Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Chains ❯ Time Me ( Chapter 53 )
[ 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: 11.19.2010 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.1K | Visits: 272 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 11.19.2010 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.1K | Visits: 272 | Status: Work In Progress
Notes: I’m so glad people are still reading this! All of your kind reviews motivated me to hurry up and get this chapter done; thank you!
Chapter Fifty-Three: Time Me
Two hours later, Yohji was beginning to feel a little sick. It might have been his stomach twisting in worry, or maybe it had something to do with his chain smoking not only the rest of his open pack but most of his dashboard emergency pack as well. Looking at the three cigarettes left in the latter, he shook his head and tossed them aside in favor of checking the clock for at least the hundredth time. The green numbers read 10:26, and deciding he could walk to the door very slowly, he got out of the car.
After lingering in the dark parking lot, looking and feeling like a shifty character, Yohji started down the hall. He wasn’t sure what he expected exactly, but it was not to see Aya laid out on the floor with Sato leaning over him. His entire system jolted, going from unease to angry panic in two seconds flat. He must have shouted something, because Sato’s head snapped around, and Aya tried to get up, but the older man’s hand was pressed against his chest.
“What the fuck is . . .”
His words trailed off as he got close enough to see exactly what the fuck was, or rather wasn’t, going on. Laying on the floor with a folded jacket tucked under his head, Aya looked pale but okay; kneeling at his side, Sato retrieved a damp cloth from the floor where it had fallen and replaced it back across his forehead.
“He’s fine,” Sato informed, unmoved by Yohji’s near meltdown and by the fact that he was going to get seriously mauled if he kept touching Aya’s face, placing the cloth or not; Yohji would take his hand off in a second.
Okay, even he realized he seriously needed to calm down.
Nothing was happening. Aya was fine. Everything was fine.
A few deep breaths brought him back to the situation more calmly, and he stared back as Sato regarded him intently.
“I need to speak with you,” he said. Yohji nodded, unclenching his fist and forcibly shifting his legs from the aggressive stance they had settled into. Sato stood, and as he did Aya went to sit again; leaning down, the dark haired man placed a hand on his chest to guide him back down. Yohji watched Aya stiffen, his whole body tense, like he might run.
“Please don’t touch him,” Yohji heard his own words, as tense as Aya. Sato looked at him, removed his hand slowly and straightened.
“Don’t get up too quickly,” he directed calmly to Aya, whose eyes were flicking between the two of them. “But perhaps you should get ready to go.”
There was certain relief in familiarity as Aya looked to him for affirmation, and Yohji nodded, offering a hand to help him slowly to his feet. He held slim fingers a little longer than necessary, trying to assure himself that the redhead was indeed okay. When he was released, Aya picked up his clothes and left the room in silence.
“What happened?” Yohji asked, trying to suppress an anger that rose again of its own volition when he so much as looked at Sato. He recognized that it wasn’t quite right for him to have such a strong feeling, but that didn’t change a damn thing.
“He passed out,” the other replied, meeting his stare but not responding to the emotion in it. “He’s malnourished; it makes it difficult to train him. You need to take better care of him.”
No! Yohji practically shouted the word at himself, because in that instant he really, really wanted to take out this guy, Kritiker or not. He might not be able to kill him, but he could at least get in a punch or two, maybe a good one to the gut before—another deep breath.
Waiting in the car had not helped his mood. There was too much tension, and it reminded him of other places he had waited.
“I don’t understand,” he managed; it was cold.
“I think you do. He needs food, care. You can’t expect your, your, whatever you call him—”
“You don’t know what you’re—”
“I’ve seen starvation enough to recognize it.”
“You think I did this?!”
“I don’t know, but here he is, looking at you for every direction, barely able to speak once you leave a room, wearing a collar that he won’t take off even for practice—”
“I fucking rescued him, you ass. There’s no way I would ever—”
The lifted hand again; Yohji debated biting it, just for some variation.
“I do not care. He is in your care at present, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Then take care of him. He needs more food, and he needs water. He’s severely dehydrated. I don’t care what the situation is, but he will never be able to do this if his health doesn’t improve. Do you understand?”
About to give the guy a serious piece of his mind, Yohji was interrupted as Aya returned. He watched the redhead put down the clothes he had borrowed, noticing anew how thin he was. Yohji realized he had been busy noting the improvements, but for someone who hadn’t seen Aya a week before, the emaciated, timid boy before him might very well look neglected.
“Damn it,” he swore, causing Aya to look at him worriedly and Sato to turn away. “Nothing,” he excused himself to the former who immediately averted his eyes.
“Aya, come here please,” Sato requested. The eyes came back to Yohji who nodded, feeling much less satisfaction than he had earlier.
When Aya stood beside them in the little shop, Sato pulled something from a shelf. Unfolding it, he revealed a long, narrow bag and handed it to Aya.
“Put your things in this. You shouldn’t carry the katana out in the open,” he warned, and though Yohji was receiving zero attention, he felt insulted. It wasn’t that big of a deal, he thought, to bring a sword into a dojo. “And take the clothes you wore tonight. I expect you to practice at home. You have space?”
Aya looked to Yohji, who nodded. Aya nodded in turn.
“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Without a farewell to Yohji, Sato simply walked away, expecting them to see their own way out.
~*~
Aya had been exhausted the night before, barely getting out of the shower and into his PJs before he was asleep on top of the covers. Yohji was surprised he got up the next morning ready to go to the shop and eager, in that quiet, reserved way, to try a few more arrangements. Leaving him to work with Ken’s questionable supervision, Yohji went back into the house to quickly find them all some breakfast. Omelets would be good, but they didn’t really work as carryout, so he settled for some toast and jam and, thinking about what Sato had said, grabbed a bottle of water for Aya.
The boy looked at him curiously as the paper plate and bottle were settled at his elbow. Plopping down his own food, Yohji pulled a chair up to the corner of the work table and started eating. Tying off a bow, Aya hesitantly picked up his own toast, looked at it for a long second, then started to eat. When he had finished it all, Yohji opened the water and pushed it closer.
“Drink this,” he stated.
Aya looked at him for a second, lifted the bottle, and took a drink, all the while looking as if he expected it to be some kind of trick. Yohji sighed.
“Aya, you’d tell me if you needed anything, right? Like, if you’re hungry or thirsty or something, you’d tell me?”
There was a long pause, and Aya didn’t meet his eyes when he answered, “Yes, Yohji.”
Yohji had a feeling it was going to be another long day.
~*~
“What do you think about him?”
He got a curious stare for his inquiry and had to roll his eyes in response.
“Sato. Do you like him?”
“Yes, Yohji.”
“He’s not…he doesn’t scare you?”
There was a certain stiffening of shoulders that Yohji thought might be indignation, but it was gone before he could be sure. Aya shook his head, no; he still resisted saying the word aloud, and Yohji could only imagine what punishments he had faced for doing so.
~*~
For several nights, he had waited in the car, thinking about all the things that might go wrong. Nothing did, and despite being a complete ass to Yohji, Sato seemed to be genuinely concerned for Aya’s welfare. On Friday night, Yohji told Aya he was going back home and would come get him at the end of his lesson. There was more than a little unspoken unease on both their parts, Yohji chewing the end of his unlit cigarette and Aya studying the car’s floor mat, his right hand inching towards his left wrist in the nervous gesture that made Yohji cringe.
“Forget it. I’ll stay.”
Aya shook his head, a little too hard. No.
“Aya?”
“You…I,” he sighed, shutting his eyes. They opened again, coming up to the dash rather than the floor; his voice was more determined, if slightly unsure, “I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t have to go.”
He went, not far, to the cramped excuse for a restaurant across the street. It was crowded and noisy and the noodles cost twice as much as they should, but the waitress was pretty and she sat him next to the window where he could watch the dojo. Not that he could see anything; with the shades drawn, the place looked closed, the only visibly light coming from an upstairs window. It was safer that way, but not very comforting.
Yohji ordered a bottle of overpriced sake and tried not to watch the clock.
~*~
Aya met him at the door, Sato standing to his left. No longer bothering with pleasantries, Yohji ignored the older man to focus in on Aya. He looked tired, but there was something else about him that Yohji couldn’t quite lay his finger on, not something bad, something…else. He tried to parse it out, noting in passing the bag over the boy’s shoulder, the collar at his neck, the way his damp hair clung to his face and forehead. He had worked hard, and the something, maybe it was accomplishment. Yes. It wasn’t that he looked proud as he stared at the ground in front of him, just, well, a little less lost. Yohji liked it.
“Come on,” he motioned to the Seven. The dojo door shut behind them with a metal clang that he barely heard.
They settled into the car, Aya adjusted his bag beside him while Yohji fiddled with the radio. The quiet voices from the speakers were suddenly interrupted by a surprisingly loud grumble from Aya’s stomach.
“Sorry,” he whispered, laying his hand over his middle as if to stifle further disruption. Yohji had to smile.
“Hungry?”
Not much hesitation there, “Yes.”
~tbc~
Just one review can feed a starving slug for two whole days. Otherwise he eats the lemons.
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Chapter Fifty-Three: Time Me
Two hours later, Yohji was beginning to feel a little sick. It might have been his stomach twisting in worry, or maybe it had something to do with his chain smoking not only the rest of his open pack but most of his dashboard emergency pack as well. Looking at the three cigarettes left in the latter, he shook his head and tossed them aside in favor of checking the clock for at least the hundredth time. The green numbers read 10:26, and deciding he could walk to the door very slowly, he got out of the car.
After lingering in the dark parking lot, looking and feeling like a shifty character, Yohji started down the hall. He wasn’t sure what he expected exactly, but it was not to see Aya laid out on the floor with Sato leaning over him. His entire system jolted, going from unease to angry panic in two seconds flat. He must have shouted something, because Sato’s head snapped around, and Aya tried to get up, but the older man’s hand was pressed against his chest.
“What the fuck is . . .”
His words trailed off as he got close enough to see exactly what the fuck was, or rather wasn’t, going on. Laying on the floor with a folded jacket tucked under his head, Aya looked pale but okay; kneeling at his side, Sato retrieved a damp cloth from the floor where it had fallen and replaced it back across his forehead.
“He’s fine,” Sato informed, unmoved by Yohji’s near meltdown and by the fact that he was going to get seriously mauled if he kept touching Aya’s face, placing the cloth or not; Yohji would take his hand off in a second.
Okay, even he realized he seriously needed to calm down.
Nothing was happening. Aya was fine. Everything was fine.
A few deep breaths brought him back to the situation more calmly, and he stared back as Sato regarded him intently.
“I need to speak with you,” he said. Yohji nodded, unclenching his fist and forcibly shifting his legs from the aggressive stance they had settled into. Sato stood, and as he did Aya went to sit again; leaning down, the dark haired man placed a hand on his chest to guide him back down. Yohji watched Aya stiffen, his whole body tense, like he might run.
“Please don’t touch him,” Yohji heard his own words, as tense as Aya. Sato looked at him, removed his hand slowly and straightened.
“Don’t get up too quickly,” he directed calmly to Aya, whose eyes were flicking between the two of them. “But perhaps you should get ready to go.”
There was certain relief in familiarity as Aya looked to him for affirmation, and Yohji nodded, offering a hand to help him slowly to his feet. He held slim fingers a little longer than necessary, trying to assure himself that the redhead was indeed okay. When he was released, Aya picked up his clothes and left the room in silence.
“What happened?” Yohji asked, trying to suppress an anger that rose again of its own volition when he so much as looked at Sato. He recognized that it wasn’t quite right for him to have such a strong feeling, but that didn’t change a damn thing.
“He passed out,” the other replied, meeting his stare but not responding to the emotion in it. “He’s malnourished; it makes it difficult to train him. You need to take better care of him.”
No! Yohji practically shouted the word at himself, because in that instant he really, really wanted to take out this guy, Kritiker or not. He might not be able to kill him, but he could at least get in a punch or two, maybe a good one to the gut before—another deep breath.
Waiting in the car had not helped his mood. There was too much tension, and it reminded him of other places he had waited.
“I don’t understand,” he managed; it was cold.
“I think you do. He needs food, care. You can’t expect your, your, whatever you call him—”
“You don’t know what you’re—”
“I’ve seen starvation enough to recognize it.”
“You think I did this?!”
“I don’t know, but here he is, looking at you for every direction, barely able to speak once you leave a room, wearing a collar that he won’t take off even for practice—”
“I fucking rescued him, you ass. There’s no way I would ever—”
The lifted hand again; Yohji debated biting it, just for some variation.
“I do not care. He is in your care at present, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Then take care of him. He needs more food, and he needs water. He’s severely dehydrated. I don’t care what the situation is, but he will never be able to do this if his health doesn’t improve. Do you understand?”
About to give the guy a serious piece of his mind, Yohji was interrupted as Aya returned. He watched the redhead put down the clothes he had borrowed, noticing anew how thin he was. Yohji realized he had been busy noting the improvements, but for someone who hadn’t seen Aya a week before, the emaciated, timid boy before him might very well look neglected.
“Damn it,” he swore, causing Aya to look at him worriedly and Sato to turn away. “Nothing,” he excused himself to the former who immediately averted his eyes.
“Aya, come here please,” Sato requested. The eyes came back to Yohji who nodded, feeling much less satisfaction than he had earlier.
When Aya stood beside them in the little shop, Sato pulled something from a shelf. Unfolding it, he revealed a long, narrow bag and handed it to Aya.
“Put your things in this. You shouldn’t carry the katana out in the open,” he warned, and though Yohji was receiving zero attention, he felt insulted. It wasn’t that big of a deal, he thought, to bring a sword into a dojo. “And take the clothes you wore tonight. I expect you to practice at home. You have space?”
Aya looked to Yohji, who nodded. Aya nodded in turn.
“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Without a farewell to Yohji, Sato simply walked away, expecting them to see their own way out.
~*~
Aya had been exhausted the night before, barely getting out of the shower and into his PJs before he was asleep on top of the covers. Yohji was surprised he got up the next morning ready to go to the shop and eager, in that quiet, reserved way, to try a few more arrangements. Leaving him to work with Ken’s questionable supervision, Yohji went back into the house to quickly find them all some breakfast. Omelets would be good, but they didn’t really work as carryout, so he settled for some toast and jam and, thinking about what Sato had said, grabbed a bottle of water for Aya.
The boy looked at him curiously as the paper plate and bottle were settled at his elbow. Plopping down his own food, Yohji pulled a chair up to the corner of the work table and started eating. Tying off a bow, Aya hesitantly picked up his own toast, looked at it for a long second, then started to eat. When he had finished it all, Yohji opened the water and pushed it closer.
“Drink this,” he stated.
Aya looked at him for a second, lifted the bottle, and took a drink, all the while looking as if he expected it to be some kind of trick. Yohji sighed.
“Aya, you’d tell me if you needed anything, right? Like, if you’re hungry or thirsty or something, you’d tell me?”
There was a long pause, and Aya didn’t meet his eyes when he answered, “Yes, Yohji.”
Yohji had a feeling it was going to be another long day.
~*~
“What do you think about him?”
He got a curious stare for his inquiry and had to roll his eyes in response.
“Sato. Do you like him?”
“Yes, Yohji.”
“He’s not…he doesn’t scare you?”
There was a certain stiffening of shoulders that Yohji thought might be indignation, but it was gone before he could be sure. Aya shook his head, no; he still resisted saying the word aloud, and Yohji could only imagine what punishments he had faced for doing so.
~*~
For several nights, he had waited in the car, thinking about all the things that might go wrong. Nothing did, and despite being a complete ass to Yohji, Sato seemed to be genuinely concerned for Aya’s welfare. On Friday night, Yohji told Aya he was going back home and would come get him at the end of his lesson. There was more than a little unspoken unease on both their parts, Yohji chewing the end of his unlit cigarette and Aya studying the car’s floor mat, his right hand inching towards his left wrist in the nervous gesture that made Yohji cringe.
“Forget it. I’ll stay.”
Aya shook his head, a little too hard. No.
“Aya?”
“You…I,” he sighed, shutting his eyes. They opened again, coming up to the dash rather than the floor; his voice was more determined, if slightly unsure, “I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t have to go.”
He went, not far, to the cramped excuse for a restaurant across the street. It was crowded and noisy and the noodles cost twice as much as they should, but the waitress was pretty and she sat him next to the window where he could watch the dojo. Not that he could see anything; with the shades drawn, the place looked closed, the only visibly light coming from an upstairs window. It was safer that way, but not very comforting.
Yohji ordered a bottle of overpriced sake and tried not to watch the clock.
~*~
Aya met him at the door, Sato standing to his left. No longer bothering with pleasantries, Yohji ignored the older man to focus in on Aya. He looked tired, but there was something else about him that Yohji couldn’t quite lay his finger on, not something bad, something…else. He tried to parse it out, noting in passing the bag over the boy’s shoulder, the collar at his neck, the way his damp hair clung to his face and forehead. He had worked hard, and the something, maybe it was accomplishment. Yes. It wasn’t that he looked proud as he stared at the ground in front of him, just, well, a little less lost. Yohji liked it.
“Come on,” he motioned to the Seven. The dojo door shut behind them with a metal clang that he barely heard.
They settled into the car, Aya adjusted his bag beside him while Yohji fiddled with the radio. The quiet voices from the speakers were suddenly interrupted by a surprisingly loud grumble from Aya’s stomach.
“Sorry,” he whispered, laying his hand over his middle as if to stifle further disruption. Yohji had to smile.
“Hungry?”
Not much hesitation there, “Yes.”
~tbc~
Just one review can feed a starving slug for two whole days. Otherwise he eats the lemons.
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