Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Chains ❯ Tell Me ( Chapter 51 )

Notes: First, thank you all for the feedback! So, the vibe I get from the reviews (okay, it’s not so much a vibe as direct statements) is that readers are ready for more concrete plot. The thing is, I know how I want it to happen, and I’m hesitant to scrap that in favor of clichéd kind of reveal of Schwartz’s connections to both sides (if such a thing exists); however, I will try to hurry things along. To do that, I’ve decided on three changes to the plan. First, I’ll skip on writing out every scene in favor of a few almost-flashback kind of summaries that will go more quickly. Second, I will try to skip forward on some of Aya’s training time; everyone will just have to accept changes that happen in his personality and the increase of skill level, but it should help move things along. Third, I’ll try (emphasis on try) to put out a couple longer chapters that will get us into the thick of it. Ganbatte, ne?


Chapter Fifty-One: Tell Me


After a few minutes of giddy struggling, Ken came over to put a stop to it before they broke something, managing to startle Aya as he yelled for the wrestling pair to cut it out. Yohji was quick to settle Aya to his right, slightly away from the well-meaning brunette. They all had the decency to look guilty, and once again Omi intervened to break the silence.

“So, Aya-kun, where did you go to school?” The question sounded casual, a good copy of the one traded everyday between teenagers meeting for the first time, but Yohji got a sense of something more. Thinking it was probably for their collective good, he encouraged Aya to answer, finding that his permissive nod was still mostly required for anyone else to get an answer out of the reticent redhead.

“Kitahashi Chûgakkô,*” he stated, hands twisting in the hem of the sweater.

Omi looked up to catch Yohji’s eyes, but the blonde was at a loss as to what he was trying to convey and he soon gave it up to talk to Aya, or try to talk to him. Still visibly upset over his slip, the boy was being less cooperative than usual, staring silently at the floor.

“That’s not far from here, you know?” he hinted for more information, and getting none, continued, “Sakura-san’s cousin goes there. She said it’s very hard since her cousin had to get a tutor. Did you find it difficult, Aya-kun?”

Again there was nothing, and Yohji waved Omi away from the subject. He and Aya still had things to do, and upsetting the kid wasn’t going to get them done any quicker. Probably it would be best to give him a few minutes to get himself back together before they tried going out. But then again, leaving Aya alone in his current state could be equally detrimental.

Yohji decided being responsible was damn hard.

“Here,” he took the seed catalog and put it back in Aya’s hands, holding it there insistently when the boy tried to decline, “Take that in the house and pick out what you want, at least five, okay? I’ll be in a few minutes.”

“Yes, Yohji.”

They watched him walk away, and as soon as the door closed, Omi began.

“Kitahashi! I didn’t expect that,” he commented, fingers tapping on the table, itching, Yohji knew, to get to his keyboard.

“You know it?”

Omi nodded, “It’s a private school. We see a few girls from there, the ones with the maroon jackets with the gold crests,” he tapped vaguely at his own chest to indicate the location of this symbol. “It’s very prestigious. Aya-kun must have been very smart or very rich.”

“Rich, huh?”

Again Omi nodded, only half with the conversation and no doubt plotting how he would go about getting his hands on specific information.

“I’m going to try to look it up, maybe get the school roles or reports for Fujimiya Aya.”

“Have fun with that, chibi,” Yohji dismissed, turning to go.

“Oh? Wait! I need to talk to you.”

“I thought you just did.”

~*~

Yohji was starting to feel his late night. His good mood had waned considerably over the last six hours, and as he leaned over his greasy hamburger and fries in the back of the bright, little diner, only consideration for his companion kept him from lighting up. Going out to eat had stressed Aya out to some degree, but even if he was staring at the tabletop, he was eating his fries with a bit of enthusiasm. This was partly due to Omi still limiting him to toast and rice and those disgusting vitamin shakes, and though Yohji hoped the food wouldn’t make him sick, he wasn’t about to deny Aya any food he would try to eat, especially not after the day they’d had.

All in all, Aya really had done well. Yohji, on the other hand, had been a nervous wreck. Not that it showed; he was cooler than that, but he felt like he was going to unravel if he didn’t get a break pretty soon. True, he had just renewed his vow of protecting Aya, but the universe owed him. It did.

First there had been the conversation with Omi. The chibi had apologized, repeatedly, for ditching Aya the night before. He had thought that the boy would go to bed, otherwise he would never have left him to do his report. But he had to get it done, had to, and he hadn’t thought to check afterwards. Omi admitted to hearing them in the hall when Yohji came in, only then realizing exactly how the redhead had been spending his time. He pleaded that Aya hadn’t said anything, a defense that only made Yohji more angry; of course he hadn’t said anything. Yohji wanted to yell at Omi, but he couldn’t very well lecture someone on duty when he had shirked his own to go out and screw some chick–and he really didn’t want to think about that–so he told Omi not to worry about it, but his voice hadn’t been quite calm enough and the kid knew it.

After that fiasco of a talk, he had gathered up Aya and got him ready to go out. Between taking the tags off Aya’s leather trench and helping the boy into the new coat, he felt a bit like a mommy trying to get her toddler to the park, just with more concern about being busted by the cops. Add to this Omi’s renewed vigor in watching out for his charge and the entire process had taken almost an hour, during which the blonde had been forced to vie for Aya’s attention.

Things didn’t improve much when they got in the car. After his slipup in the shop, Aya had been on his strictest behavior which took all of five minutes to get on Yohji’s nerves. He didn’t press it, though, and they had arrived without incident. Then it had gotten difficult.

Aya had been far from at ease in the dark alley despite Yohji’s assurances; there had been a brief moment of reprieve when he had shuffled towards instead of away from the older man as they waited at a dingy, unmarked door. But then Korat** opened it, looking as he always did, a short, stick of a man whose long, silver hair was pulled into a loose ponytail that completely failed to hide his bald crown; this might have been his most distinct feature if not for the missing eye. Yohji had never seen him wear a patch, and the place was a concave, matte stretch of pallid tissue. Aya had been hesitant to go in, and Yohji felt like shit ushering him through the door and into the tiny, dim room that served as the dealer’s front office. His apprehension had visibly increased when Korat lifted his half-smoked joint from the glass ashtray and offered it to Yohji. Aya had stepped away from him.

He had declined, despite Korat’s surprise. It wasn’t Yohji’s first visit, and they had shared a story or two, but it wasn’t the time. Taking Aya by the arm, Yohji had tugged him forward, explaining what he wanted. Korat just nodded at the weapons request, frowning a little when Yohji didn’t know what precisely, or even generally, he wanted to purchase, and then grinning when he discovered Aya was yet to get a code name.

Balinese got himself a stray? The words haunted Yohji, and so did the leer they came with. Korat had spoken to Aya, and Yohji had been forced to tell him to reply. No, he had never fancied a particular method of killing. Then Korat wanted to take him in the back, alone.

It wasn’t going to happen, not at first. There was some debate, Yohji tense and threatening and Korat just smoking and smiling through it while Aya tugged on the end of his sweater and tried not to be noticed. Ultimately, he went, with Yohji’s promise for his safety, leaving the blonde to pace and smoke and wish Korat had left the pot.

They came back almost an hour later, Korat smiling and Aya carrying three long items.

Shinai, bokken, katana, Korat had supplied. He’s had kendo. Yohji had protested the short-range weapons, too much like Ken’s and requiring Aya to be in the thick of the fight. He had been thinking of a high-tech bow or maybe shuriken or something, Aya staying out of range with Omi, or at least given a few feet with something like his own wire. This, this was not going to work.

He has to be good, and you don’t have time.

So he had handed over the cash.

Realizing Aya had stopped eating about two-thirds through his fries and was currently worrying his hands as he stared intently at the plate, Yohji made quick work of his own food and dug some money out of his wallet.

“Let’s go.”

~*~

The Seven glided to a stop at the red light. For a second, Yohji watched the dark street between silent swipes of the windshield wipers. It had felt like rain when they came out of the diner, and he was thankful he had put up the top. The patter of rain against the canvas was the only sound in the car.

“Aya?”

Silence. He looked over to find Aya looking at the floorboard, red hair over his eyes.

“You awake?” It was late, and he wouldn’t have been too surprised if the boy wasn’t.

“Yes, Yohji.”

The light turned green and they started again along the deserted road towards home.

“So, you practiced kendo?”

A long pause, “Yes, Yohji.”

Trying to avoid the urge to snap at him, Yohji took a minute to shake a cigarette from his pack and light up, all without slowing down. Cracking the window, he flicked the first ashes outside before trying another tactic.

“You’re gonna have to give me some information here. I’ve got to talk to that guy at the dojo tomorrow and Korat didn’t tell me shit about what you told him. What’d you tell him, Aya?”

He was silent for almost a minute, and Yohji thought he might have pushed too hard. Then Aya began talking, quiet and slow, but trying to do what the other wanted. Yohji remained quiet, finishing his cigarette as he listened.

“He took me…to the other room, the bright one…There were weapons. I’ve never seen so many,” there was quiet amazement in his voice. “He asked me questions, and I answered, like you said. I did what you said.”

Yohji nodded, trying to reassure him.

“He wanted to know what I could do, what weapons I had used. I didn’t…I hadn’t…so he asked about sports. I did kendo, in school…before…a long time ago…maybe, whenever. He said that counted. He was . . . excited and took me to another room, the dark one, down the stairs. I…I didn’t like it.”

Again Yohji nodded, feeling worse for having made Aya do that.

“There were swords, twenty, maybe thirty of them, on the wall. He told me to pick one. They were…you paid a lot of money for it.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Now that he had said something, Aya seemed to be done talking. Yohji, more than pleased at the amount of words the redhead had gotten out, tried to start him again.

“How long did you do kendo?”

“A long time. Since I was small.”

“Small?”

“Six or seven, with my grandfather.”

It was really young, and Yohji flirted with the idea that Aya was lying to him, but as far as he knew the boy had yet to be untruthful.

“And in school?”

“Yes.”

“Were you any good?” He had to be, to go on for seven years.

“I,” Aya hesitated over something, fingers of his right hand looping around his left. Yohji noted the gesture and determined to stop the car if he had to. He was pushing it, but it was working and he couldn’t quite convince himself to back off.

“Were you? It’s okay if not.”

“Yes. I was.”

Guiding the car into the dark garage, Yohji unfastened his seatbelt and turned towards Aya, “Really?”

The boy nodded but didn’t look at him, “Captain. I was captain of my team in junior high. I was supposed to…”

“What?”

“Nothing, Yohji.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. It’s nothing.”

~tbc~


Notes:

* I usually try to avoid sticking in random Japanese, but I couldn’t quite figure a way around this without forcibly American-izing the school system. So, secondary education in Japan can generally be divided between chûgakkô (junior high; grades 7,8,9) and kôtôgakkô or kôkô (high school; grades 10, 11, 12). From here on out, I’ll simply use “Junior High,” but it has to be the Japanese system for Aya’s age to work out right. The name is completely fictional and means something along the lines of North Bridge Junior High.

**A cat breed, of course.


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