Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Chains ❯ Seek Me ( Chapter 43 )

Chapter Forty-Three: Seek Me

His wet jeans were clinging to his legs in a very uncomfortable manner, and the stares of the fangirls were not helping. Had they limited themselves to looking, he might not be quite as frustrated, but Ken had been exposed to too much gratuitous touching in the last hour to be a happy camper. Plus, Yohji wouldn’t let him go change until they finished the damn wedding order.

Ken wasn’t good at arranging flowers on a normal basis, and under that kind of pressure he was even worse. But with Omi trying to make small orders for the customers, he had little choice but fall in and try to help Yohji complete the stupid roses. Had he actually been helping the blonde, this might not have been so bad. However, Yohji wasn’t helping himself! Sitting next to Ken at the work table, he held a loose bundle of flowers half-heartedly, eyes glued to the clock on the far wall.

He had told Yohji three times to get his mind out of the clouds (the third repetition being phrased more along the lines of getting his head out of his ass), but the warnings just didn’t seem to take. Not that they ever did with him. The man was an expert when it came to slacking, but Ken wasn’t about to do twenty arrangements on his own.

“Work,” he grumbled, prodding the limp arm hanging closest to him.

The look Yohji gave him was clearly unmoved. A small ray of hope was glimpsed as he shuffled the roses in hand and added a spring of baby’s breath to the mix, but two minutes later Ken found him watching the clock again, yet to complete a centerpiece. He was seriously going to hit Yohji.

~*~

“Smoke break,” Yohji declared as the big hand finally reached the two.

Rubbing his arm where Ken had inexplicably punched him (and what the hell was his problem anyway?), Yohji abandoned the work table and started for the back door. The shop was still packed, and Omi was shooting him a rather desperate look, not to mention the glare he was getting from a slightly damp Ken. Tough.

“Ten minutes,” he promised, deciding to ignore the doubtful reception of his word.

As he slipped through the back room of the shop and into the back yard, Yohji did actually light up. Eager to get to Aya, he took a hard drag at the cigarette as he leaned briefly against the back of the shop.

It made him nervous to be away from the boy for too long, and the fact that it did made him more nervous. He wasn’t exactly sure what he thought would happen if he didn’t stick next to Aya; after all, the boy had spent several days upstairs while he was in the shop. Maybe Omi’s attitude was justified. But it just made him damn uncomfortable to have Aya dropped in a place he wasn’t familiar with and given who knows what (if any) directions from Omi; the boy was probably just sitting there on the floor watching the dust float by.

And if anything happened to him–

Yohji shook his head at his own irony. Crushing his half-finished smoke under the heel of his shoe, he thought about what he had to say to Aya. He didn’t have long, and after that was done, having him waiting alone in a greenhouse might look like a fucking godsend.

He didn’t want to do it, to say it and bring the thing he had done into reality.

They had been making so much progress, too. Now Yohji wasn’t sure how Aya would react. He had tried to construct the scenario in his head, ending up with more than one depressing possibility. What would he do if Aya was suddenly afraid of him, shunned the meager touches he had allowed, refused the bargain and slipped away in the middle of the night? It had only been a week, and Yohji was by no means confident that Aya was as attached to him as he was to the redhead.

He didn’t believe in praying anymore, but just before he opened the greenhouse door, Yohji still sent a silent request to whatever part of the universe would listen that it went better than he expected.

The door squeaked on its hinges, the green canvas crinkling as it shifted over the glass panes it protected while concealing the inner working of the greenhouse. The door swung inward. Stepping into the warm, dry building, Yohji found himself first surprised by the lack of humidity. It was wrong, somehow, to come into such a structure and not be assaulted by the heavy air and immediate smell of growing things. It was another sign of their neglect, so prominent in the nearly abandoned building.

From this his mind was whisked away by Aya who appeared to be thriving in his neglect.

Standing at the edge of one of the work tables, he was looking almost fondly at a small clay pot as he rested his dirt-dusted hands on its edge. When the door swung loudly closed behind Yohji, his head rose, not with a sudden snap, but a surprisingly fluid motion, and while there was a clear expression of concern on his face, his shoulders seemed surprisingly relaxed.

“Is it okay?”

“Huh?” Yohji responded, stepping closer when Aya made a small gesture towards the pots. He noticed the tension creep into the thin frame as he moved in beside the redhead and stared at the containers; while one was still growing what Yohji could only assume were weeds, two had fresh dirt, obviously having been utilized to plant something.

Aya was shrinking away from him slightly, tucking his hands more closely against his sides, looking towards the floor, losing the bit of calm Yohji had felt only seconds before. Immediately concerned, it took him a second to realize his own silence initiated the change.

“Hey, it’s fine. It’s great. What’d you plant?”

Aya made an almost imperceptible motion towards an open packet of seeds: snowdrops. Yohji fingered the battered packet, left over from one of their half-hearted attempts to utilize the space.

“Cool. This place needs something growing in it.”

Aya said nothing, head bowed.

“You could do that, if you want.”

Slightly frustrated with being unable to see Aya’s face, Yohji moved. Slipping between the boy and the table, he sighed a little when Aya winced and took a step back at the sudden shift. Choosing to ignore it, Yohji continued to take a seat on the table to the right of the pots and directly in front of Aya. Now, if he ducked his head just a little, yes, he could see Aya’s eyes.

Eventually his silent, awkwardly bent requests got Aya to raise his head (at least mostly) and look at him.

“So, would you like that? You could work in the shop when the girls aren’t there–at least for a while–then come out here and get this place in order. You could plant some stuff. Anything, really. Omi’s got a catalog of seeds; we can order whatever ones you want. How’s that sound?”

The look was hesitant, but Yohji thought Aya seemed hopeful.

“Really?” he asked quietly, the insecurity pulling hard at something in the blonde’s chest.

“Yeah,” he breathed, able to recover himself only after he looked away from purple eyes, “This place needs all the help it can get, and it’s gotta be better than being mauled by the girls every day. They’re not so bad; you’re just too pretty for their self-control.”

“What?”

“Huh?̶ 1;

“I’m sorry.”

How had they got back to that?

“Aya, look at me for a second,” he kept his voice calm.

Unable to resist, Yohji used a single finger to gently lift Aya’s chin, connecting against with his eyes; they looked confused and wary.

“There’s a woman coming here this afternoon,” he started, already tired, “Her name is Manx.”

~tbc~

Notes: Next chapter gets a little more into the action, promise! Thanks for reading, and especially for reviewing!