Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Chains ❯ Grant Me ( Chapter 67 )

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

Chapter Sixty-Seven: Grant Me


“Are you ready to go?”

He lingered in the doorway of the bedroom as Aya silently gathered his things. The boy looked tired, slower than usual as he picked up the long bag with his weapons inside. He put the bag over his shoulder and tucked the neat square of his clothes under his arm, then stood patiently in the center of the room, just waiting.

The quiet pulled at Yohji, and he drew hard on his cigarette, trying to make the feeling go away.

“Come on.”

~*~

The shinai landed hard on his shoulder, the pain surging through his arm. A simple move; he should have blocked it. Instantly, Sato backed off, falling into a defensive stance. Aya didn’t relent; tightening his grip, he surged forward, aiming a hasty jab at his sensei’s throat.

The older man blocked it with ease, forcing Aya’s shinai down and to the right. Stepping back, he let Aya come again. This time he tried for the head, a stupid move, he thought, even as he executed it. His middle was left open, and from the basic stance, Sato easily ducked and, before he had time to move, landed another blow on his side.

Again his sensei stepped back, but now he was lowering the practice sword, executing a quick bow, before turning away entirely.

“You’re being stupid,” Sato stated. Going to the wall, he leaned his shinai again it. Turning again, he faced Aya while Aya tried to catch his breath, his sword still half-raised as he waited in the middle of the floor. “Put that down before you hurt yourself.”

There was irritation in his voice, sarcasm even, and Aya’s first instinct was to lash out against it, but that was waylaid, barely, by the embarrassment of failure, a feeling that struck him harder than fear of punishment. He lowered the shinai. His chest rose and fell heavily from the sparring, and he body ached from the hits he’d taken. Normally there would be one at most; they only warmed up with the bamboo sword, quickly moving on to more serious versions. But he’d been off tonight. Everything with Yohji was—

“Stop thinking about it,” Sato ordered, and for a horrific moment, Aya wondered if the man had read his mind. “It’s all over your swordplay. I’m not sure you didn’t get hit on purpose.

“That means you die. There’s no drama out there,” Sato informed, his voice calm and level, “The people you face do not care. You mess up, you die. If you’re lucky, you’re the only one, but there’s a good chance your team will die too.

“If you want to die, do not waste my time.”

“I don’t,” Aya heard the words before he thought them out. The marks on his wrist screamed he was a liar, red and angry, unbandaged and visible when the sleeves of his gi fell back.  But he didn’t want to fail, not on…not on a mission, not when other people were depending on him. Not when Yohji was depending on him.

That thought made him pause. Given the opportunity, he would slit Crawford’s throat in an instant, but Yohji was another matter entirely. It was…completely different.

“I don’t want to die,” he said, more sure this time as he lifted the shinai and firmed his stance.

“Good,” Sato replied, “I would hate to think I had wasted all that time.”

~*~

Yohji watched as Aya more or less collapsed into the passenger seat. His bangs were wet and stuck to his face, and it took him two tries to get the seatbelt fastened.

Dragging his eyes away, Yohji turned on the headlights and started for home. There were no words, just the quiet music from the radio as it played some blues station, and Yohji didn’t expect any. He pulled into the garage and shut off the car, surprised when Aya didn’t move. He thought the boy would be eager to get away from him.

“Asleep?” he asked.

No, Aya shook his head, but he made no move to get out. Yohji waited, keeping his hands on the steering wheel as if to keep an eye on them. There were so many things to be said, and the force of it all held him still. He worked in his head, trying to come up with something to start with. Aya beat him to it.

“Ken,” Aya started, stopped, then started again softly, “He said it was a mistake.”

“Yeah, it was…I’m so sorry, Aya. I—”

“It was a mistake,” he repeated, quiet but sure.

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Wit hout another word, Aya got out of the car and went to the house.

~tbc~

Notes: Short chapter this time, but a longer one is in the works, and then, plot…maybe…
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