Author: NagiLite

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Would someone who OWNED WeiƟ Kreuz write fanfiction? O.o Somehow I doubt it.

Warnings: Um, I can't say where this story is going...but there will most DEFINITELY be hints of shounen ai.

Notes: Honestly, I couldn't think of a really catchy title...This just came to mind. ^-^v



ACT ONE: Imitation



He'd always enjoyed pain.

Not his own, of course. He'd had so much pain already. He wasn't a masochist. No, he liked to watch as others were forced to feel the same agony he felt every day, the hurt in their eyes, the knowledge of betrayal, the way they kept on hoping until that faith snapped in two--

And was gone.

It was a terrible thing, despair. But he could identify with it, and he was fond of their despondency. He fed off of it, wrapping himself in it until his own problems disappeared. For a few moments in time, it felt so GOOD...

Good in a dirty way.

Afterwards he sometimes curled up in his bed with a book, loosing himself yet again, not to pain, but to fantasy. Not nearly as fun, but it pushed the guilt away.

The obsession began simply enough. He noticed how sharp and in control Crawford looked in his white suits and glasses. He admired that control. He desired it. And he thought the only way to truly attain it was emulation.

He hung up his boyish uniform and spent his paycheck on white coats, white shirts, white trousers, white ties.

Schuldich teased his endlessly about it.

"Na-gi," he said, drawing the name out into two distinct syllables, "You haven't got a CRUSH on Brad, have you?"

"No," Nagi replied calmly.

The next step was a pair of non-prescription glasses, since after all, Nagi's eyesight was 20/20. But the spectacles were a nice touch. He later stared at his reflection in quiet appreciation. He was much quieter now. What was there to talk about?

He brushed his hair differently, forced it from its messy ways. It would have to behave from now on. Crawford's hair was rarely messy.

If Crawford noticed the change, he didn't comment on it, passing by Nagi only at mealtimes and on Schwarz's missions that were few and far between.

Nagi stopped singing in the shower; too childish. He only ate American food products and the occasional bowl of rice. Eventually, dust gathered on his once loved monitor--Crawford seldom used a computer, and so, neither did Nagi.

/Bishounen, this obsession's going a little far./ Schuldich 'said', genuine worry in his thought-tone.

"Keep out of my head," Nagi said, using a reply Crawford had used often.

Snickering, Farfarello would stare at Nagi for long periods of time as if he knew something the telekinetic didn't. Nagi bore it stoically, because that's what Crawford would have done.

On missions, Nagi was efficient and silent, hacking when it was needed, battling when asked. He smiled at the pain in his victim's eyes. It was a small part of himself that shined through his masquerade.

But he felt in control. He could be who he wanted. Do what he wanted.

At night in his dreams he saw brown eyes and a triumphant grin. White business suits, dancing through his head.

Months passed.

One day Nagi stood in front of his mirror, watching his reflection as it mimicked him. He was no longer Nagi. He realized that hurt more than all the pain he'd felt before. The Bastard Child of Schwarz, the angsty kid with the freaky powers, well, at least he'd BEEN someone! He shook his head and pulled off his Crawford-like glasses. He stripped away the white suit and ran a hand through his hair, smiling slightly as it went in every direction.

At least he'd...been...SOMEONE...someone...he'd been...someone...

He went to his closet and retrieved a crumpled gray uniform from the crooked hanger it had clung to for so long.

He'd been someone.

He'd been Nagi Naoe.

The uniform was cool against his skin.

His reflection nodded in approval.

Nagi Naoe.

Schuldich looked up at him when he plopped bonelessly on the living room couch.

"Hey. You're you again."

Nagi shrugged noncommittally. Schuldich rolled his eyes and went back to the program he was watching.

Later that evening, when Crawford came home, Nagi caught himself staring at the man.

Strange. The power that was contained in every movement. The control. Nagi knew it wasn't something that he could attain by mere imitation. And maybe he didn't want it for himself.

Maybe he just liked the way it looked on Crawford.

A warm glow spread over his cheeks.

Schuldich gave him a knowing smirk. /Told you you had a crush on him./

'Do not.'

/Do too./

'No way.'

/Don't deny it./

Nagi sighed and leaned his head on his arms, all the while keeping Crawford in his sight.