hits down-wind Ken and starts him coughing. And coughing. And coughing! His healthy lungs can't stand the poisonous fumes. Yohji sits up in one smooth, graceful motion, flicks the stick's ash with practiced efficiency, and starts to laugh. Quietly, then chuckles, then roars with laughter. His eyes close as he shakes with mirth and even the forgotten cigarette trembles in his hand. Ken recovers, and stares dumbfounded at this gorgeous being laughing in the middle of the quad. He knows, before Yohji even finishes wiping the tears from his eyes, that he wants to see this man laugh again. The lanky blonde cracks an emerald eye open. "Hey, athlete," he calls. "What's your name?"
"Ken?" a voice inquires. Whoops. Ken snaps back to reality. Somehow he's made it to an office of some kind. It's Schuldig calling him, from behind a heavy hardwood desk. There are papers stacked in various piles, and sticky notes everywhere.
"Finished looking around?" The redhead smirks. "Get used to it. I'm sure I'll have you play secretary sometime or other. Thank you, Mrs. Holken." With a cure nod he dismisses the gray haired woman, and she closes the heavy oak door with an audible thunk.
"Who are you?" Ken manages a whisper only. It's hard to ask questions of this man, who backed by even the weak gray light of a cloudy morning exudes such an overwhelming aura of confidence, power, and shrewdness. His red hair glows like ember fire, and his green eyes are of an indescribable luminosity. It's enough to make the soccer player's head swim.
Ken's all but forgotten the question he's posed to the German, which works out well anyway since Schuldig decides ignore him. The taller man begins his own interrogation. "How did you get here Ken?" he asks directly. Ken finds himself curiously enthralled by those intelligent green eyes, and stumbling for a feasible answer.
"Uhhh," he mumbles, remembering the fragments of that raw-nerved weariness and the hellish walk back to …where? And why was he…? "Didn't you bring me here?" he asks, perplexed.
"No, Ken," the man sighs, as if repeating a question to a child. "How did you get here, to Germany?"
"Uh… uh… a plane." Ken says weakly. Schuldig's non-negotiable stare compels him to complete his answer. "I was looking for someone."
"Who were you looking for?"
"Just someone, all right?" Ken's voice is strained noticeably higher. "I didn't find them, and I got lost."
"You got lost?"
"Yeah. I got lost on the subways. Then I fell because I was tired and I hit my head and I woke up here. That's it."
"Hmmn," Schuldig murmurs. Ken mildly starts to panic. Having done most of the talking, and still knowing nearly nothing about the other man, he feels vulnerable. He tries to turn his nervousness into an intimidating show of anger, just so he can be on level footing—
"Don't bother," Schuldig says, "to pretend that you're angry. You clearly feel helpless, naïve, and lonely. You are also very much afraid of me." His eyes flick to Ken's open-mouthed astonishment. "Do you disagree?" Ken finds himself speechless. "I thought not. Now, you asked for a policy of 'no lies' from me, which I'll honor. In return, I expect absolute honesty from you. In all matters. Is that understood?" Ken just blinks.
Schuldig steps up quickly to Ken and grips him none too gently by the shoulders. "I asked you a question, Ken." Somehow, he's crossed the line. Ken's temper flares up.
"Hey, screw you! I'm not a little kid that you can order around. Get your hands offa me!" Schu's grip tightens. "I said leave me alone! I'm not scared of you!" Ken tries to wriggle out of the taller man's hold.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Schuldig clucks his tongue as he holds onto the squirming brunette. "Stubborn little kitten, aren't you. Lemme show you who's boss." He raps Ken sharply on the ribs with his knuckles. Immediately, Ken hunches over and bites his lip to keep from crying out. A soft whimper escapes. Schuldig still holds him securely.
"Now, does your side hurt you? This is an easy question." Ken grimaces but doesn't answer; his fingers press tightly against his bruised ribs and he pants lightly.
"Ken!" Schuldig says sharply, and Ken meets his gaze. "Remember what I said about honesty. Does your side hurt you?" Grudgingly, Ken answers yes.
"I see. What else are you feeling?"
"Anger."
"No. I'd thought we'd settled that. A burst of irritation perhaps, but not anger. You've spent that already. What else?"
"I'm…hungry. And thirsty."
"And?"
"And this is stupid. What do you want out of me?"
"I've already told you how you feel. Now I want YOU to tell me how you feel. I want you to say it and know you're saying it."
"Well forget it."
"Are you attracted to me, Ken?" Ken stops dead in his tracks.
"What?" he chokes, mind whirling.
"You heard me. Are you attracted to me?"
"I uh, uh—what the hell!"
Schuldig smirks. "Its all right if you are, a lot of people are, men and women. Part of what makes my business so smooth. It helps if you're well liked by the customers. So, what's your answer? You see, you're not a very good liar. I didn't bother to have you elaborate on that puny excuse for a story you dragged in just to pick it apart. Not worth my time. This, however, is. Are you attracted to me or not?" His gaze pins Ken.
"I uh…" The brunette searches for anything, anything to get out of this. But there is no answer that will save him— other than the truth. He resigns himself to complete humiliation.
"…yeah," Ken finally admits. He cringes, expecting a derisive snicker, but none comes. Instead, genuine sympathy and near concern show on the older man's face as he looks at him thoughtfully. Ken's brow wrinkles as his other emotions bob to the surface, stirred up by the exposure of something extremely personal.
"Go on," Schu says softly.
Everything comes out in a torrent. "I'm homesick and sad and lonely and tired and mad and scared and hopeful and depressed and curious and my head's buzzing and my side is aching and I think I'm getting a bad headache. I'm confused, I don't know what the hell you want me to do, and frankly, this whole thing is bizarre beyond belief."
Schuldig chuckles. "It probably is," he agrees. His voice takes on a serious tone. "Do you see what I mean about honesty? That was a test. You need to understand that all information, even of personal preferences and feelings, needs to be divulged in certain circumstances. The reasons vary. You must comply with that, do you understand?"
"Yes, I understand. I'll tell the truth." Ken stammers, and curses himself for acting like a twittering idiot in front of this man. He should not agree so readily, dammit! It's all he can do not to have his knees buckle. He feels raw and exhausted.
Schu releases one of Ken's shoulders and places one long fingered hand under the little brunette's chin, tipping it up to examine his face with unexpected gentleness. Ken's breath has become suddenly short. Schu tilts Ken's face slowly to the left and the right, perusing the features, complexion, hair and eye color. "Good," he murmurs. "You'll do nicely." Abruptly, Schuldig shoves Ken away. His eyes darken.
"Never," he grates. "Let someone get as close to you as I just have Ken. Not in my service. That includes me. Got it?" His hawk eyes pierce Ken.
"Yes." Ken says softly, confusion clouding his features.
"Yes, sir!" Schu barks.
"Yes, sir!" Ken repeats, louder. The tenseness in Schu's frame relaxes visibly.
"Good. Go out that door and down the hall. You'll find Mrs. Holken, and she'll find some breakfast for you. I'll call you later in the day and we'll discuss your work situation, pay rate, etc."
"But—I—"
"You are dismissed, Ken." There's a steely edge to Schuldig's voice that tells Ken to leave, even though the redhead is already absorbed back into his paperwork.
"Oh—kay," Ken breathes. He turns to leave.
"Oh and Ken," the pleasant voice drifts over, belying the threatening strength beneath. "Don't even think about trying to leave before your three months are up. If I have to, I will chase you down to the last fiery furnace of hell. And when I get you, you'd have rather stayed."
He winks. "Enjoy your breakfast."
Ken gulps, and moves gratefully to the door. As soon as he's closed it behind him, he curses. No explanation on his job, where he is, or even who Schuldig was. If that was even his name. He didn't even get to yell about the goddamned drugged water.
"You needed rest and you know it. The water just made it easier. And you asked about poison, not sleep-inducers. Be specific next time." Ken hears Schu's voice coming from the communication box mounted on the wall just next to the heavy office door. It clicks off. Ken curses again. And then because he's got nothing else to do, goes in search of breakfast.
Oooh, scary Schu! Intimidating poor Ken. But is there more than meets the eye? Let me know what you think! Thanks! --Lady Kickass