Words in the wind

Warnings/notes : Crawford x Ken, one-shot, not beta-read due to haste, fluff

Disclaimer : I don't own Weiss Kreuz.

written at 22nd april 2003, by Misura

For Windy, in the hope he will be a little less hard on Aya-kun now.


It was a warm and lazy afternoon.

A gentle springbreeze moved the leaves of the trees, shaking them gently.

The wind blew through the busy streets, packed with people hurrying to their various obligations.

Most of them were unable to feel it as it passed them by, too caught up in their thoughts.

Running down the street, it whirled upwards, to a balcony where a redhaired man was standing.

The smoke of his cigarette was softly kept from drifting through the half-opened door behind him, into the room he had left for a few moments.

Unlike the humans on the street, this person *could* feel the cooling breeze as it touched his face, ruffling his long hair just a little bit. Sighing in contentment he turned to the second figure on the balcony, who was keeping to the shadows, insofar that was possible at this hour.

"How long?" he asked. "How long, Crawford?"

The man adressed as Crawford shrugged. "The duration of this meeting depends completely on how many concessions both parties are willing to make and how soon they will say so. Even I can't predict how many hours that's going to take."

The redhead shook his head. "Not that."

"Then what?" the other man replied, stepping out of the shadows of the wall. "If you want a clear answer, you have to formulate your question in a clear way too, Schuldich."

The person named 'Guilty' glared. "You know perfectly well what I was asking about, Brad. But if you insist on playing word-games with me, as well as hide-and-seek with the truth, fine! Let me rephrase it then : how long are you going to keep thinking about Hidaka?"

Not answering, Crawford walked to the railing.

"I mean, what's so special about him anyway?" the redhead continued, discarding his cigarette. "He's just a kid, barely older than Nagi. He's not even pretty. His mind must be one of the most boring ones I ever saw ; about all he cares about is soccer."

And you, he didn't add. He cares about you too, almost as much as soccer. Does that make you happy, knowing you mean nearly as much to him as his favorite sport?

"He is not special." Crawford admitted, turning to face the other man. "And that's what makes him special to me, Schuldich. He is *normal*. "

"You know, you really are odd. There are millions of normal people out there. Billions of people just like your precious Ken." The redhead smirked as he noticed Crawford's back stiffening at the sneer in his voice. "More than enough to pick from I'd say. Why insist on getting the one who happens to be a member of an enemy team of assassins?"

"You wouldn't understand. Such feelings are beyond you I suppose." was the cool answer.

"Thanks." Schuldich snapped back. "Thanks a lot. And just what are you going to do when Estet orders us to eliminate them? Or him? They will, you know, if they find out."

Crawford stared out over the city below them. "The only way they could is by you telling them. Are you going to do that?"

Schuldich cursed in german. "You know I would never do that. Or at least, you *should* know that. But if you truly think my silence will be enough to keep the two of you safe from them, you're a fool, Brad. This thing between you and him can never last. And if you don't end it, someone else will do it for you. And you probably won't like that."

"I can make it last as long as I want." I will not give this up. I love him.

"Then on your head be it." I will not betray you. You can always ask me for help.

Not looking back, the redhead walked back inside, leaving Crawford on his own.

He checked his watch, like he had been doing rather frequently the last weeks. He frowned as he noticed the time ; still thirteen hours and thirty-four minutes to pass before Ken and he would meet again. An eternity. Hardly more than half a day.

Unable to trust any living person besides Schuldich with his secret, he whispered to the wind.

"I love him. I am in love with Ken Hidaka and I will never give him up or abandon him."

Then he too turned and left.

The breeze descended again, dancing through the streets, searching for someone, if such a thing would be possible. It wasn't, yet it appeared to be like that.

Finally, it found its destination.

A brownhaired boy was moving flowerpots back into the flowershop where he was working again, helped by one of his co-workers, a redhaired person with violet eyes, while not too far away a long-haired blond stood leaning against a wall, watching them.

"It's warm." he remarked, wiping some sweat off his forehead. "Too warm."

"Nonsense, you're just not used to working this hard, Kenken." the blonde replied.

"Neither are you, Yohji. So why don't you give Ken a hand?" a sonore voice remarked.

"No thanks." the man called Yohji replied. "I think I'll pass this time."

Before anyone could argue with that, he disappeared inside.

As soon as all the pots were in, the redhaired man left too, while the boy he had called Ken found a place to sit down and let his head rest in his hands. He was tired, more tired than he cared to admit to others or to himself.

He looked at the time and groaned. Closing his eyes, he leaned back, willing his body to relax.

"Too long." he muttered. "Too long."

Gathering the last bits of its strength, the wind carressed his hair, his cheeks, cooling them with its touch, trying to convey a bit of the coolness it had once possessed.

He loves you, it told him gently, he loves you and he will never give you up.

And then the breeze died down.

And the boy called Ken rose, refreshed, thinking that maybe thirteen hours weren't that long to have to wait after all. Before he closed the door however, he turned to look back.

"I love him too. I won't give him up either." he whispered.

In another part of town, in the middle of a business meeting, Brad Crawford shocked the other attendants by starting to smile all of a sudden, for no reason any of them could perceive.