Schuldig woke to the sound of his cell phone. It rang with a shrill midi version of the Smurfs theme song. That had to be Nagi's doing, and he would pay, as soon as Schuldig killed whoever was calling him. He checked the caller ID. Yohji. Of course. The other three people with this number would just kick his door.

"I didn't give you this number so you could call me every ten fucking seconds."

"If you don't want me to call you back, don't leave raving drunk messages on my voice mail at two in the morning, asshole."

"I was not drunk!"

"You were so, so drunk."

"Was not."

"Were too."

"How old are you again?"

Yohji snorted. "I'm both younger and better looking than you. Does that answer your question?"

"I haven't had coffee. Why the fuck are you calling me?"

"Because you told me to, and if I'm awake this early, you should suffer too."

"How early is it? And I did not."

"Nine. And I quote, 'Booty call, baby!' Ring a bell? And then there was a lot of babbling about salmon mousse and eating gold leaf, and then you said to call you back."

It did, unfortunately, sound faintly familiar. And there had been a lot of free champagne at the incredibly dull party last night. And Crawford had looked pretty unhappy with him by the time they left.

"If you eat gold leaf, you shit gold," Schuldig said, for something to say.

"Yeah, I think you mentioned that." There was a pause, and then Yohji continued in a rush. "Do you want to get coffee or something?"

"What, now?"

"No, next year."

"Fine, whatever."

"That place near you with the weird pink sign."

"Fine."

They hung up almost at the same time, and Schuldig frowned at his phone for a few seconds. Coffee? That sounded almost like a date.

Yohji was already there when he arrived, slumped over a table near the window with his face in a cup of coffee. Schuldig got his own and joined him. A few seconds after he sat down, a waiter came over and set a bowl of chicken curry between them.

Schuldig recoiled slightly. "What the hell? It's breakfast time."

"Oh, God. I don't know. It sounded like a good idea when I ordered it."

Schuldig pushed it across the table at him with one finger. "If I'm the one who called you drunk last night, why are you acting like you're the one with the hangover?"

"I couldn't have been drunk too?"

"You weren't."

"If you're gonna read my mind anyway, do I have to talk?"

"What, you want me messing around in your head?"

"What difference does it make? You already know the only secret I've got."

Maybe that was true, and maybe it wasn't, but Yohji certainly believed it was. It made Schuldig want to go rooting in his mind for secrets he'd forgotten. Maybe later.

"The redhead woke you at five? For what?" Yohji just waved a hand, a gesture to continue. Schuldig did, and got a strange montage of blurred flowers and crankiness. "Unloading the delivery truck?"

Yohji nodded and slurped coffee. "He and Omi usually do it, but Omi--uh."

Schuldig rolled his eyes. "You just said I already know all your secrets."

"Yeah, but..."

"It's not magic. I don't need their names to put a fucking hex on them. I can just go break in and shoot them while they're asleep."

Yohji swallowed. "But you won't, right?"

And there, yeah, there was the fear Schuldig had expected from him all along. Schuldig smiled. "I might."

"Don't."

"Or what?"

"I know where you live. I know where your friends live."

Schuldig laughed. "You wouldn't have a chance."

"I would find a way." And Yohji believed that, too. It didn't take a telepath to see it. He still looked tired and pale, but his eyes were as hard as Schuldig had ever seen them. Images of explosives and sniper rifles flickered through his head.

He didn't really stand a chance, not seriously. Not if Crawford was paying attention. But Crawford didn't always, because he was an arrogant son of a bitch. Schuldig wondered how far Yohji would follow them if they left Japan, how long he'd keep trying. He was stubborn, and he wasn't stupid, or he wouldn't still be alive.

Yohji would be all on his own, obsessed and murderous and half-crazy. And lonely. A month, tops, Schuldig thought, before he could talk him into fucking again. He'd never fucked anyone who had serious plans to kill him. It sounded like almost too much fun to pass up.

But, realistically speaking, Crawford would probably order Yohji killed after his first try. That wouldn't make for much of a game.

Schuldig shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Relax. I've got no reason to pick on your little friends."

Yohji jerked his curry towards him and started eating, but his thoughts were still going a mile a minute, full of violence, choked breath, and bulging eyes.

Schuldig kicked his shin under the table. "You can't even shoot, can you?"

"Yes."

"Not that sniper rifle you were picturing."

"I can learn."

"I'll teach you."

Yohji stopped, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. Curry sauce dripped on the table.

"I'm serious," Schuldig said.

Yohji took his bite and stayed quiet. Whatever was going on in his head, it didn't involve thinking.

"Yeah," he said, after a second. "Okay."

There were times it was good to be a telepath, and one of those was when you had to carry a rifle case through a crowded lobby and into an elevator headed for the top floor.

"How hard is it?" Yohji asked. "To make sure they don't notice anything."

"You're not making it any easier talking about it."

Yohji sighed, but he shut up until they were in an empty office with the door locked. "Open the window," Schuldig told him just as he was about to ask again.

Yohji shot him a dirty look, but opened the window. Then he thought the question at Schuldig as loud as he could. It wasn't half as loud as Nagi could sulk, but still irritating.

"Don't yell, asshole. What the hell is wrong with you? I could make you jump out that window right now."

"The threats are getting old. Just answer the question."

"Fuck. Not that hard. Making you jump would be harder. But not that much harder."

"I'll keep that in mind. Let's see the rifle."

Schuldig shoved the rifle case at him and leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Yohji released the catches and pulled it out. He set it on the desk with a clatter.

"Hey, careful with that. That's precision German engineering."

"What kind is it?" Yohji asked. He found the magazine, checked it, and fit it in place without hesitation. It was more than Schuldig had expected of him.

"UA TPG-1."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I don't know. What do car model numbers mean? Who cares. UA is Unique Alpine, the company that makes it."

"Never heard of them."

"Watch me be not surprised."

Yohji frowned. "I thought these things were all bolt-action."

"Well, you watch too much TV. It's accuracy versus speed of reloading. Farfarello prefers speed, and I've never seen him miss a shot with this thing." Schuldig pushed him out of the way and shoved the desk up against the window. "Lie down."

Yohji did, and fitted the rifle to his shoulder, looking through the sight. Schuldig looked at his ass and slightly spread legs, but there'd be enough time for that after the lesson. For now, he sat on the edge of the desk and tried to recall what his firearms instructor and Farfarello had said about these things.

He lectured, pretty well if he said so himself. Yohji took it all in, with his face half-turned towards Schuldig, the skin of one cheek turning faintly pink in the sunbeam that fell across it. When he was done, he nudged Yohji over and lay beside him, pulling out the spotter's scope that hardly ever got used. Farfarello usually did this alone.

"Pick a target, any target. How about that guy down there, red jogging suit?"

"I'm not shooting people."

"I could tell you these aren't live rounds."

"And I wouldn't believe you."

"Fine, be that way. There's somebody walking a dog down there..."

"No pets."

"You're just making this harder on yourself. Birds? I assume you're okay with birds? As long they're not the pretty Polly want a cracker kind?"

Yohji's face flushed slightly, from more than just the sun.

"You're the one who wanted to learn this," Schuldig said. "You know what you do with sniper rifles? You kill people. Maybe if you're in the military or something you take out radios or explode mines from a safe distance or whatever the fuck, but you're not in the military, and the only reason you're ever going to use this thing is to kill. So stop being such a sissy and pick a fucking target."

Yohji looked back into the scope. "The bench down there in the park."

"There's no one on it."

"Gold star for observation."

"Jesus fucking Christ."

"I'm not killing anyone! How can you just-- How?"

Sociopath was the word hovering in his mind, but there was more weight to the question than that; less righteous outrage and more curiosity. Not just How could you, but almost How can I?

"I took a night course. How to be a remorseless killer in twelve easy lessons."

Yohji just looked at him.

Schuldig shrugged and took the rifle from him. He aimed at a man down on the street, about a block away, and shot a hole through his hat. He smiled a little as he watched the guy scramble after it and look around blankly for the culprit.

"Most people just aren't that special. You think it matters if they live or die, but it doesn't."

"It matters to them."

"Yeah, but I don't give a shit about them, and I'm the one on the twenty-second floor with a high-powered rifle. No, shut up," he said, cutting Yohji off. "You want to know why I don't care about their incredibly dull little lives. I want to know why I should. Would it make a difference if I told you Hat Guy down there kicks dogs or beats his wife? How bad do they have to be before they deserve a bullet through the skull?"

"We kill to protect the innocent," Yohji muttered, but it sounded more like the party line than something he believed.

"Yeah?" Schuldig laid the rifle down between them and nudged it towards Yohji. With both of them stretched out on their stomachs like this, heads turned to face each other, he could feel Yohji's breath, see the green of his eyes and the tight contraction of his pupils in the bright sun. "Better shoot me, then. Don't know how many innocents I've killed, but I know it's more than you've saved."

It was a lie, really. Nobody was innocent, and most of Schwarz's contracts were on people way scarier than Yohji had ever met. But it fucked with Yohji's head, and that was the point.

Yohji's hand curled around the barrel of the rifle, and, stupidly, Schuldig's heart rate picked up. Even if Yohji'd had any kind of decent training, Schuldig would still be faster, and a sniper rifle was no weapon for close combat, but--well, danger got him hard. And Yohji was so close, and his fingers smelled like gun oil as he touched Schuldig's face.

Somehow, Schuldig didn't see the kiss coming.

"Shut up," Yohji said. "Just shut up. I don't want to hear it." He hauled Schuldig closer and crushed their lips together.

A few minutes later, five thousand dollars of precision German engineering hit the floor with a dull clang. Schuldig barely noticed.