I want to live

Warnings/notes : Schuldich/Omi, Schuldich pov, slight darkness, oocness probably, Aya being mean to Omi and slapping him (once).

Disclaimer : I don't own Weiss Kreuz. The song 'The animal song' belongs to Savage Garden. Lyrics slightly altered.

[!]Spoiler : Aya's name, Omi's past (a bit of it)

written at 25th may 2003, by Misura, part 1 of 3 [?]

I don't know why I picked this song really ; somehow when listening to it, this couple popped up in my head. Connections between lyrics and 'story' aren't too strong I'm afraid.


//When superstars and cannonballs

Are running through your head//

"You seem not your usual self today." I remark, sipping my coffee and studying my current infatuation. I'm not in love, you see ; I don't do love. Just flings.

"Oh?" He stares at the milk, swirling around in his coffee as he stirs it with his spoon.

We are at our usual spot ; a nice cafetaria in one of the many back-alleys of Tokyo. To list all of them would be a life's work, which means they offer us a reasonable amount of anonymity.

This one's not different from any other ; we happened to stumble in here the first time we met for something else than a fight. The drab they serve for coffee isn't too bad and it's cheap.

Not that either of us couldn't afford something more expensive. But we don't care enough to go elsewhere ; we come here to be together, not to enjoy a delicious cup of coffee.

Taking another swallow, I can't but agree with that last thought. Even Farfarello brews better coffee than this and that says something!

//And television freak show

Cops and robbers everywhere//

My more-than-one-night-stand sighs. I feel slightly offended at his attitude ; is watching the liquid in his cup more interesting than me, than talking to me, than feasting his eyes on me?

It's not arrogance to say I'm a sight to behold ; not many people in this place have red hair. Well, one of his team-members does, of course, but in any comparison between Ran Fujimiya and yours truly, I'm guaranteed to come up on top.

I look gorgeous and I know it.

"Come on, kitten, talk to me." I try to coax him into a conversation. Usually he's so talkative I sometimes feel obliged to lock him out to spare my ears. It's one of the few useful things they taught us at Rosenkreuz.

All of us use it at times, especially Crawford. Poor Brad, I almost pity him sometimes.

//Subway makes me nervous,

People pushing me too far//

"What about?" Tsk, tsk, he sounds really depressed. I wonder what happened to him to wipe away his eternal sunny smile. It's like a personal insult to me ; having someone else influence his mood so heavily.

This kitten happens to be mine ; if I want him to laugh, he will laugh. How dares someone else take away his smile?! If I could, I would take him away from the world, never to let him go again.

It would kill him, as sure as his darts kill his opponents. But any man needs some dreams and this happens to be mine. It's an innocent one, compared to some of the others I've had over the years. Almost cute.

"Anything you want." I offer generously. Bring it on, sweet, let's hear that story of your exciting day at school once again. I can take it, especially if it'd return the light to your eyes.

Oh yes, eyes like his are meant to shine. They're wide and blue, like the skies on a cloudless day.

//I've got to break away

So take my hand now//

"Don't want to." he mutters. "Don't want to talk."

Well, we really can't have that, can we? I didn't come here to hear you don't want to talk to me ; you're not following the script. You're breaking my rules.

By default, you are forgiven yet this does not mean no punishment is due. Someone will pay for my wasted time here, for the time spent to bring back your smile.

"Tell me what happened to you." I propose. "Tell me. I will listen."

He looks at me. His eyes are empty, void. I feel like killing. I feel like ripping something apart with my bare hands, like giving in to the madness that's always there and watch the blood dripping from my hands, red, like my hair.

I'm a predator ; I'm not the type to cuddle and cherish. Those I care for I will defend until I tire of them, no longer care and throw them away. "Tell me."

//'Cause I want to live, (like animals)

Careless and free (like animals)//

"There was ... a mission." he starts finally. "A mission. We were supposed to kill a person."

I nod. Isn't that what all missions are about? Nothing can be accomplished if you're not prepared to eliminate some problems first. Life can only be achieved through death.

And while the words tumble from his lips, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, I watch the tale unfold before my mind's eyes, seeing all of it. The pain, the betrayal, the hurt.

I feel something snapping in me as I watch Abyssinian backhanding him, while Siberian and Balinese stand by in silence, neither condemning nor approving.

Oh, I know what a thing like that feels like, what it can do to a person without too much defenses to the harshness of reality. A person like my soft and far too sweet kitten.

//I want to live

I want to run through the jungle//

"He was right in hitting me, I know, I know, but it hurts." His stream of words come to a halt.

The feeling of deserving what happened, of having earned it, all too familiar to me. Of course it's never justified ; it's never right if someone you'd trust your life to harms you like that, but it happens and what can you do about it?

The next day, you wake up with the bruises. They fade in time. Perhaps the scars on your heart will go away too. It's impossible to forget about it though ; trust has been broken.

Trust can't be repaired, not ever. A justification is sought, not for feeling betrayed, but for the act of betrayal itself, for the person causing your pain.

Because it can't be their fault, can it? No, no, it has to be you. You did something wrong and they only corrected you. They were right and you were wrong.

//The wind in my hair

And the sand at my feet//

"Don't blame yourself for what he did!" I snarl. "Don't you dare!"

I remember another child, a child of the sun, so happy. So much like him who sits next to me.

That child is lost. Gone. Dead.

His eyes are uncertain now ; I know he wants to believe me. He wants to, yes, but some part of him doesn't allow him to. The part of him shaped by Kritiker.

It has always been there for me to see, yet never so clear as at this moment. It's like a curtain hanging between us, keeping me out.

Perhaps there is a way to break through it though ; a key to let me in.

"Omi ... I love you."