Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Chains ❯ Trick Me ( Chapter 57 )
[ 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: 12.14.2010 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.8K | Visits: 285 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 12.14.2010 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.8K | Visits: 285 | Status: Work In Progress
Chapter Fifty-Seven: Trick Me
Yohji had mused over the problem for several days and finally decided that any action was better than none. So, with only a vaguely developed plan of getting Aya to just say the word no, he sat the boy down at the kitchen table and, having located an ashtray he was fairly sure he would need, started an uncomfortable conversation.
“I want you to do something for me.”
Aya looked at him with trepidation that didn’t go further than his eyes, and while it was unpleasant, it was bearable.
“Actually, it’s for both of us,” he corrected, lighting up his first cigarette as he watched the other. “You’ve got to learn to tell people things. Like when you need something, or want something, or when you’re upset. I want you to tell me this stuff. I’m not gonna be mad at you, okay?”
“Yes, Yohji.”
He wasn’t too sure how true that was, considering his recent track record with temper and Aya, but he would try, and making a wishy washy statement wasn’t the way to convince anyone.
“I’m gonna ask you a question, and you try to answer. That simple.”
He drew hard on the cigarette, relishing the momentary pleasure of nicotine; after second, he exhaled and tried to think of something simple to start with. All in all, he had very limited knowledge of the boy in front of him, so, in order to get the words he wanted, he searched his brain for questions he already knew the answers to. Suddenly struck with an idea, he rested his smoke on the edge of the glass ashtray and got up to dig in the fridge. Coming up with an onion, he sat down, and placed it resolutely between them.
“Do you like onions?”
Aya hesitated, looking for Yohji to the onion and then to his hands. Finally, he shook his head, no.
“Try to say it, Aya.”
“I don’t like it,” he said without much hesitation. Still, Yohji noted the absence of the word ‘no.’
“Do you like to read?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like working in the greenhouse?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like working in the shop when the girls are there?”
“I don’t like that,” he said. He looked vaguely bored by the process.
Brilliant plan circumnavigated, Yohji paused to take another drag off his cigarette. Tricking Aya into saying it might not have been the best idea, but he had honestly thought it might work. He was beginning to think, though, that Aya might be more savvy than he let on.
“Ask me a question,” he said, trying to deviate from the pattern, maybe catch the redhead off guard.
Aya blinked at him, confused, cautious.
“Anything. Whatever you want to know,” he added, leaning back in his chair and snubbing out his cigarette.
It took almost a minute, but finally Aya spoke, his voice level and almost sure, “Why do people call you Balinese?”
“Eh? That’s my code name, for work. It’s a cat.”
Aya seemed to think about that for a while, then, “Why are you named after a cat?”
“Hell if I know. Maybe Persia reads Cat Fancy.”
“Persia?”
“The boss. He chooses our missions.”
“Missions,” Aya repeated the word quietly.
“Yeah. I guess we haven’t talked a lot about that have we?” He lit another cigarette, hesitated, then offered it to Aya. The boy looked at it and then shook his head. “You ever smoked?”
Again he shook his head.
“Can you say it, Aya? Can you say no?”
“Of course,” he bit out, turning his head away. Yohji hadn’t expected the tinge of anger in his voice, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
“Then why don’t you? Why don’t you tell me no?” he questioned, leaning forward. “Are you scared?”
“Yes! Okay?!” he yelled, turning suddenly back on Yohji to stare at him, eyes burning with that defiance he had seen the first time Aya had been mad at him. “If he finds out that I said that to you, he’ll hurt her! I can’t…” There was a small hitch in his breath and the anger left as quickly as it had come. Slumping in the chair, the redhead hid his face with his hands. “I can’t.”
Yohji reached to comfort, laying a hand on Aya’s thin shoulder and relieved that the boy didn’t pull away. “It’s okay. You don’t have to.”
“I’m sorry, Yohji,” he whispered, dropping his hands to his lap. He wasn’t crying as Yohji had suspected, but there was a look of complete dejection, “I’m sorry.”
~*~
“He wants you to come inside, Yohji,” Aya told him.
It was already Friday, and having been excluded from Aya’s training for over a week, Yohji was almost relived at the request. Of course, it meant seeing Sato, so he had serious doubts that his relief would last very long. Still, he turned off the car and followed Aya back into the dojo.
Sato stood by the wall wearing a black suit of kendo armor. The helmet was in his hand, and as they entered, he reached up to loose his dark hair from the cloth on his head; it fell, straight and slightly damp, over his shoulders. Shaking out the cloth, he tucked it in the helmet and set both against the wall near his sword. It was, Yohji noted, not a practice sword of wood, but rather full length katana.
Seemingly oblivious to their presence (though Yohji was under no delusions that this was actually the case), Sato made efficient but not hurried work of removing his armor, unstrapping it from around himself and setting it against the wall. Yohji wanted to ask Aya if he had been wearing the same (certainly the odd way his hair pressed against his head suggested it), but there was some sort of enforced silence in the room. It made him nervous and tempted him to yell at Sato to hurry his ass up.
For Aya’s sake, he didn’t. And finally, the instructor approached them. He looked tired, Yohji thought, and it occurred to him for the first time that training Aya probably made for long days for the other man. There was slight pleasure at that, that someone else was sharing his strain.
There were no pleasantries, and Sato launched immediately into what he had to say, speaking clearly in the authoritative, deep voice that while smooth, might as well have been sandpaper to Yohji’s nerves.
“He’s doing well. Significantly ahead of schedule. He’s ready for additional training. I understand that the members of your team are all trained in weaponry; spar with him—“
“Already? It’s only been two weeks.” Yohji nearly shuddered at the idea of coming at Aya with his wire. The boy was still too frail, too tender.
“He was not in need of remedial training; it’s a matter of stamina, for the most part, and adjusting to actual combat. He needs to eat more to gain muscle, but that will take time. Now he needs the experience of defending against other weapons besides a sword, and I can only do so much. Practice with him. Also, he should be trained in hand to hand combat; he might not always have a weapon.”
To this Yohji could only nod, still stuck on the idea that Sato actually wanted Aya to engage in combat, even feigned, with the members of Weiss. The boy was just managing to look at them!
“Don’t underestimate him,” he said. When he turned away, it was clear they were dismissed.
~*~
Yohji watched Aya carefully gather the noodles between his chopsticks. It was a little after eleven, and, like most nights, they were sitting in the cheap family restaurant they had discovered on the way home over a week ago. Though it was late, Yohji always went willingly, having discovered that Aya ate the most right after his lessons. The first week he had consistently looked as if he might fall into his food at any moment, but at the end of the second, Yohji could see a marked improvement.
While there was a certain slowness about his movements that betrayed weariness, Aya appeared generally alert. He ate with as much enthusiasm as Yohji had ever seem him display, always neat and tidy but without the delay between bites, and drank a full glass of water. Yohji had offered to get him a soda on more than one occasion, but Aya always declined. Cold soba noodles and water, every time.
Not one to eat at night, Yohji always ordered something just to keep Aya at ease. He was happy just to have black coffee, but he picked at the salad in front of him as he tried to make conversation. It was getting easier, in tiny, tiny increments. And, like the eating, Aya was most open to conversation after his lessons.
“So, you’re using the sword now?”
Aya nodded, his mouth full.
“When’d you start that?”
He swallowed, then, “Last week.”
“Quick. You fight each other, in that armor stuff?”
“Yes. Sometimes.”
“Who wins?”
“He does. Almost always.”
There was something almost pleased lingering about Aya’s expression as he said this, a slight, very slight, upturning at the corner of his lips, but it disappeared, even as Yohji noticed it, and the lips were schooled once more into careful neutrality.
~tbc~
The slug says if you review, he’ll give you a very special Christmas present…he’s smiling quite oddly…
Converting /tmp/phpfPN7Hz to /dev/stdout
Yohji had mused over the problem for several days and finally decided that any action was better than none. So, with only a vaguely developed plan of getting Aya to just say the word no, he sat the boy down at the kitchen table and, having located an ashtray he was fairly sure he would need, started an uncomfortable conversation.
“I want you to do something for me.”
Aya looked at him with trepidation that didn’t go further than his eyes, and while it was unpleasant, it was bearable.
“Actually, it’s for both of us,” he corrected, lighting up his first cigarette as he watched the other. “You’ve got to learn to tell people things. Like when you need something, or want something, or when you’re upset. I want you to tell me this stuff. I’m not gonna be mad at you, okay?”
“Yes, Yohji.”
He wasn’t too sure how true that was, considering his recent track record with temper and Aya, but he would try, and making a wishy washy statement wasn’t the way to convince anyone.
“I’m gonna ask you a question, and you try to answer. That simple.”
He drew hard on the cigarette, relishing the momentary pleasure of nicotine; after second, he exhaled and tried to think of something simple to start with. All in all, he had very limited knowledge of the boy in front of him, so, in order to get the words he wanted, he searched his brain for questions he already knew the answers to. Suddenly struck with an idea, he rested his smoke on the edge of the glass ashtray and got up to dig in the fridge. Coming up with an onion, he sat down, and placed it resolutely between them.
“Do you like onions?”
Aya hesitated, looking for Yohji to the onion and then to his hands. Finally, he shook his head, no.
“Try to say it, Aya.”
“I don’t like it,” he said without much hesitation. Still, Yohji noted the absence of the word ‘no.’
“Do you like to read?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like working in the greenhouse?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like working in the shop when the girls are there?”
“I don’t like that,” he said. He looked vaguely bored by the process.
Brilliant plan circumnavigated, Yohji paused to take another drag off his cigarette. Tricking Aya into saying it might not have been the best idea, but he had honestly thought it might work. He was beginning to think, though, that Aya might be more savvy than he let on.
“Ask me a question,” he said, trying to deviate from the pattern, maybe catch the redhead off guard.
Aya blinked at him, confused, cautious.
“Anything. Whatever you want to know,” he added, leaning back in his chair and snubbing out his cigarette.
It took almost a minute, but finally Aya spoke, his voice level and almost sure, “Why do people call you Balinese?”
“Eh? That’s my code name, for work. It’s a cat.”
Aya seemed to think about that for a while, then, “Why are you named after a cat?”
“Hell if I know. Maybe Persia reads Cat Fancy.”
“Persia?”
“The boss. He chooses our missions.”
“Missions,” Aya repeated the word quietly.
“Yeah. I guess we haven’t talked a lot about that have we?” He lit another cigarette, hesitated, then offered it to Aya. The boy looked at it and then shook his head. “You ever smoked?”
Again he shook his head.
“Can you say it, Aya? Can you say no?”
“Of course,” he bit out, turning his head away. Yohji hadn’t expected the tinge of anger in his voice, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
“Then why don’t you? Why don’t you tell me no?” he questioned, leaning forward. “Are you scared?”
“Yes! Okay?!” he yelled, turning suddenly back on Yohji to stare at him, eyes burning with that defiance he had seen the first time Aya had been mad at him. “If he finds out that I said that to you, he’ll hurt her! I can’t…” There was a small hitch in his breath and the anger left as quickly as it had come. Slumping in the chair, the redhead hid his face with his hands. “I can’t.”
Yohji reached to comfort, laying a hand on Aya’s thin shoulder and relieved that the boy didn’t pull away. “It’s okay. You don’t have to.”
“I’m sorry, Yohji,” he whispered, dropping his hands to his lap. He wasn’t crying as Yohji had suspected, but there was a look of complete dejection, “I’m sorry.”
~*~
“He wants you to come inside, Yohji,” Aya told him.
It was already Friday, and having been excluded from Aya’s training for over a week, Yohji was almost relived at the request. Of course, it meant seeing Sato, so he had serious doubts that his relief would last very long. Still, he turned off the car and followed Aya back into the dojo.
Sato stood by the wall wearing a black suit of kendo armor. The helmet was in his hand, and as they entered, he reached up to loose his dark hair from the cloth on his head; it fell, straight and slightly damp, over his shoulders. Shaking out the cloth, he tucked it in the helmet and set both against the wall near his sword. It was, Yohji noted, not a practice sword of wood, but rather full length katana.
Seemingly oblivious to their presence (though Yohji was under no delusions that this was actually the case), Sato made efficient but not hurried work of removing his armor, unstrapping it from around himself and setting it against the wall. Yohji wanted to ask Aya if he had been wearing the same (certainly the odd way his hair pressed against his head suggested it), but there was some sort of enforced silence in the room. It made him nervous and tempted him to yell at Sato to hurry his ass up.
For Aya’s sake, he didn’t. And finally, the instructor approached them. He looked tired, Yohji thought, and it occurred to him for the first time that training Aya probably made for long days for the other man. There was slight pleasure at that, that someone else was sharing his strain.
There were no pleasantries, and Sato launched immediately into what he had to say, speaking clearly in the authoritative, deep voice that while smooth, might as well have been sandpaper to Yohji’s nerves.
“He’s doing well. Significantly ahead of schedule. He’s ready for additional training. I understand that the members of your team are all trained in weaponry; spar with him—“
“Already? It’s only been two weeks.” Yohji nearly shuddered at the idea of coming at Aya with his wire. The boy was still too frail, too tender.
“He was not in need of remedial training; it’s a matter of stamina, for the most part, and adjusting to actual combat. He needs to eat more to gain muscle, but that will take time. Now he needs the experience of defending against other weapons besides a sword, and I can only do so much. Practice with him. Also, he should be trained in hand to hand combat; he might not always have a weapon.”
To this Yohji could only nod, still stuck on the idea that Sato actually wanted Aya to engage in combat, even feigned, with the members of Weiss. The boy was just managing to look at them!
“Don’t underestimate him,” he said. When he turned away, it was clear they were dismissed.
~*~
Yohji watched Aya carefully gather the noodles between his chopsticks. It was a little after eleven, and, like most nights, they were sitting in the cheap family restaurant they had discovered on the way home over a week ago. Though it was late, Yohji always went willingly, having discovered that Aya ate the most right after his lessons. The first week he had consistently looked as if he might fall into his food at any moment, but at the end of the second, Yohji could see a marked improvement.
While there was a certain slowness about his movements that betrayed weariness, Aya appeared generally alert. He ate with as much enthusiasm as Yohji had ever seem him display, always neat and tidy but without the delay between bites, and drank a full glass of water. Yohji had offered to get him a soda on more than one occasion, but Aya always declined. Cold soba noodles and water, every time.
Not one to eat at night, Yohji always ordered something just to keep Aya at ease. He was happy just to have black coffee, but he picked at the salad in front of him as he tried to make conversation. It was getting easier, in tiny, tiny increments. And, like the eating, Aya was most open to conversation after his lessons.
“So, you’re using the sword now?”
Aya nodded, his mouth full.
“When’d you start that?”
He swallowed, then, “Last week.”
“Quick. You fight each other, in that armor stuff?”
“Yes. Sometimes.”
“Who wins?”
“He does. Almost always.”
There was something almost pleased lingering about Aya’s expression as he said this, a slight, very slight, upturning at the corner of his lips, but it disappeared, even as Yohji noticed it, and the lips were schooled once more into careful neutrality.
~tbc~
The slug says if you review, he’ll give you a very special Christmas present…he’s smiling quite oddly…
Converting /tmp/phpfPN7Hz to /dev/stdout