Crawford watches.
So much of his life has been spent in one form of watching or another, his precognition making him the ultimate voyeur. And he's watched this one so many times, seen him in his dreams and visions and knows the man he'll grow up to be.
Tsukiyono Omi. Takatori Mamoru. Bombay. And now, finally Persia. There will be another name, later down the line, but he doesn't know it yet. Can feel it on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be spoken but it's not there yet and he doesn't push, knowing better than to fight his visions. The future isn't something you can control but rather something that has to unfurl slowly, a teasing dance of memory and possibility coming together. His abilities tell him that Omi is something special but anyone with eyes can see that. Can see the way he picks through the crowds, oh so polite and skilled as he circuits the room. He moves with the grace of a killer, smiles like a warm-hearted child, and his blue eyes are temperate, the stamp of experience giving him something innate, something magnetic. Crawford feels it calling to him. He wants--
But this one isn't meant for him, no matter how he might like it to be otherwise. Trying to change the future would only delay it and perhaps it would be worse to have tasted of the young man, to get a feel for him and then have that taken away than the prospect of forbidden fruit.
He can control himself. He will control himself.
Sometimes... sometimes though, when Omi's eyes fall upon him, his smile altering just so as Nagi takes him by the elbow, leading him towards another important person to talk to, to meet, it's damned near impossible not to try. Not to wish things were different. But the future isn't something to be fought, it just is and he's as swept up in Persia's unfolding story as anyone. He wants to see the end, to know what will happen, to see how this one will remake the world because if anyone can do it, its this elfin boy, deceptively thin and delicate looking, but with the will and heart to do what's required.
It isn't Schwartz that would destroy the Weiss but Persia. He had foreseen it. Their blood would buy peace and irrevocably set Omi's path. It all came down to timing.
Abyssinian knows. He can see in violet eyes, boring into him from his perch against a nearby tree, forever the outsider, forever longing for Omi. Forever denied. Fujimiya Ran knows something is up, that Crawford knows something concerning Omi and like an errant Lancelot has set himself up to watch over the boy in spite of the fact that Nagi was more than capable, will kill even Crawford should he try anything.
He tips his head toward the assassin, watching his eyes darken and then turned away, brushing his immaculate suit. Fujimiya still doesn't understand his place, that he is, just like Crawford, is caught up in a story not his own, pulling everyone and thing into its orbit.
It's Omi's story and not even he can see it all the way to the end. And that intrigues him. The unpredictability, the air of chance... It's far more enticing to him than all of the beauty or power or sex in the world.
***End