Chapter 2
The landscape below them is made out of a thousand different shades of gray, pocked with black shadows. The ground beneath his feet is made up of stone, cracked and scorched for as far as the eye can see, the splits remind him of chapped skin, torn and raw. Barren, craggy rocks occasionally stick up out of the landscape, there is nothing growing, no signs of life, the cold stone would not support it. The only color the blood red rivers that crisscross the pocked land like open wounds, even from a distance he can see that the water carries something in its current and he is grateful not to be close enough to have a clearer view. The world around him could have been picked out of the pages of Dante's Inferno rather than created by the mind of the young Japanese man who lived within it.
"Depressed again meine Liebling*?" Schuldig walks up behind the slender form that looks out over the world that his mind has created.
A grunt is the only response Schuldig receives, but when he wraps his arms around the other man's waist is he not shoved away. After a heavy sigh the smaller man leans back into his chest.
Schuldig lets his chin rest on the top of the crown of the other man's head and closes his eyes against the dreary landscape. A warm breeze dishevels his hair and he can smell the sweet heady scent of lilies, he can hear the sound of harpsichord and violins carried in the moving air.
"Who is this?" Aya asks him, hearing the music as well.
"Willem van Wassnaer," Schuldig speaks into the soft hair, "a much under appreciated composer. I like him very much." Schuldig begins to rock their bodies to the music, his eyes still closed.
"Is he German?" Aya passively moves with him.
"No, he is from the Netherlands," Schuldig chuckles softly, "How come you think if I like something that it must be German?"
"Because you always do." Aya is tensing in his arms, he wants to stay quiet and listen to the music, and "Everything you like is German."
"Not true, I like you and you are not German." Aya snorts sarcastically in response.
"Soon it will be spring," Schuldig says casually.
"So," the smaller man shrugs in his arms, the one word hinting at defensiveness.
"So when will you come out of this wasteland?" Schuldig pulls Aya tighter against him to keep him from pulling away. "Don't you want to see the cherry blossoms?"
"I can have those here," Aya snaps, a tree suddenly sprouting near him. Quickly it grows into a knotted cherry tree, pink flowers erupting on all of its branches before falling off in a storm of pedals. The tree withers and disappears as quickly as it grew.
"Impressive," Schuldig says sounding unimpressed, "but they had no smell. You can remember what they looked like but you cannot recall the exact smell."
"I don't need to," Aya shrugs again, "you bring me flowers, I can smell those. And when the cherry trees bloom I am sure you will bring me branches of it."
"And what makes you so sure of that?" Schuldig's temper is beginning to the get the better of him and he roughly turns the man in his arms around to face him, "How do you know I won't just walk away and never come back?"
Aya shrugs again, "Because you won't, or you would have done it by now."
This time it is Schuldig who snorts, knowing that Aya is right. He can not stay away from the smaller red head. He had tried many times over the last six years to forget about him, to leave him behind. But last year when Crawford had told him of the vision he had of Aya being stabbed and dying in the street and Schuldig had gone and dragged the dying man to the hospital He had finally admitted to himself that he could no more live without Aya then he could live without air.
"You are the confident one," Schuldig digs his fingers into sensitive ribs, "I never knew you were so vain."
"I am not vain," Aya says through clenched teeth, attempting to squirm away from the tickling fingers, "I am practical."
"Be careful of all that squirming, Pikkolo.**" Schuldig purrs, "you are going to get me excited."
"Is that a bad thing?" Aya artfully arches an eyebrow at him, the ghost of a smile on his lips.
"Neine," Schuldig gently pushes the thick bangs off of Aya's forehead, giving him a better view of the bright amethyst eyes. "But we have to do something about this," He signals the gray world around them, "it kills the mood, ja?" Schuldig concentrates recalling a place from his childhood. Around them the world starts to shift, slowly at first, the gray landscape begins to gain color, then rapidly changes. Soon they are standing in a simple garden. Deep green ivy and beds of yellow flowers replacing the gray rock. A small pond with a stone cherub in the middle of it replacing the blood red sea. "Much better," Schuldig smiles before reaching down to claim Aya's lips.
When Schuldig returns to himself he can still taste Aya in his mouth. The cd has finished a full cycle and is halfway through its second loop. The pale hand is still held tightly in his own. Carefully he places it at Aya's side before leaning in and softly kisses the full lips of the still man in the bed before him.
"Ich libe dich, bidchon,***" He says tenderly, again pushing the unruly hair out of the pale face where it has stubbornly fallen again, "I will see you tomorrow." Schuldig leaves the cd playing as he walks out of the room, so that Aya in his dream world will not get too bored until he can come back to see him again.