RedemptionMoon : Whoa. 474 hits under a week... and climbing. Wow.
Just some notes, many people have been asking why Schuldich didn't just look at the records at who had paid for Ken's bills. Well, personally, my idea on that was that Crawford would have routed the payment through cover names which will be untraceable to him. He isn't exactly hankering for an image of philanthropy in case people decide to flock to him begging for help. Another thing is the image he wants to keep with all his business associates and rivals of being a ruthless no-nonsense bastard. Sorry, I neglected to mention it because I didn't think people would care. :P
Ooooor, you could choose to think that Schuldich is just plain dumb.
Your call. LOL.
Thanks to all who reviewed. I'm doing a project now so I really can't reply to your reviews yet but I will next chapter. Rebelyell, Tryster, xxkurenaixshixx, WhisperReilman, Chahiya, Cat in the web, Kati, Bine, Mariki and Lady Kickass. You made my week. I love you all! LOL.
P.S. I was so excited to be back, I kept on checking the reviews daily. That's how fanatic I am with reviews! (hint hint, nudge nudge)
More notes at the bottom of the page concerning the story. LOL.
† † †
It was a rather pleasant awakening for Crawford. His sleep had been miserable, haunted by nightmares and the teasing heat of his fever.
Even in his sleep he was vaguely aware of the illness that plagued him... but there was still yet another awareness that gave him comfort- a presence that kept him from waking up in terror or crying out in pain.
It was a presence that kept the nightmares away, like a hunter keeping the mad wolves at bay, and after the tumultuous storm that rocked his sleep, the clouds drifted away and set him at peace. He knew there was a hand that held him.
His eyes opened, still hazy from sleep and he saw a shadow surrounded by a halo of blinding light.
His eyes cleared and he saw Ken's face above his, haloed by the bright sunlight from the chinks through the curtains. Somehow, the brunette had leaned forward in the course of the nights and nodded downward, as if he was watching over Crawford from closed eyes. His right leg had been propped up, unconsciously perhaps from the numbness, and his arm no longer supported Crawford's head. Instead, he was resting on Ken's left thigh, and he noted with some strange emotion that one of Ken's hands was resting innocently on his cheek and the other gently on his shoulder.
It was no wonder why he felt so safe.
It was amusing. He was the older man with all the financial (and otherwise) power possible right at his fingertips and yet here he was, like a child.
Feeling frail, yet protected.
Vulnerable yet sheltered.
Broken... yet whole.
It was he who needed protection and comfort.
For a long time, he did not move. He was content to merely watch the face of the person who kept the devils away.
The person who had touched him like he loved him.
The person whom he loved... and wished was capable of loving him in return.
Crawford's heart was not dead. It was only frozen for a while... and now, it once more was thawing in the warmth of the coming of an allegorical spring.
And he once more closed his eyes, nestled in the warm cocoon of promise.
† † † +
Ken felt as if he had awakened to a different world.
His head throbbed and his throat burned, he felt parched. He groaned softly and pursed his licked dry lips.
Slowly, he lifted his head from its resting place.
The room felt really warm.
He stared owlishly around at the room, still dazed and disoriented as he tried to blink away the tendrils of his dreams and wave away the remnants of his fantasies. It was then he felt the warmth/numbness on his leg.
In his still- hazy state of mind, it didn't really surprise him to see Crawford peacefully lying in slumber, head rested on his limb.
Maybe he had thought so much about it the night before that his brain just chose to accept the fact that Crawford wasn't as invincible as he made himself out to be.
As impersonal as he might've been, Ken had remembered random acts of kindness so subtly hidden under imperious gestures. And then he tried to dissect Crawford's various mannerisms- trying to figure out what meant what and which meant which.
He found that rather difficult considering that Crawford generally had one expression at all times of day – hard-assed, no-nonsense, mess-with-me-I'll-shoot-you look.
And then he compared that image with the Crawford lying on his lap, hair damp, long lashes pearled with beads of sweat.
He found that for some strange reason... he liked both sides of the man; the cold, relentless bastard and the fragile person pretending to be strong.
Ken hesitantly brought his fingertips to the midnight-coloured hair and ran them through the silky length.
He looked so much more peaceful now, his brows had ceased to cross in pain sometime during the night, his head tilted tenderly upwards while he had turned somewhat to his side in a loose curl, his long legs half stretched over the length of the bed.
Ken found himself cherishing the tender moment of himself with a sleeping Crawford because he was perhaps the only person to see him like this in a long while. He doubted the man tolerated Farfarello watching over him in his sleep... one simply did not ask the eerie one-eyed Irishman to watch over you while you are unconscious. It was too... unnerving.
Besides, Crawford probably thought that needing someone would mean he had a weakness... and that was an image he obviously he didn't want to portray.
But he was capable of being weak too! Ken's muddled thoughts protested. Images of the night before flashed unrelentingly before his mind's eye and his cheeks burned when he once more felt Crawford's touch on his lips.
He shook a little.
Hot and cold. Hot and cold. The room was changing temperature at intervals. Or maybe it was because of the memory of Crawford...?
His mental focus was teetering into uncertainty.
Why was he feeling this way? Is this some psychobabble bullshit about the captive getting emotionally attached to the captor?
It didn't really feel like that.
But in some weird way, it felt like the night before changed everything between the two of them.
Crawford had needed Ken.
And Ken felt that he had said so although not exactly with words.
He placed the tips of his fingers on his lips absently, running them over the smoothness of his lower lip.
Crawford might not have said so... but the way he touched Ken in his fevered almost-delirium and the way his cobalt eyes looked at him... it was as if he was asking Ken to stay.
Maybe that was why he did stay.
Ken felt needed. It was exactly what he needed to feel.
Crawford was now stirring, rolling ever so slowly on to his back, obviously not fully conscious as of yet.
Ken stretched his tired leg and watched Crawford's eyes flutter open, much the same way they flickered closed the night before. Detachedly, he gazed as the older man raised his hand over his eyes as if shielding them from a blinding beam of sunlight.
Crawford blinked slowly, and raised his chin to meet Ken's eyes.
It was rather disconcerting for Ken to stare back at Crawford without the usual glasses on. He felt like he was trespassing or prying into Crawford's solitary world like an intruder.
He never really thought about it, but Crawford's glasses seemed to be the barrier of his eyes from the world. In a way, it was Crawford's mask, his visor. His eyes always seemed colder, harsher.
Ken glanced up once more from his brooding... and then his heart missed a beat.
Crawford brushed his fingertips gently against Ken's cheek for just a fraction of a moment... and then the touch was gone.
" Hi." Ken managed to croak out, swallowing his heart and willing it to slide back down his throat and nestle once more into his ribcage where it belonged. He mentally congratulated himself on the monosyllabic greeting.
" Hello."
Ken was taken aback that Crawford actually deigned to reply.
They stayed there for several more minutes, unmoving as statues until Ken, uncomfortable with the silence, stammered from nervous lips "Are you... uh... feeling better ? Er... you had a really, well, bad fever last night."
Crawford seemed to turn the question in his mind before answering. He had closed his eyes once more and Ken had thought he had fallen asleep again. He was just lying on the bed, motionless.
And then he once more opened his eyes and gazed at Ken with the tenderest of smiles. It was a smile that betrayed the things once lost.
" I'm glad you stayed." His voice was so soft that Ken almost thought that he was merely imagining the statement.
A warm feeling exploded in Ken's chest as he slowly felt himself smile back.
There was nothing he could say to that.
† † †
Ken opened the large windows leading to the balcony and stood there for a moment, just relishing the feel of the early morning air and the warm sunlight playing on his skin.
There was no one in the garden below. Crawford despised hearing activity under his window when he woke up, which was why the gardener always started his work right after Crawford left.
The rest of Crawford's property stretched forward, like a seemingly unending expanse of grass, flowers and carefully-manicured trees.
Ken felt like he was in paradise...
For a moment.
And then he felt the guilt hit him like a merciless storm.
Schuldich.
Had he just betrayed Schuldich by feeling happy? By not trying to escape again? By... feeling something... anything but hatred and distrust... for Crawford?
His hands gripped the railing until his knuckles turned white.
He stared out and saw the redhead's face looking back at him, his smile as brilliant as the sun...
Schuldich never disguised how much he felt for Ken.
And he knew he loved Schuldich back... so much that he felt that his heart would burst whenever they were together.
Schuldich was...
... he was perfect.
And Ken was an ungrateful wretch.
He cradled his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking in regret, in fear and confusion.
He betrayed Schuldich.
He betrayed...
Schuldich.
Schuldich.
Schuldich.
Schuldich.
His mind chanted the name. And then the image of Crawford started to twist and slither its way into his brain.
He wavered, his confused mind made him dizzy... perhaps it was because it was he hadn't eaten the night before, expecting to share the meal he had cooked with Farfarello.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned stricken eyes to the face looking at him.
Crawford was standing there, tugging him gently inside, away from the sunlight. It was as if he knew that he was pulling Ken away from the memories of Schuldich and drawing him back into the world he was in-
"It's a little cold out there." Crawford said simply.
Truth was, Ken felt suffocated, but he said nothing and instead quietly responded to Crawford's pull.
He sat down mechanically on the bed, his thoughts still trained on his 'betrayal'... despite the fact that nothing serious has happened as of yet.
Crawford seemed to notice his apathy.
He knew because Ken's eyes were trained far away, unfocused.
"I'm changing." He announced, and proceeded to take off his silk shirt unabashedly in front of Ken, slightly smiling when the other colored lightly and looked away.
Well that achieved its purpose.
Crawford strode to a magnificently-adorned dresser and took several cylinders, popping their contents into his mouth before flinging them carelessly away, not minding when they fell and spilled the contents onto the floor.
Pills. So that's what they were. Ken thought distractedly. He sure took enough to be and addict...
Then he walked towards Ken... and stopped right in front of him, his lips twisted in a cynical smile.
There he stood, just basking under the sun like a god, half-naked. His white dress pants almost glowed blindingly under the scrutiny of the gold beams, as if spotlighting him.
He seemed full-recovered from his illness from the night before, looking as trim and powerful as the day that Ken first saw him.
He broke the silence. " Could you give me the two bottles in my desk drawer ?" He asked slowly, tossing his shirt onto a nearby chair.
For a moment, the old, domineering Crawford was back; commanding, ordering.
Ken glanced at him for a split second before hastening away to procure the items asked of him. Hesitantly, he stepped into the center of the room, into the stage and the spotlight.
He stepped onto the imaginary dais upon which Crawford the god stood waiting for him. Images of him the way he is now and the way he was the night before battled in Ken's mind and he tried to ward them all away.
He tried to forget that for some obscure reason, he was drawn to both sides: the hero and the shadow, the strong and the weak, the sun and the moon aspects of Brad Crawford.
He felt the sun on his back immediately and felt the cool breeze rushing in from the fragrant flower garden in front and beneath the room, unsettling his chestnut hair.
" Ken."
He handed the pill bottles mechanically, his eyes averted- but the temptation was too strong and he couldn't help but raise his eyes to meet Crawford's compelling gaze. Eyes unimpeded by his clinical wire-rimmed glasses. They seemed so much more expressive than the way the usually were.
It was as if Ken could almost see through the navy orbs the depth of Crawford's soul and he found himself being drawn... magnetized and drowning in them.
Crawford took the small cylinders in his hand but did not let go. He merely gazed at Ken through unveiled eyes, expressing so much of what Ken couldn't understand.
Ken stood there, breathless without knowing it, then he found himself stepping forward with the gentlest of tugs and soon he was engulfed by the scent of Crawford's skin.
Crawford was so tall that Ken's nose nestled comfortable on the valley of his collarbone, his hot breath blowing cloudy trails against the soft skin and he inhaled the mild cool musk of the raven-haired man. He could feel Crawford's arms drawing him closer to his naked torso and soon he was enveloped so tightly that he almost felt as if he were a part of Crawford.
The sound of something falling was muffled by the thick carpet.
He stood there, unable to move not because he could not but because he would not.
And he realized that he had fallen.
And then just as suddenly as he found himself in Crawford's arms, he felt Crawford's lips gently probing his own slightly parted ones.
He was wrong.
Crawford did play dirty games.
But as he stood on the imaginary stage, under the kind glare of golden light, his fingertips tingling from the sweet sensation- somehow... he knew he couldn't resist.
† † †
RM : Goodness. When I was typing this down, imagining the scene in my head, that scene with Crawford standing there shirtless and Ken stepping up to him and Crawford hugging him... well it felt like it was rather... erotic.
There's no acceptable substitute for that. It's the perfect word for me to describe that scene. Erotic.
And as much as I'd love to see a real-life shirtless Ken, his innocence here is just too much to plunder. But Crawford... hmmmmm.
Let's just say he's turning into a close number two in the Weiß Kreuz hotties list right in there pulling hairs with Schuldich.
Just to make a comment though... as I was reading the reviews from last chapter, I noticed that despite it being a crucial chapter to define Ken and Crawford's relationship in the story, most people chose to comment about Farfarello. Strange. Was the Ken-Crawford thing there just too plain bo-rin' ? Or is it just that many people like Farfie over Crawfie?
Another note though, just so you'd understand my point of view as I write this, I think of them as characters who are falling in love. They're not gay, they just happened to be men.
I don't think of this as a homosexual relationship but more of as two characters from an anime who are both male... er... if that makes any sense.
Strangely enough, I'm moderately homophobic IRL and find it rather... er... disconcerting to see cross-dressing men and male-male relationships.
Sorry.
I AM weird:P