Insomnia, jealousy and semi-gratuitous violence.
He's not wearing any shoes.
Schuldig: he's standing there, waiting to be let in, not wearing any shoes. He seems to have avoided the broken glass in the lift.
'What?' says Schuldig, and then, 'Let me the fuck in already.'
He doesn't seem drunk. Drugged, maybe? Then again, he's known Schuldig get like this before apropos of apparently nothing. He lets him in.
'I waited up for you, okay?' says Nagi. Now that Schuldig is actually back, his patience is wearing thin. He pushes back the urge to slap him for his ungratefulness - it would kind of defeat the point - and says instead, pointedly, 'If you want something to put on that bruise, there's ice in the freezerbox.' Then he leaves.
They're at it again anyway. It's only to be expected.
Schuldig is screaming, making no sense, and it seems Crawford must be waiting for him to tire himself out, as all Nagi can hear through the wall is Schuldig's voice, ' - what the fuck are you talking about, huh, where the fuck did you hear that, you can keep the fuck out, you, you fuck, you're not even listening to me, you -- '. It's not easy to understand him, through the accent and the cursing and the plasterboard wall.
He's being obnoxious, and making Farfarello restless too; Nagi can feel him pacing about in his room in anticipation of trouble of an interesting kind. Maybe Crawford will hit him soon. He's not shutting up; Schuldig. Nagi turns down his music to listen.
There: yes. Or maybe not. He's gone quiet, at any rate. Perhaps he's being held down.
A little less than a minute later, Schuldig stumbles out with his left arm curled a bit oddly against his body and leaves without taking keys, slamming the door like the teenager he still is, mostly. Nagi supposes he'll be needing to let Schuldig in again tonight.
When Schuldig comes back, Nagi stays up with him to watch re-runs of old manzai comedies, rationalising that he is at least semi-nocturnal himself and would be doing this anyway if Schuldig were not here. Schuldig is now sporting a yellowing elastic bandage on his left wrist. It's not new, and it's not theirs; but since Schuldig volunteers no information about it, Nagi doesn't ask. He's can't tell whether it's shivering or just fidgeting, but Schuldig won't keep still. Idiot hasn't slept in days - Nagi knows this, because he hasn't been woken by the by the noise Schuldig makes when he uses the bathroom late at night.
'Stop that.' He pushes Schuldig's twitching limbs away irritably. 'For -- ' - he starts to say, /for fuck's sake/, then realises he must be sitting too close to Schuldig. 'Just, take some barbs or something, get some rest,' he mumbles.
'Fuck it, kid.' He's staring intently at the screen, but his eyes aren't focused at all.
'He knows, right?' counters Nagi. 'He can't have not noticed. Why isn't he helping you?'
'I mean it, kid,' says Schuldig. 'You know fuck all about this, so you don't get to talk.'
After a pause, he looks at Nagi, eyes too wide, and says, 'Don't let me sleep, okay? I'm fine, but I can't let my guard down on this one.'
Nagi can't refuse such an entreaty, not with Schuldig so close and almost-confiding in him.
The next morning, they are introduced to an assistant of an associate of their employer, a young Indian man with small, unsettlingly soft hands, wearing a navy suit.
//Precog//, relays Schuldig. //Don't tell me you thought we were the only ones out here, kid//. Nagi watches him discreetly. From where he is, only a segment of Schuldig's face is visible: the cheek and jawline, but not the nose. He's gone very pale.
Crawford and Schuldig argue again, briefly and telepathically, once they get out - Nagi just catches // -- you bastard, you knew -- //, and Crawford's wordless assent to a question Schuldig has very carefully not asked, and then sees Schuldig visibly sag with relief.
'I used to know that guy,' explains Schuldig cryptically through his noodles at lunch. 'Like, not in a good way.'
Even had he not been half-expecting this order, he would have obeyed, of course. Such a terrible thing, high blood pressure.
They finish the day, then walk home. Only an associate's assistant after all; more a source of gossip than a reason for work to be disturbed. A freebie. This is probably Crawford's idea of a romantic gesture. Schuldig certainly seems to think so, the way he keeps his eyes on Crawford the whole time they're talking, the way he inhabits Crawford's personal space, the way their limbs brush, casual but never accidental. Nagi resists the urge to butt in, to point out, I'm the one that saved you, because honestly, what kind of a whiny kid would that make him look like? Besides, there's no reason it should matter to him.