Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Chains ❯ Try Me ( Chapter 50 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
Fifty chapters! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed on any of the sites where this is posted. You were all so kind. Your comments kept me going with this story and forced me to formulate an actual plot (gasp). I just want to take a few seconds to thank you all: Junshin, Kato-chan, Darita, Maria, Jia Ming, ee, Jamin, FanboyBenjamin, CurasiTayo, ranma, Gespera (our resident translator; that’s right, we’re torturing Aya in two languages now), chinchan, Kyaa, meow (if that is your real name, hehe), anonymous (the mysterious), sidhechaos, !2AN, Dove, phoenix682, Amyeyl, allia, kat716, Kryptonite, Madisuzy, ShadowCat13, Yuuzai, and pinbot.

Many of you in that list are multiple-chapter reviewers, a category which includes (but is not limited to) the illustrious Midnattssol,lelann37, Sky Rat, Kate the Night, SDegenerate, Since the Beginning, amet, Kite, CaT70, icantseeyourstar, and Kyuuketsuki_Nekko.

And a special thanks to those who have taken time to review almost every chapter all the way through: you guys are the best, Joybug, Dananoda, Dragon Lover, and macDhai. Finally, and as always, a very special, I’m-eternally-in-your-debt, I’ll-loan-you-nekkid-pretty-boys kind of thanks to blackorcid and Cody-san; you all have no idea how much I look forward to reviews, and you guys never let me down!

So far, we’ve got two confirmed readers who have never seen the series, and one who went out and bought it (victory! though now you’ll see I have my own, uh, special interpretation…oh well…). Whether you reviewed once or tons of times, it meant a lot to me; I read them all (usually more than once). Thank you all!



Chapter Fifty: Try Me



Yohji held two green-wrapped bouquets out at arm’s length, poking them in Omi’s face as soon as he crossed the threshold. The boy nodded, unfazed, and, circling Yohji and going behind the counter, slid his heavy backpack from his shoulders and shoved it underneath. Leaning on the opposite side, Yohji silently insisted on his attention by poking and prodding the flowers in his hand.

The fangirls would be arriving any second, and he really didn’t have time to praise Yohji on his arranging skills. Actually, they needed to talk. They might have time, if Yohji would stop shoving those things at him.

“Yes, Yohji-kun, very nice,” he conceded, trying to push them aside.

Yohji laid them on the counter and pointed, “Look.”

Omi looked, quickly. They were fairly standard, two half-dozen bouquets of pink roses. The one on the right seemed to have a certain advantage, the paper being neatly tucked rather than crumpled and the petals appearing less tousled, and there was some aesthetic superiority as well, but Omi didn’t have time to contemplate the artistic merit of it. A particularly ardent girl had nearly chased him out of the school, and while his bike had given him a good head start, he doubted it would serve him very long. And he really needed to talk to Yohji.

“That one’s better,” he pointed, “Yohji-kun, I–”

“Exactly! Ken made this one,” he indicated the left as he nudged it out of the way, an improvement, actually, on the florist’s usual work. Ken tried, and it wasn’t, Omi thought, very nice of Yohji to make an identical sample to point out the other’s shortcomings.

“Yohji–” he tried again, only to have a hand lifted in his face. He was really getting tired of that.

“Aya made this one.”

“Aya?”

Yohji nodded, serious for barely a second before a smile lit his face. “It’s good.”

It was; Omi had mistaken it for Yohji’s own.

“So I figure–”

Whatever the blonde had figured on was interrupted by the boisterous arrival of the first of the girls. Mika was at the head of the herd, and Omi soon found his arm arrested in her strong grip.

“Ne, Omi-kun, which flower do I remind you of?”

“Uh, that is…”

~*~

After the rush was over and the store closing, Yohji went out to the greenhouse to fetch Aya. Again he was amazed at the relaxed posture he found, and not a little impressed by the progress the boy was making. One of the long tables had been cleaned off, its jumble of clutter sorted into other parts of the room and replaced by various planting tools that Aya must have located around the place. There were a few trays, still empty, a green watering can, several seed packets, and the three flower pots from before. Obviously having been at work, Aya was trying to dust off his black sweater.

At Yohji’s approach, he stiffened, but he didn’t look at the ground for too long.

“Looks good,” Yohji commented, idly testing the soil in one of the pots. It was rather dry but aerated well. “There’s a hose here somewhere, and,” he looked around, trying to remember, “I know there’s a spigot. Somewhere.”

Aya nodded, displaying a wideness of eyes that Yohji was learning to read as restrained eagerness.

Stepping to the table, Yohji picked up the seed packets. They were all ragged-looking, half-empty, and obviously old.

“I bet we can do better than this,” he commented, placing them back, “C’mon. Let’s go see if Omi can dig up one of those catalogs.”

With a hesitant nod, Aya followed him back into the shop, pausing when Yohji did to watch the blonde reset the alarm on the greenhouse. It wasn’t something they used often, but he felt better having it on when Aya was out there alone; he was careful, though, to go through the process of setting it slowly so Aya could see, just in case he had forgotten the earlier lesson. The last thing Yohji wanted him to think was that he was being locked in, or out, of what was fast becoming his sanctuary.

Opening the back door of the shop, Yohji gestured Aya to proceed him into the storage room. The boy did, but hesitated just over the threshold, waiting until Yohji stepped forward to once again take the lead. It would take time, he supposed, to get Aya to walk in front of him. Making their way through the cluttered storage area, they entered the shop to find Ken sweeping the floor and Omi counting the register Leaning on the counter near the latter, Yohji waited until he finished to ask his question.

“Can you find us one of those Kitazawa catalogs? The ones with the seeds?”

“Seeds?” Omi questioned, brows drawing together as he considered the oddity of the request

“Yeah, seeds, little things, you put ‘em in the ground and they grow pretty flowers.”

“Yohji-kun,” he complained, rolling his eyes as he zipped the day’s takings into the heavy deposit bag. Setting it aside, he bent down to shuffle some things under the counter and came back up with a thin magazine. “Here.”

“Here,” Yohji repeated, taking the catalog from Omi only to hand it to Aya who had been lingering silently behind him. The boy took it hesitantly, holding it like some fragile piece of glass. “Look through there and pick out what you want.”

Aya nodded and followed Yohji’s silent direction to take it over to the work table. With too much care, he set the catalog on the table, spread it open, and stood over it rather than taking a seat. Yohji just shook his head, figuring it was best to pick his battles. Omi looked on, and Yohji obliged what he assumed was curiosity.

“Aya’s gonna grow stuff in the greenhouse.”

Omi nodded, whether in an OK or simple dismissal, Yohji wasn’t sure.

“I need to talk to you,” he said. There was unexpected seriousness in the tone and Yohji anticipated the conversation not being a fun one. He was trying to look on the bright side, but the day really seemed to be out to get him.

“Sure. I gotta smoke anyhow.”

“Let me put this away.”

While Omi went to put the cash in the safe (not that anyone who broke into the Koneko would have a chance making it out with all their limbs, let alone the day’s profits), Yohji wandered over to stand beside Aya who seemed totally engaged with his new acquisition.

~*~

Aya savored the familiar weight and give in his hand, hardly able to process what Yohji had given him. Part of his mind, a part working with ever-increasing attentiveness, noted that it was a little thing, something almost worthless to someone…someone who had not been in Aya’s situation. He knew he had carelessly handled books, wooled them, piled them on his shelves to collect dust after only a single reading. Now, though, he touched even this with a certain reverence.

With care, he spread it open on the table, feeling the slick paper move under his fingers. His books had been different, but there was a small start he belatedly recognized as joy as his eyes ran over the text. It was silly, but he was relieved that he hadn’t forgotten how to read. It didn’t matter that it was an advertisement for modified blueberry plants; it was something.

Turning the page, he found segmented descriptions of flowers, each with a small color picture, common and scientific names, characteristics, colors, and at the bottom of each, a small note of the plant’s meaning. In the lower left hand corner were the snowdrops he had been planting before, Galanthus nivalis, large while blossoms that meant, suitably, hope and consolation.

He was taken with it all and barely heard Yohji approach. It was only when the younger boy, Omi, came up beside him that Aya really began to pay attention. Unfortunately, he hadn’t tuned in to events quite enough when Yohji asked him the question.

“Can you read, Aya?”

“Of course, I’m not stupid.”

It only took a fraction of a second for Aya to realize what he’d said and to whom. Was he trying to get beaten? Instantly, he tried to apologize, simultaneously drawing his hands in close to protect himself.

“I’m sorry, Master,” he bent his head, prevented from kneeling in front of the older man by a firm hand suddenly on his elbow. “I didn’t mean to say it. I didn’t mean to disrespect you. I’m sorry.”

Aya felt his breath drawing in short gasps but was unable to stop it. He closed his eyes against the unpleasant sensation of struggle as he berated himself for his actions.

He was stupid. To say that. Aya knew Yohji would be angry, would hit him. And he had every right, to give Aya something and then be talked back to in the next instant. Crawford had made him regret each slip, every smart remark, lashing his back or legs or bottom as he was forced to repeat them again and again, left him bleeding to think about his insolence. He knew better. When had he become so lax as to not watch what he said? He knew his owner was going to punish him, and Aya could only hope Yohji would forgive him afterwards. He tightened his muscles, trying steel himself for the blow.

Omi was saying something and Yohji was talking, tugging on his arm, trying to get him to look up; Aya kept his head resolutely bowed, determined not to be hit across the face, at least not at first. He could manage it, as long as his owner didn’t send him back.

“I’m sorry, Master. I am. I wasn’t thinking. Please, don’t…please,” he tried to get air into his lungs, failed, and felt his head swim a bit. Again Yohji stopped him as he tried to sit.

“Aya, it’s okay. Look here,” Yohji said. Aya knew he was being spoken to, but his mind was in too much of a state to make sense of it. But his owner was persistent, “Aya. Look.”

Finally, he did, reluctantly opening his eyes to look at his owner’s chest. He couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes.

~*~

Yohji had been on the verge of a laugh, but the impulse was derailed by the almost instantaneous reaction of Aya to his own quick words. Now he was struggling to get the boy to breathe and to look at him, fighting frustration at the rapid reversion of tone and name and not fucking looking at him.

“Aya. Look,” he tried it as a command and, for better or worse, got a guarded stare aimed somewhere below his chin. Taking what he could get, he went on, “It’s not big deal. I shouldn’t–are you listening to me?”

“Yes, M–”

“Don’t start that shit. I know you’re upset, but pay attention for a second.”

A nod. As the boy’s breath began to settle, Yohji relaxed his hold on Aya’s arm, hoping he wouldn’t do anything as aggravating as getting on the floor.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Aya,” he spoke slowly, trying to assure himself that Aya heard and understood. “I probably shouldn’t have asked that.”

“No,” Aya said quietly, haltingly, “why…why would you…think any different?”

It was pitiful, and the look on his face was very near heartbreaking. Yohji got the sense that he had pricked, unintentionally, some deep insecurity.

“I shouldn’t have thought it. That’s what I mean. Just because you were….” It was lousy timing, but Yohji found himself completely abandoned by the eloquence that usually lingered around his words. He was loathe to say ‘slave,’ to force Aya to hear a word that they had been fighting against since their initial acquaintance. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to sugarcoat it either.

“Slave,” Aya supplied on his own, closing his eyes over the appellation and his fingers over the collar. “That’s what I am.”

“No,” Yohji stated, hard and cold and trying his best not to yell, “you’re not.” Dropping the arm he had been holding, he used both hands to forcibly tilt Aya’s head up so he could look into those strange eyes. Eventually they opened to his stare. “You’re not that, not anymore. I’m sorry I thought it, Aya. And, trust me,” he managed a smile, “I know you’re not stupid.”

The moment stretched almost to discomfort, with Aya staring at him, clearly confused, and him staring back, determined, both tired and tense and unable to look away.

Thankfully, Omi stepped in.

“Ignore him, Aya-kun. He’s pretty but not very smart.”

Dropping his hands from Aya’s face, Yohji stepped around the surprised boy to drag Omi into a hug and snuggle him.

“Yohji-kun! Let go!”

“Never!” he declared, “You called me pretty, Omitichi, and now I’m yours forever!”

“I don’t want you forever!”

~tbc~

Review to free Omi from Yohji’s snuggly clutches!