Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Chains ❯ Trip Me ( Chapter 55 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Notes: I have so many moments planned for this, now I just have to figure out how they all fit together! Along those same lines, I realize the narrative timing of this chapter is a bit off, but I’m trying to get along with it and, to that end, avoid showing each and every scene that may not be important for the plot. Still, I’ll do better next time…or at least try…

Chapter Fifty-Five: Trip Me



Aya sat quietly at the table while Yohji fixed breakfast, chattering away about how he was definitely going to make omelets. He wanted to know whether Aya liked this or that, holding up each ingredient in turn as if he wouldn’t know what a pepper or an onion was. Aya didn’t like onions, but it was a tense moment as he debated if and how to tell Yohji that.

It was a little thing. An insignificant triviality, but they seemed to consume his life now. Before it had been simple, awful, but simple. Crawford didn’t give a damn what he thought or wanted or liked, and if Schuldig asked, it was only to find one more thing to use against him. But he could find no use in Yohji’s questions except to find out about him.

It was strange, and yet, he knew it shouldn’t be. This was normal, but the other things, the training, the swords, the woman with the red hair, that wasn’t. Sometimes it got confused in his head, and Aya desperately tried to sort it all out. He knew, too well, that to confuse normal with not was to lose it completely.

His life was not normal, but there were, now, normal parts in it.

Yohji fixing breakfast was normal.

~*~

“Sit on the bed for a second,” he directed. Aya nodded, sitting, a little hesitantly, on the edge of the bed and watching him attentively. It might have driven another person crazy, but, for the most part, Yohji didn’t mind being watched about his normal activities. Other things, well, that was different, but this was okay. Plus, if Aya was looking at him, he wasn’t looking at the floor, and that was a victory.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” he started, standing in the middle of the room with hands on his hips. He made a quick survey, formulating the plan he had just announced; there had to be some way to deal with the mounting disarray of stuff. His own things hadn’t been in perfect order before, and with the addition of Aya’s clothes over the chair and his sword on the dresser and the general shuffling of items, it was getting hard to navigate the space. “Our room is a disaster, and that’s my fault, but I do have a plan. See these,” he gestured to the pile of dirty clothes that was collecting near the closet and door, “these have to get washed, so we’ll throw them out in the hall.”

To demonstrate, he picked up the closest item, a pair of his jeans, and tossed them gently through the open door and into the hall.

“Then, we’re gonna clean out the closet, get rid of some of my stuff, and get some of your stuff in there. Then we’ll think about the rest. Okay?”

Aya nodded.

~*~

With Aya in competent command of the washer, dryer, and, to Yohji’s complete surprise, iron, the laundry had been progressing steadily. Meanwhile, the blonde had managed to empty almost a third of his closet. While he was a man of many fashions, Yohji had very little staying power with any, and he rotated his wardrobe on a regular basis. So it didn’t pain him to mark for the charity bin the shirts he hadn’t worn in the last six months or the pants he was, in truth, never going to wear (they made his thin hips look inexplicably wide) along with each and every item he had bought while going through a brief but interesting phase where he thought he looked good in purple.  

On second thought, he set a couple of these back for Aya to try on, thinking the color might do him justice. If they didn’t clash too badly with his hair.

Leaving the boy to fold a few items, he went to the garage to hunt up another empty box. It took longer than he expected (mostly since he had already raided the area for three other boxes), and by the time he emptied Ken’s spare soccer balls out of one and brought it back, Aya was sleeping quietly beside a stack of neatly folded clothes. Setting down his empty box, Yohji loosened the edge of the comforter and pulled it over him.

~*~

Aya didn’t go to the dojo on Sundays, and having completed their cleanup, the two of them had the evening to do as they pleased, or, well, as Yohji pleased since Aya didn’t seem to have an opinion on the matter. The week before, their night off had been full of odds and ends, and Yohji realized it was probably the first night in several weeks when they truly didn’t have to accomplish anything.

Omi had stopped by earlier (attracted, no doubt, by the growing pile of clothes that had at that time occupied the hallway) and asked if they wanted to go to a movie. Yohji had declined, thinking a dark theater was a place where Aya wouldn’t feel comfortable. Half an hour later, and still bereft of company, Omi had come back to announce he had decided to rent movies instead. Since they had been polled on their preferences (Aya having none despite Yohji’s prodding), Yohji thought it might be polite to actually watch one of them with Omi. It wasn’t like he had a hot date anyway.

For a fleeting moment, he wished for a bar and a girl, for the heavy rhythm of a song he knew and the hot tangle of bodies, but remembering his last outing was as good as a spray of cold water.

So once Aya had woken up and Yohji had assured him that he didn’t have to apologize for sleeping, they headed downstairs. Having left the living room to assist an excited Omi with snacks, Yohji came back to see Aya settled into the armchair. He had to smile. For once, the boy actually looked reasonably comfortable, with his legs drawn up beneath him and the battered seed catalog in his hands.

Yohji wondered at this. Aya had lugged around the catalog, staring at it whenever he got a few minutes of time apart from the others. He had asked Yohji if it was okay, and unable to think of why it wouldn’t be (save for the fact that it was weird), Yohji had shrugged it off. Now, though, he wondered what the boy’s fascination with the book was. Of all the things for him to drag around like a security blanket, the creased, worn catalog was an odd choice.

“Want to order more seeds?” he questioned casually as he set a bowl of chips down on the coffee table.

No, Aya shook his head, not lifting his eyes from the pages.

Yohji stared for a few minutes, trying to figure out what was interesting about seeds. Finally, he admitted to himself he didn’t get it. Plopping down on the sofa, he watched Aya until the boy looked up, only to immediately look down. It happened so often that it was almost funny, some odd inside joke they played at.

“Okay, explain it, please.”’

He got a questioning look, and when it verged on worry, he tried again.

“The catalog. Why do you keep reading it?”

“I’m sorry—”

“Aya,” he interrupted, smiling, “It’s fine. I’m just curious, that’s all. I mean, I’ve seen it, it’s not exactly a thrilling thing to read.”

“It’s just…”

He waited.

“It’s something to read.” Aya shook his head, like his explanation was lacking. Yohji could sense he was about to apologize again and headed it off.

“You like to read?”

“Yes...Yohji.”

The name was an afterthought, and Yohji couldn’t have been happier. Aya had been forgetting it more and more, and thought he hadn’t said anything, Yohji could only hope it was disappear altogether.

“Did you read a lot, before?”

“Yes, Yohji.”

Well, that made a lot of sense. It put together a few pieces, like why he couldn’t get a decent opinion on anything related to the television, why Aya had been offended that Yohji thought he might not be able to read, why he drug around the stupid catalog. Except, Yohji realized, it wasn’t all that stupid to him.

~*~

The evening had been going well. Everything had felt relaxed, a nice change to the tension that was fast becoming the norm. The others seemed to have forgiven him his recent screw up with getting them put on Kritiker’s shit list, and Ken had joined them to watch a trivial kind of comedy that was funny without trying too hard. They had laughed and poked fun when the main character began to resemble a certain clumsy soccer player, and Yohji was amazed to see Aya watch their exchange with open interest. The boy was more relaxed than he had ever seen him, and, if not for his reservation, he might have been one of the guys.

Around eight, Omi had ordered a pizza.

Yohji guessed that’s where things started to go downhill.

Aya had been reluctant to eat it, and Yohji had insisted, not sure where the sudden resistance was coming from. Not about to argue with any force, Aya did as he was told. Yohji watched off and on with satisfaction until, having almost finished the second piece the blonde had placed on his plate, Aya put it down and made a sudden dash from the room.

Finding himself treated to a confused look from Ken and an accusatory one from Omi, Yohji swore under his breath and forced himself off the couch. He felt bad, but, really, he thought Aya could handle a couple pieces of pizza. He’d been doing well lately, but, as Yohji belatedly realized, two things had often proved to be the enemy, grease and meat, both of which the pizza had in excess. Why hadn’t the boy just told him he couldn’t eat it?

With another sigh, Yohji leaned against the wall outside the bathroom, a post that was increasingly familiar. He listened to the water run and waited for the door to open, trying not to be frustrated and generally losing the battle. It was more his fault than Aya’s, he supposed, not that he liked taking the blame. Actually, he was getting pretty damn sick of it.

The door opened, and Aya came out, clearly expecting him there. He looked pale and embarrassed and prepared for reprimand. This Yohji was determined not to give, even if he did feel the urge to lecture.

“Come on.” It was clipped, but calm; Aya, though, seemed to sense his mood, responding tensely and following behind Yohji at a set distance.

They went back downstairs, and Aya settled back in his chair. But it wasn’t the same. His head rested against the leather, tired, and he watched the movie with a kind of detached distance.

Omi had switched the tape and turned off the lights, leaving only the kitchen fixture to cast shadows into the living room. The opening credits were running against a dark backdrop while eerie music played. Yohji didn’t have to try too hard to figure out what kind of film it was, and he gave Omi a nod of thanks. Scary movies were kind of his thing. He liked to see a scantily glad girl running away from a hideously incompetent killer; that probably said something terrible about his psyche, but he liked to think he was in it for the cheap thrill.

And this one was destined not to disappoint. Within the first ten minutes, Yohji had picked out the main character (blonde hair, big tits, and tiny little crop top) and the real killer (her too-loving boyfriend with the crew cut and letter jacket) and worked out most of the plot. Girl’s parents leave, girl has party, teenagers get taken out one by one, and, yet girl survives but loses her trust (and her top) in the process. Content that he had hashed it out, Yohji leaned back on the couch to enjoy it. No thought required.

Except, it didn’t quite go right. While normally he might have enjoyed the added twist, now Yohji cursed the writers for getting creative at the wrong damn time. Having lost two of her friends to the mystery psycho in the carnival mask, Ms. Big Tits decided to seek him out. Armed with a kitchen knife and her boyfriend’s jacket, she wandered into a dimly lit building and, in very short order, was rendered unconscious. At this point, Yohji was intrigued, but the further it went, the more it fed growing sense of unease.

He glanced to Omi, sitting next to him on the couch, but the boy was engrossed in the show, a piece of popcorn suspended between his lips and the bowl. Hoping it wasn’t going where he thought it was, Yohji turned back to the TV just in time to see the girl regain consciousness. Tied to a chair, she looked around frantically; the killer appeared, face hidden by the fathered, green mask. Stepping up to the struggling girl, he reached out to drag a gloved hand down her cheek.

“You’re mine,” the killer rasped, the surround-sound speakers projecting it deftly through the room.

Yohji shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Looking to Aya, he found the boy with a rather sick look on his face, one hand twisting around the other wrist. Another glance at Omi revealed that he had the blonde’s attention this time. Omi made a gesture to the TV, silently offering to shut it off. About to agree, Yohji reconsidered. Aya had seemed so at peace, earlier, so content to simply be a part of their group; the incident with the pizza had put a serious damper on that reserved excitement, and to be singled out again, to be the reason the night ended on a bad note, well, Yohji didn’t think it would be good. Still, he couldn’t very well sit there and let Aya suffer through what was clearly going to be an unpleasant reminder.

A look at the screen reinforced this; the killer had pushed up his mask, tilting back the girl’s head so he could forcibly kiss her. There was a little noise from Aya, a gasp or whine, quickly suppressed behind what Yohji thought were tightly clenched teeth.

Slipping quietly from the couch, Yohji scooted over until he sat on the floor in front of Aya’s chair with his back resting against it. Cautiously, he touched Aya’s arm; the boy jumped, and Yohji withdrew his hand like it burned. When Aya looked at him, Yohji could see his unease clearly, even in the dim light of the room. He patted the carpet next to him, and after a second of hesitation, Aya slid from the chair to sit next to him on the floor.

A few inches separated them, and Yohji was going to let it stay that way until the girl screamed. Aya went stiff, wide violet eyes glued to the screen as the girl was freed from the chair and shoved to the ground. She began to beg. Yohji leaned forward to look at Aya’s face and saw the horror reflected in his eyes; his face was still, emotionless, but the eyes were terrible. He didn’t know if the redhead was watching or remembering but that look, the pure terror of it was enough to push him into action.

He grabbed Aya around the waist, a move he immediately realized to be the beginning of a very bad plan. Aya was tense, scared, resisting him for a moment then collapsing, limp as Yohji drug him against his side. Unable to tell what Aya was thinking, but realizing the boy was far from comforted, Yohji tried to talk to him quietly.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, his lips close to Aya’s ear as the boy leaned against his side, one of Yohji’s arms around his waist and the blonde’s free hand gently rubbing his hair. “You don’t have to watch.”

The girl pleaded, begging the killer to leave her alone; he ripped off her top. There was no thrill in it for Yohji; he held tight to the trembling figure in his arms, drawing Aya even closer to his side. With a gentle touch to the boy’s cheek, he directed him to turn away, to look at Yohji instead of the television. Aya obeyed easily, and when the girl screamed again, he ducked his head under Yohji’s chin and tangled his hands in the older man’s shirt.

Yohji held him tightly, resting his own head against Aya’s. Closing his eyes, he focused on the feel of Aya in his arms, the shaking, the fast-beating heart, and the uneven breathing; it wasn’t an all out panic attack, but left alone any longer and it would have been. He didn’t want to think it, but the thought pressed itself on him: if a movie scared Aya this badly, how were they ever going to make him into a killer?

Forcibly, he shoved the question aside, hugging Aya closer. He could feel Omi and Ken watching them but he held on, waiting for what he didn’t know.

“Look, Aya,” Omi said suddenly.

Yohji looked, and with a gentle touch to his arm, Aya lifted his head to see.

“They got him,” Omi gestured to the screen with an unsure smile. The girl was being coddled by the police, the guy led away in cuffs.

“See?” Yohji asked. Aya nodded slowly, still a thousand miles away. Carefully, Yohji removed the slender hands from his shirt and held them in his own as he looked Aya in the eyes. “It’s just a movie.”

Suddenly the distant, half-scared look was gone, replaced by that completely indifferent blankness.

“I know.”
And though he didn’t say it, gave absolutely no sign of it, Yohji couldn’t help but think Aya was pissed at him.

~tbc~

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