TITLE: Song of the Gentle Wind

CHAPTER: Four

BY: Simply Kim

GENRE: Yaoi (Angst/Humor)

CAST: The guys from Weiß and Schwarz… who else? ^_^

DISCLAIMERS: The series I'm referring to do not belong to me… ^_^

* * *

CHAPTER 4: Voice of Heaven

There was still much time before dawn breaks... almost everything seemed so calm... so serene...

"No!"

Almost... except a troubled heart.

"But I thought -"

"Sensei, I will not do as you say... I will do something else, just not what you ask me to do."

"Fujimiya Ran, what I say is the order around here. I get to tell you what your capabilities are and how to improve them. Now, I can safely say that my judgment is never wrong. You are fit for doing what I ask of you, and then you're telling me that you don't want to?" The young dark-haired maestro yelled, throwing up his hands in frustration. "What would you do? Overwork trying to learn a damned instrument when you obviously weren't cut out for playing one? Sacrilege!"

Ran did not say anything. All he did was glare at the maestro. He knew the guy was right... yet he could not bring himself to submit to what the instructor wanted. "I will not change my mind." He muttered darkly, so incensed that the maestro even too a hasty step back at the sight of the silently glowering boy. "I am already twenty years old, and I will do what I want to do."

With that, he turned and walked away, the clatter of his boot heels echoing in the endless marble corridors of the faculty building.

The maestro sighed, shaking his head.

"How long are you going to keep up with this?" He murmured quietly, watching the ethereal figure disappear behind the oaken door.

* * *

The sound of the piano keys was haunting in the early mornings... and almost everyone in the music domicile listens to it the moment they pass by towards the cafeteria for breakfast.

The person playing the instrument would continue endlessly, plunging into the haunting tones of Beethoven and Bach, of Schubert and Chopin... zeroing to a tune still indefinable - something not heard before...

Everything would sound almost perfect...

... Until the playing would stop and a single heartfelt cry of frustration would follow, making the heart of every person listening break...

Schuldig heard it.

Farfarello heard it.

They exchanged a look of sympathy... and trudged wordlessly towards where the sound came from.

It was time that this stops.

* * *

Crawford was miserable.

"I habe dith." [1]He muttered to himself - sneezing after he did so.

Yes, his cold was still plaguing him, bordering almost to being flu. His hands were shaking as he held up his forkful of salad in the air. He glared at the offending piece of who-knows-what that resembled a piece of graying chicken before taking a bite. He immediately grimaced, his lips twisting from the taste - actually, the lack thereof. With a look of distaste, he let the fork clatter on the porcelain bowl - an imitation of a porcelain bowl to be more precise, and glared at Farfarello who was nursing a cup of mocha latte.

"Don't glare at me like that." The Irishman mumbled through a mouthful of icy beverage. "I know you're being you, and I know I should not be offended, but something's amiss in those eyes."

Crawford's eyes took on an almost manic glitter.

Still, it did not seem to have any effect on his friend. Farfarello just gave him a smirk and continued guzzling the concoction he was so fond of. "I'm not worth a lifetime in prison Brad." He said. "You don't want to kill me."

Fiery American blood boiled in his body. A vein popped on his forehead and he raised a shaking fist at Farfarello, his eyes promising a single powerful punch on the head. "I saib I wanteb do ith! Dis ith notb *Achoo!* fub!"[2]

"Yo, Farf! Hallo Crawfish! What's up?"

Crawford groaned, slumping down in defeat. Great, Schuldig suddenly appeared. Now he would have to deal with two of the peskiest people he had ever had the un-pleasure to know.

"He's too used to posh places." Farfarello smiled, setting down an empty on the decaying wooden table.

"Oh, I see." Schuldig grinned, settling himself on the wrought-iron seat next to the blond. "He's so overloaded with money that he's not used to eat in cafes like this one... understandable." He nodded, self-satisfied.

"Thib ith a café?"[3] Crawford could not believe his ears. The rundown place is a CAFÉ? Since when did a place consisting of waitresses with slutty personalities and multi-colored hair become a café? Since when did cafés serve limp salads and bad pastries? He eyed his croissant with obvious revulsion.

"Yes, Brad, this is a café, believe it or not." Farfarello stated, raising an eyebrow at the look of hate in his friends eyes - over the piece of bread sitting quietly before him. He wanted to laugh, but he knew that it would only annoy the American further. After all, Annoying Quotes 101 is Schuldig's department. "Not all cafés are like those in New York. There are downtown places like this that exists too."

The German nodded his head in agreement. "Ja, and downtown cafés serve better coffees too - well, most of them." He gestured towards the still-steaming cup of thick brown liquid left unattended beside Crawford's plate. "We often come here for coffee even before you started studying here a year ago..."

"It reminds us of many lessons in life"

"Like whab?"[4] Inky eyes darkened.

"We decided to bring you here to show you more of what we are like." Farfarello supported, smiling and nudging the cup towards a slinking Crawford. "You don't know us too well even after all these months... and you obviously weren't warming up at the idea of having a major change in your life. Therefore, what we are trying to do now is to show you what is good, and what is not."

"That drink's excellent, try it!"

Crawford glared at the offending chipped mug. "I don't knowb why youb orbered me cofi... I hateb cofi!" With a sigh, he finally succumbed to his friends' insistence. Closing his eyes and bracing himself for a pure onslaught of badly mixed coffee, he took a sip... and his eyes snapped open in wonder.

"Itd gud!"[5] He exclaimed, sipping from the cup again. "Wow."

Farfarello and Schuldig exchanged triumphant glances.

"Now, do you understand?" Farfarello smiled, raising a hand for the bill.

"Untherstanth whab? Thath thisb place is gud."[6] Crawford raised an eyebrow in question.

"No, I supposed he doesn't." Schuldig grinned at the Irishman, his green eyes glittering with amusement. Then, he turned to him. "We're just showing you, Bradley Crawford, that not every person is like you. Some would be different - a lot different in fact - because they see other things besides those that are not at all pleasing to the senses."

"Huh?" Now he was weirded out. /Since when did Schuldig talk like this? Jei is really rubbing off on him...What do they -/

"I don't understand..."

* * *

"Where's Ran?" Ken asked Omi and Youji as he sat with them near the fountain. "I haven't seen him all morning... now, it's past lunch time! I wonder if he ate already... He seemed to have skipped breakfast..."

Youji was grim. "I don't think he wants to be disturbed." He murmured, avoiding the looks of surprise from his friends.

"You know where he is." Omi said falteringly, noting the lack of amusement on the elder man's face.

The blonde's face was unreadable.

"I saw him returning to his room before the crack of dawn." /Not to mention that I overheard him angst last night.../ "He looked so down."

Ken's voice took on a worried edge. "What do we do then?"

"I don't know."

* * *

Crawford sighed for the umpteenth time, trying not to let a scream of frustration out of his mouth.

He was a pianist.

He should do his job - not obsessing over the fact that he could not even compose a good piece so early in the afternoon...

With a final sigh, he closed his eyes and let the music he created with his fingers carry him above the hills and into consciousness' azure skies.

Yet, the fact remains.

The music he was playing was not his.

He was playing the music composed by those who came and died before he was born.

Not his...

His world seemed so dark... so pointless...

<<"Now, do you understand?" Farfarello smiled, raising a hand for the bill.

"Untherstanth whab? Thath thisb place is gud?" Crawford raised an eyebrow in question.

"No, I supposed he doesn't." Schuldig grinned at the Irishman, his green eyes glittering with amusement. Then, he turned to him. "We're just showing you, Bradley Crawford, that not every person is like you. Some would be different - a lot different in fact - because they see other things besides those that are not at all pleasing to the senses."

"Huh?" Now he was weirded out. /Since when did Schuldig talk like this? Jei is really rubbing off on him...What do they -/>>

Oh.

He immediately straightened as a realization crashed down on him. Suddenly, a bright smile graced his features.

The salad may be limp and tasteless at the same time; the bread may be bad, but there are still things in that café that are quite good...

I may not be perfect. Everything may be down... all my attempts at creating artsy compositions may be a complete failure, but there are still things that I must consider before giving up altogether... I still have my talent in playing the piano, and that is good.

I should learn to see fine things amidst the dire ones.

I should learn to be more positive.

Jei, Engel, thank you...

"I understand."

* * *

Ran was miserable.

He was still huddled on the bed inside his room, and tears were still streaking down his puffy eyes.

I do not want to sing... It reminds me of so many things...

He closed his eyes and memories came rushing back.

Aya... Otousan... Okaasan...

I cannot sing... I -/

I cannot...

"Help me... please..."

* * *

TBC

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A/N: Well, what do you guys think? ^_~