Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Chains ❯ Train Me ( Chapter 52 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Miko No Hoshi 
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 11.09.2010 | Updated On: 12.23.2010 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.8K | Visits: 259 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 11.09.2010 | Updated On: 12.23.2010 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.8K | Visits: 259 | Status: Work In Progress
Notes: *peeks out from under her rock, debates continuing to hide, realizes she owes some explanation for her absence and reluctantly approaches the readers* Well, uh, you see…I do have an excuse…sort of. I kind of psyched myself out with this one (wasn’t it supposed to be the easy fic? I think so…) and there was this super-important project I was working on (aka, my Halloween outifit—I went as Rum Tum Tugger this year—which was a month long ordeal of construction) and I kind of used that as an excuse not to work on this ‘cause I didn’t want to mess it up. I’m not thrilled with this chapter either, but I thought it was due, so, yeah, okay, I’m gonna go back under this rock now.
Chapter Fifty-Two: Train Me
Yohji came back from the bathroom to find Aya staring at his katana. The boy had followed his directions and was dressed in a pair of blue silk pajamas that were just a little big for him, hanging towards his fingertips and over his bare feet as he sat cross-legged on the bed with the sword in front of him. The brief look he gave Yohji was guilty, but he was quick to lower his eyes.
For a few minutes Yohji wandered the room, getting ready to sleep but mostly trying to figure out how to put Aya more at ease. His focus was divided as he noticed the clutter of moving in an extra person was starting to build up, and he had to step over a pile of dirty clothes to get to his chest of drawers and find something sleep in. He really needed to buy himself some proper sleepwear if this clothes to bed thing was going to be a habit, and it probably was, since there was no way in hell he could convince Aya that his being naked was not a threat. Shedding his shirt and jeans onto the top of the pile, he pulled on the soft, navy track pants. He debated a shirt, frowned at the idea, but pulled it over his head anyway. It was loose and a little pink from a washer mishap, but it worked.
He dropped his shades to the nightstand, then went to the dresser to brush his hair in front of the mirror. Aya was looking at him in the reflective surface; their eyes met, just for a second, and Yohji realized he had been under intense scrutiny the entire time.
“Ready to sleep?” he asked, still staring even when Aya looked away.
Aya nodded, running a slender finger down the length of the sword’s lacquer sheath. Slowly he drew the hand away and looked up again, “Where should I put it?”
“Eh? Uh, here, I keep my watch on the dresser.”
Violet eyes widened slightly at the overt mention of Yohji’s own weapon, but he chose to ignore it. Taking it off as evidence, Yohji placed it on the dresser before scooting over his collection of jewelry and bottles and odds and ends to make room for Aya’s sword. Determined that the boy take responsibility for it from the start, he waited there rather than reaching for it.
After Aya had gotten up and set it in place, Yohji flicked the light. He watched from his place near the door as Aya lifted the edge of the blankets and crawled in. No matter how many nights he did it, there was always a look of disbelief. Shaking his head, Yohji joined him, slipping between the cool sheets.
It was dark and quiet, and he wanted Aya to be near him. He didn’t take time to evaluate the impulse. The boy was across the bed, curled up like he was cold. It took considerable will power not to reach out and grab him in order to drag him over. That, however, would not get Yohji any sleep, and certainly would not get him sleep with a warm body next to him.
“Aya?” he whispered, reaching, very gently, to brush one silk-covered arm. Aya was quick to turn over and look at him, questioning and nervous. “Want to sleep over here, like last night?”
Even in the dark, Yohji could sense the building panic, and he cursed himself for causing it. Still, though, he couldn’t rid himself of the notion that it was incredibly stupid for them to sleep so far apart. Obviously Aya was cold despite the layers of covers, and it went without saying that Yohji preferred being next to someone at night. There had to be a way to get through it without a complete breakdown.
“I’m not going to try anything. You know that; I hope you know that. It’s just better, you know, to sleep next to each other, right? Just sleep, like last night.”
Aya nodded, not the least sure, but he let Yohji guide him closer. The blonde was careful to keep his touches light, first getting Aya to roll over next to him, then, as if he were trying to cuddle a porcupine, gingerly wrapping his arms around the boy and drawing his thin shoulders up onto Yohji’s chest. He had to suppress a wave of elation as Aya’s head settled under his chin of its own volition, but even after three or four minutes, the boy was still tense and certainly not sleeping.
“Aya?”
“Yes, Yohji.”
“Go to sleep.”
~*~
Aya woke up tired, but he was warm and comfortable. The nightmares had been bad. He didn’t think he had woken up with every one, but each time he did, he found Yohji holding on to him, saying odd things and telling him it would be okay. Even now the blonde was rousing under his slight movements, and Aya tried to hold still so he could sleep.
~*~
It was a little before eight in the evening when Yohji pulled the Seven into the small, gravel lot behind the dojo. He had expected it to be further away, but the drive had taken barely fifteen minutes. According to Korat, it was a Kritiker facility, not in the way of the Koneko which operated as a front for a wet work operation, but rather like the hospital, a place that carried on some normal business but specialized in dealing with Kritiker’s agents in a secure manner.
Yohji surveyed the place through the windshield. It wasn’t anything special, a three-story gray stone building blending in with its surrounding. They had been instructed to enter through the back door.
Putting out his cigarette, he looked over to Aya. The boy was sitting stiffly in his seat, sword and practice swords in his arms and gathered against his chest. Yohji found it hard to read his mood.
“C’mon,” he directed, opening his door. Aya quickly did the same, looking at the gravel as they approached the unmarked door. Yohji half expected it to be locked, but it turned easily under his hand, and they stepped together into a short, fluorescent-lit hallway. Following it, Yohji marked a few normal doors, offices, locker rooms, and so forth. Coming to the end, they made a right turn and ended up in the open space of what was clearly a training room.
The ceilings were high, and the long wall to their right was covered floor to ceiling with mirrors. There was a slight step down in front of these, and the lower portion of the floor was hardwood, creating a space for kendo that Yohji judged to be the size of a large room.
The upper portion of the floor was tightly woven tatami save for the small square of white tile on which they were standing. Here there were two benches and a small cabinet for shoes; Yohji felt slightly oppressed by the traditional element of it all. It reminded him of his grandmother’s house, a place where he was never really welcome. Turning his thoughts from that, he latched on to the more modern touches; opposite the mirrors was a blue, mat covered area, and beside that what looked like a shop (at least judging by the register and neatly displayed practice weapons and branded clothing). And, there, directly across them was the front entry way, the glass doors just visible beyond; they were shuttered, marking the place as closed.
He felt someone behind them before they spoke.
“You’re early.” The voice was smooth and low and brimming with an authority that instantly rankled Yohji.
“Didn’t expect it to be so close,” he excused, casually, as he turned to look at the man. He was tall, about Yohji’s own height but not nearly as thin, probably in his mid-thirties. His long, dark hair was tied tightly back in a low ponytail, and he was dressed in dark blue hakama and a gi of the same color; Yohji noted the embroidered rank and position on the right side, leaving no doubt as to his position as sensei.
He looked Yohji over briefly, but there was little expression in his gray eyes and absolutely no shift of his angular features. The same was leveled at Aya, though the length of study was considerably longer, long enough to make Yohji uncomfortable. But just as he went to speak, he was cut off.
“Names?”
“Balinese, and he—”
A lifted hand quieted him, though Yohji instantly berated himself for obeying the motion.
“This is not a Kritiker matter,” the man said, dropping his hand and looking hard at Yohji. “Korat contacted me on your behalf, but I understand that this is a private transaction not undertaken by the organization. You will call me Sato, and,” he turned again to Aya, staring at the collection of weaponry in his hands, “you will obviously call me Sensei.”
“Kudou,” Yohji gave up grudgingly, “and this Fujimiya Aya.”
“Fujimiya,” Sato repeated, looking him up and down again. “Are you skilled?”
“He’s—”
“Do es he speak?”
“Of course,” Yohji snapped back at being interrupted, his immediate dislike for Sato morphing quickly into something akin to hate. He had a feeling their relationship wasn’t going to get any better, either.
“Then he’ll speak for himself. What training have you had?”
“Just school.”
“High school?”
“Junior high.”
“That’s nothing,” he shook his head. “We’ll start from the beginning. There,” he pointed to a nearby stack of uniforms sitting on one of the short benches, “pick something that will fit and go change, quickly.”
“Yes, Sensei.”
He had made a mistake. This had been a terrible idea. Yohji was set and determined to get Aya the hell out of there, but just as he was about to announce this intention, Sato started talking again.
“We’ll train quickly. I expect him here on time every night excepting Sunday. He will arrive at 8:00, and he will leave at 10:30. You will not stay.”
Not stay? Yohji had two words to say to that, and one hand gesture that would sum them up nicely.
“I’m not—”
“You are,” he stated, not looking at Yohji. Instead, he watched Aya carefully lay down his weapons and pick through the pile of clothing. Gathering two pieces into his arms, he hesitated, then started back down the hallway. The instant he left the room, Sato continued, “You have no time. You don’t have to like me, Kudou-san,” the appellation was laced with his own disapproval, “but you will not compromise this.”
“I—”
“I understand there is some history, though Korat only hinted at it; it is enough that you initiated this instead of the organization. I don’t care what his story is, only that he learns, but he will be safe here, I assure you. You will leave during our lessons because it will be a distraction.”
“Don’t—”
R 20;Kudou-san, you have very little time before he returns. Don’t you think it would be pertinent to pay me? We have agreed on a considerable sum.”
“Fine, damn it,” Yohji conceded, feeling like he had been completely steamrolled. But Sato was right, terribly logical in his reasoning. Worse, Yohji wasn’t sure if he could take him in a fight, and while he would have liked nothing better than to find out, they really were there for a reason. Digging his wallet from his back pocket, he carefully counted out the bills and handed them over.
~*~
Aya let his hands do the work without thinking. Deftly they adjusted the white gi and tied the black hakama around his thin hips. It was all distantly familiar, but he did his best not to think about the last time he had done it, not to miss his mother’s sweet smile, his sister’s encouraging words. No. He refused to dwell on that. He was moving forward. He was doing something.
He didn’t mean to look in the locker room mirror, but it arrested his attention just as he turned to leave. The figure reflected there was odd, hovering somewhere between the pathetic thing that had greeted him two weeks ago and what he had been before. It was uncomfortable to look at, and he turned away from it as he had from his thoughts, summoning his determination as the door swung shut behind him.
His bare feet made little sound on the tile floor, and it was clear neither of the men heard him. For that, Aya was glad, because when he saw Yohji hand over a roll of bills, he couldn’t help but remember.
~*~
There were lights and hands. He was dragged forward, shoved even as he stumbled up the stairs. Forced to his knees, he tried to look up, but the lights hurt his eyes. He could hear people, a loud voice, but the drugs made his head thick with the noise and he couldn’t make out the words.
What was going on?
Schuldig had told him, but he couldn’t remember. He knew only that he wanted to get away, to go somewhere quiet so he could sort out his thoughts.
Clapping. What?
The leash was unsnapped from his neck, and Aya looked around for Schuldig. There were legs beside him, and he looked up. A man, he had seen him before, but Aya couldn’t place where. He smiled and produced something from his pocket.
Money, Aya realized, and something inside him screamed that it wasn’t right. He wasn’t a thing to be bought.
//You are.//
He turned from it, looking up at the other who had come up close to him, expecting the same horrific grin. The man moved to block the bright light to look at him. It was a stranger, tall and thin and handsome. He looked confused, and suddenly Aya hoped something had gone wrong, that he wasn’t being sold into some new horror. This man, the one with the confused, sad eyes, wouldn’t buy him, wouldn’t torture him.
Someone said something, and the man moved to snap the leash onto his collar.
~*~
“Okay?”
At Aya’s sharp intake of breath, Yohji jerked back his hand. Aya stared at him for a minute, then dropped his gaze a nodded, a vague answer to Yohji’s question. Unsure, the blonde continued.
“Listen, he wants me to leave while you practice. I’m going to wait in the car. You’ll be safe here, but I’ll be right out there if you need me, okay?”
The purple eyes that came back up said it was very much not okay, but Aya nodded, seemingly unable to get out even his set response. Uneasy, Yohji hesitated to leave, and it was only at Sato’s stern urging that he left them alone.
~tbc~
Subaru-san: Please review. It helps me get her out of hiding.
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Chapter Fifty-Two: Train Me
Yohji came back from the bathroom to find Aya staring at his katana. The boy had followed his directions and was dressed in a pair of blue silk pajamas that were just a little big for him, hanging towards his fingertips and over his bare feet as he sat cross-legged on the bed with the sword in front of him. The brief look he gave Yohji was guilty, but he was quick to lower his eyes.
For a few minutes Yohji wandered the room, getting ready to sleep but mostly trying to figure out how to put Aya more at ease. His focus was divided as he noticed the clutter of moving in an extra person was starting to build up, and he had to step over a pile of dirty clothes to get to his chest of drawers and find something sleep in. He really needed to buy himself some proper sleepwear if this clothes to bed thing was going to be a habit, and it probably was, since there was no way in hell he could convince Aya that his being naked was not a threat. Shedding his shirt and jeans onto the top of the pile, he pulled on the soft, navy track pants. He debated a shirt, frowned at the idea, but pulled it over his head anyway. It was loose and a little pink from a washer mishap, but it worked.
He dropped his shades to the nightstand, then went to the dresser to brush his hair in front of the mirror. Aya was looking at him in the reflective surface; their eyes met, just for a second, and Yohji realized he had been under intense scrutiny the entire time.
“Ready to sleep?” he asked, still staring even when Aya looked away.
Aya nodded, running a slender finger down the length of the sword’s lacquer sheath. Slowly he drew the hand away and looked up again, “Where should I put it?”
“Eh? Uh, here, I keep my watch on the dresser.”
Violet eyes widened slightly at the overt mention of Yohji’s own weapon, but he chose to ignore it. Taking it off as evidence, Yohji placed it on the dresser before scooting over his collection of jewelry and bottles and odds and ends to make room for Aya’s sword. Determined that the boy take responsibility for it from the start, he waited there rather than reaching for it.
After Aya had gotten up and set it in place, Yohji flicked the light. He watched from his place near the door as Aya lifted the edge of the blankets and crawled in. No matter how many nights he did it, there was always a look of disbelief. Shaking his head, Yohji joined him, slipping between the cool sheets.
It was dark and quiet, and he wanted Aya to be near him. He didn’t take time to evaluate the impulse. The boy was across the bed, curled up like he was cold. It took considerable will power not to reach out and grab him in order to drag him over. That, however, would not get Yohji any sleep, and certainly would not get him sleep with a warm body next to him.
“Aya?” he whispered, reaching, very gently, to brush one silk-covered arm. Aya was quick to turn over and look at him, questioning and nervous. “Want to sleep over here, like last night?”
Even in the dark, Yohji could sense the building panic, and he cursed himself for causing it. Still, though, he couldn’t rid himself of the notion that it was incredibly stupid for them to sleep so far apart. Obviously Aya was cold despite the layers of covers, and it went without saying that Yohji preferred being next to someone at night. There had to be a way to get through it without a complete breakdown.
“I’m not going to try anything. You know that; I hope you know that. It’s just better, you know, to sleep next to each other, right? Just sleep, like last night.”
Aya nodded, not the least sure, but he let Yohji guide him closer. The blonde was careful to keep his touches light, first getting Aya to roll over next to him, then, as if he were trying to cuddle a porcupine, gingerly wrapping his arms around the boy and drawing his thin shoulders up onto Yohji’s chest. He had to suppress a wave of elation as Aya’s head settled under his chin of its own volition, but even after three or four minutes, the boy was still tense and certainly not sleeping.
“Aya?”
“Yes, Yohji.”
“Go to sleep.”
~*~
Aya woke up tired, but he was warm and comfortable. The nightmares had been bad. He didn’t think he had woken up with every one, but each time he did, he found Yohji holding on to him, saying odd things and telling him it would be okay. Even now the blonde was rousing under his slight movements, and Aya tried to hold still so he could sleep.
~*~
It was a little before eight in the evening when Yohji pulled the Seven into the small, gravel lot behind the dojo. He had expected it to be further away, but the drive had taken barely fifteen minutes. According to Korat, it was a Kritiker facility, not in the way of the Koneko which operated as a front for a wet work operation, but rather like the hospital, a place that carried on some normal business but specialized in dealing with Kritiker’s agents in a secure manner.
Yohji surveyed the place through the windshield. It wasn’t anything special, a three-story gray stone building blending in with its surrounding. They had been instructed to enter through the back door.
Putting out his cigarette, he looked over to Aya. The boy was sitting stiffly in his seat, sword and practice swords in his arms and gathered against his chest. Yohji found it hard to read his mood.
“C’mon,” he directed, opening his door. Aya quickly did the same, looking at the gravel as they approached the unmarked door. Yohji half expected it to be locked, but it turned easily under his hand, and they stepped together into a short, fluorescent-lit hallway. Following it, Yohji marked a few normal doors, offices, locker rooms, and so forth. Coming to the end, they made a right turn and ended up in the open space of what was clearly a training room.
The ceilings were high, and the long wall to their right was covered floor to ceiling with mirrors. There was a slight step down in front of these, and the lower portion of the floor was hardwood, creating a space for kendo that Yohji judged to be the size of a large room.
The upper portion of the floor was tightly woven tatami save for the small square of white tile on which they were standing. Here there were two benches and a small cabinet for shoes; Yohji felt slightly oppressed by the traditional element of it all. It reminded him of his grandmother’s house, a place where he was never really welcome. Turning his thoughts from that, he latched on to the more modern touches; opposite the mirrors was a blue, mat covered area, and beside that what looked like a shop (at least judging by the register and neatly displayed practice weapons and branded clothing). And, there, directly across them was the front entry way, the glass doors just visible beyond; they were shuttered, marking the place as closed.
He felt someone behind them before they spoke.
“You’re early.” The voice was smooth and low and brimming with an authority that instantly rankled Yohji.
“Didn’t expect it to be so close,” he excused, casually, as he turned to look at the man. He was tall, about Yohji’s own height but not nearly as thin, probably in his mid-thirties. His long, dark hair was tied tightly back in a low ponytail, and he was dressed in dark blue hakama and a gi of the same color; Yohji noted the embroidered rank and position on the right side, leaving no doubt as to his position as sensei.
He looked Yohji over briefly, but there was little expression in his gray eyes and absolutely no shift of his angular features. The same was leveled at Aya, though the length of study was considerably longer, long enough to make Yohji uncomfortable. But just as he went to speak, he was cut off.
“Names?”
“Balinese, and he—”
A lifted hand quieted him, though Yohji instantly berated himself for obeying the motion.
“This is not a Kritiker matter,” the man said, dropping his hand and looking hard at Yohji. “Korat contacted me on your behalf, but I understand that this is a private transaction not undertaken by the organization. You will call me Sato, and,” he turned again to Aya, staring at the collection of weaponry in his hands, “you will obviously call me Sensei.”
“Kudou,” Yohji gave up grudgingly, “and this Fujimiya Aya.”
“Fujimiya,” Sato repeated, looking him up and down again. “Are you skilled?”
“He’s—”
“Do es he speak?”
“Of course,” Yohji snapped back at being interrupted, his immediate dislike for Sato morphing quickly into something akin to hate. He had a feeling their relationship wasn’t going to get any better, either.
“Then he’ll speak for himself. What training have you had?”
“Just school.”
“High school?”
“Junior high.”
“That’s nothing,” he shook his head. “We’ll start from the beginning. There,” he pointed to a nearby stack of uniforms sitting on one of the short benches, “pick something that will fit and go change, quickly.”
“Yes, Sensei.”
He had made a mistake. This had been a terrible idea. Yohji was set and determined to get Aya the hell out of there, but just as he was about to announce this intention, Sato started talking again.
“We’ll train quickly. I expect him here on time every night excepting Sunday. He will arrive at 8:00, and he will leave at 10:30. You will not stay.”
Not stay? Yohji had two words to say to that, and one hand gesture that would sum them up nicely.
“I’m not—”
“You are,” he stated, not looking at Yohji. Instead, he watched Aya carefully lay down his weapons and pick through the pile of clothing. Gathering two pieces into his arms, he hesitated, then started back down the hallway. The instant he left the room, Sato continued, “You have no time. You don’t have to like me, Kudou-san,” the appellation was laced with his own disapproval, “but you will not compromise this.”
“I—”
“I understand there is some history, though Korat only hinted at it; it is enough that you initiated this instead of the organization. I don’t care what his story is, only that he learns, but he will be safe here, I assure you. You will leave during our lessons because it will be a distraction.”
“Don’t—”
R 20;Kudou-san, you have very little time before he returns. Don’t you think it would be pertinent to pay me? We have agreed on a considerable sum.”
“Fine, damn it,” Yohji conceded, feeling like he had been completely steamrolled. But Sato was right, terribly logical in his reasoning. Worse, Yohji wasn’t sure if he could take him in a fight, and while he would have liked nothing better than to find out, they really were there for a reason. Digging his wallet from his back pocket, he carefully counted out the bills and handed them over.
~*~
Aya let his hands do the work without thinking. Deftly they adjusted the white gi and tied the black hakama around his thin hips. It was all distantly familiar, but he did his best not to think about the last time he had done it, not to miss his mother’s sweet smile, his sister’s encouraging words. No. He refused to dwell on that. He was moving forward. He was doing something.
He didn’t mean to look in the locker room mirror, but it arrested his attention just as he turned to leave. The figure reflected there was odd, hovering somewhere between the pathetic thing that had greeted him two weeks ago and what he had been before. It was uncomfortable to look at, and he turned away from it as he had from his thoughts, summoning his determination as the door swung shut behind him.
His bare feet made little sound on the tile floor, and it was clear neither of the men heard him. For that, Aya was glad, because when he saw Yohji hand over a roll of bills, he couldn’t help but remember.
~*~
There were lights and hands. He was dragged forward, shoved even as he stumbled up the stairs. Forced to his knees, he tried to look up, but the lights hurt his eyes. He could hear people, a loud voice, but the drugs made his head thick with the noise and he couldn’t make out the words.
What was going on?
Schuldig had told him, but he couldn’t remember. He knew only that he wanted to get away, to go somewhere quiet so he could sort out his thoughts.
Clapping. What?
The leash was unsnapped from his neck, and Aya looked around for Schuldig. There were legs beside him, and he looked up. A man, he had seen him before, but Aya couldn’t place where. He smiled and produced something from his pocket.
Money, Aya realized, and something inside him screamed that it wasn’t right. He wasn’t a thing to be bought.
//You are.//
He turned from it, looking up at the other who had come up close to him, expecting the same horrific grin. The man moved to block the bright light to look at him. It was a stranger, tall and thin and handsome. He looked confused, and suddenly Aya hoped something had gone wrong, that he wasn’t being sold into some new horror. This man, the one with the confused, sad eyes, wouldn’t buy him, wouldn’t torture him.
Someone said something, and the man moved to snap the leash onto his collar.
~*~
“Okay?”
At Aya’s sharp intake of breath, Yohji jerked back his hand. Aya stared at him for a minute, then dropped his gaze a nodded, a vague answer to Yohji’s question. Unsure, the blonde continued.
“Listen, he wants me to leave while you practice. I’m going to wait in the car. You’ll be safe here, but I’ll be right out there if you need me, okay?”
The purple eyes that came back up said it was very much not okay, but Aya nodded, seemingly unable to get out even his set response. Uneasy, Yohji hesitated to leave, and it was only at Sato’s stern urging that he left them alone.
~tbc~
Subaru-san: Please review. It helps me get her out of hiding.
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