Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Chains ❯ Grab Me ( Chapter 73 )
[ 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: 03.31.2011 | Updated On: 03.31.2011 | Pages: 4 | Words: 3.1K | Visits: 254 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 03.31.2011 | Updated On: 03.31.2011 | Pages: 4 | Words: 3.1K | Visits: 254 | Status: Work In Progress
Notes: A longer chapter this time, for all you lovely people who take time to review! Thank you!
Chapter warnings: NCS
Chapter Seventy-Three: Grab Me
“Good job, Aya-kun!”
Omi’s voice was loud even in the mission room, and Yohji, already curious as to where Aya had gone, quickened his step in hopes of getting to see precisely what had the younger blonde so excited.
He wasn’t quite quick enough, apparently. Walking through the open gym door, he found a smiling Omi picking up a number of darts from the floor; Aya stood a little bit away, watching cautiously. He looked good, almost healthy with the slight flush of exertion on his face. Even though he would probably always be on the thin side, now the hollows of his cheeks had smoothed out, and his arms were starting to pick up a bit of definition from his practice. If he would only pick up a bit more weight.
Hence his expedition to the basement. He had, under his own power no less, rolled out of bed at the ungodly hour of seven-thirty on a Saturday and made breakfast. Okay, so not so much made as went and bought, but, still.
Omi noticed him leaning against the doorframe and smiled, a little nervous, apparently; he should be, especially if he was throwing those things at Aya.
“Good morning, Yohji-kun! You’re up early.”
“What’re you two doing?”
“Oh, uh,” Omi laughed and hid a handful of darts behind his back. “Nothing much.”
Yohji just shook his head, unable to hide a slight smile. For all his seriousness the other night, Omi was too much, looking like a kid hiding a piece of candy.
It wasn’t really a secret that Omi and Ken had been training with Aya. Ken had been taking part since that first sparing session, and since Aya seemed to embrace the challenge, Yohji had pretty much left the brunette to it. He didn’t know exactly how Omi had gotten in on the sessions, but it would be to Aya’s benefit to know how to deal with projectiles, and also how Omi’s weapon worked if the boy was going to serve as Aya’s backup.
Not that Yohji had any intention of letting him. He and Aya were going together. End of story.
“Might as well show me,” he told them.
Omi nodded, looking a bit sheepish as he drew out a rubber-tipped dart; Yohji didn’t expect the same expression on Aya’s face, but he still wasn’t prepared for the cold, hard look the boy had aimed at Omi. The younger blonde didn’t seem to take notice of it as he backed up.
Omi lifted a dart; Aya brought up his sheathed sword.
“Ready?”
A nod.
Omi tossed the dart with unerring accuracy. Just as it looked like it would land on Aya’s shoulder, the redhead sidestepped, bringing up the sword so quickly Yohji had a little trouble figuring out just what had happened as the dart dropped to the ground. The sheath was in Aya’s left hand now, bare sword in his right. Yohji saw the second round a little better, Aya stepping back and to the left in order to block the dart with the side of his blade. A third one clipped him on the arm, but he got the forth with the hilt of his sword.
That seemed to finish the demonstration.
“We’ve only been working on it a couple days,” Omi offered. His smile was absent for a few beats, then back with a force when he turned to Yohji. “He’s good, right?”
“Yeah, he’s good.”
~*~
“Don’t make yourself sick,” Yohji warned.
Aya stopped and looked up at him, a tiny bit of jelly clinging just to the side of his mouth. Yohji reached without thinking and wiped it off with his thumb, his better sense kicking in just before he stuck it in his own mouth. He wiped it on a napkin instead, handing another clean one to Aya.
The redhead nodded a little in thanks, wiped his mouth more thoroughly, then continued to eat. Not the healthiest choice, but Yohji was thrilled. They were cheap and easy to get (before nine a.m., anyway), and so far the doughnuts were the only food Aya had actually asked for seconds of.
That was worth getting up for.
Next to him at the table, Yohji watched Aya finish the pastry then lick the end of his finger, cleaning off the last of the dark red jelly.
Yeah, that was definitely worth getting up for.
~*~
“How’s the greenhouse?” Ken wondered casually as he leaned against the counter where Yohji was working.
“He’s actually got shit growing out there.”
“Yohji-kun,” Omi chided, tilting his head toward the last of the fangirls. Oh, right, he wasn’t supposed to offend the delicate sensibilities of the girls who wanted to grope him.
“I wanted to talk to you—” Omi broke off as the girls walked by. “Have a good evening!”
There was a collective sigh of relief when they were gone, Ken sagging a little more against the counter and Yohji propping his head on his hand as he sat behind the register. There was still an hour before closing, but customers should be few and far between.
“I wanted to talk to you, Yohji-kun, about Aya-kun.”
“I haven’t looked at the papers yet.”
The look he got was censure masquerading as disappointment, like when he admitted to leaving a mission folder to the last minute.
“I haven’t had time. He can’t be there,” Yohji waved off the criticism. Not the first time, not the last.
“Please read them. Besides that, though, his training is going well.”
Yohji nodded, not really interested. Well, he was, but people kept telling him that. He had eyes.
Ken and Omi shared a look. He got the distinct impression he was missing something.
“Um, Yohji-kun, don’t you think, well, don’t you think it’s going a little too well?”
Unsure what Omi was hinting at, Yohji lifted an eyebrow and waited for an explanation.
“It’s only been five weeks, and he’s…improved…a lot.”
“I can barely land a hit on him,” Ken repeated an earlier claim. Yohji felt like he was watching a television rerun, and the script wasn’t that great the first time.
“And he blocks most of what I throw at him.”
“The kid’s got skills, so what?”
“In five weeks?” Omi reiterated.
“Not five weeks. He had kendo before, remember?” Yohji returned. Still, he was a more alert to the conversation, not that anyone else would know that from the way he leaned lazily on his hand as he talked. He didn’t want to seem too concerned. It might ruin his reputation.
“It’s not the same,” Omi pronounced with conviction. “It’s not, Yohji-kun. He’s using a real sword for what’s got to be the first time in his life. He’s picking up basic defensive techniques, fist-fighting—”
“When the hell has he been—”
“You asked us to help,” Ken cut in, no lightness in his voice now.
“He needs to know.”
Yohji conceded, though not gracefully. Giving each of the men a glare over the edge of his shades, he turned again to stare out the window to turn over their words. They waited.
“So,” he finally said without looking at them, “something finally goes right, and you two want to bitch about it.”
~*~
“You want to go with me?” Omi asked, smiling, trying to be open and friendly. The attitude didn’t seem to be helping. Despite practicing with him, Aya was still reserved during any other interaction, maybe even more so after their talk.
Aya looked around, just a subtle movement of his head, half hidden under his bangs. Looking for Yohji, Omi realized. He wondered if it was just so the blonde could provide an answer to his question or if Aya thought he was a threat.
Fortunately or not, Yohji was not in the living room at the moment. Omi knew the older man was busy in the shop, trying to clean up the dirt and plant and pot he had caused Ken to drop. That, in fact, was why he had come to get Aya, catching him at the bottom of the stairs. Omi wasn’t exactly sure where he had been going, but the book in his hand suggested it was nothing more exciting than to the couch to read.
Omi had other plans. He needed to get Aya out of the house for two reasons. First, Yohji had to read those papers. The man had been right that Aya shouldn’t be around , especially if Yohji decided to express his opinions (often done loudly with gratuitous swearing) over some piece of information. Second, he really needed more details those papers did not provide, and the only way of getting them was to convince Aya to talk to him.
“You’ll like the park, Aya-kun. Or, if you want, we could go to the arcade. That’s fun, right?”
No, Aya shook his head, actually taking a step back from him.
“What’s the matter?”
Aya looked ready to run, and, without thinking, Omi reached out to grab his arm. Purple eyes went wide; for a second, Aya tensed, like he would pull away, but he didn’t. Instead he dropped his head, eyes closed tight, trembling.
~*~
No, Aya thought, he didn’t want to go anywhere, not with Omi. He couldn’t go out without Yohji, not when Schuldig could be waiting to take him back.
He would go back upstairs and wait for Yohji.
No, wait. He didn’t need to run. He could do this.
What should he say? How did he get Omi to leave him alone? Would Yohji be mad?
“What’s the matter?”
Then Omi grabbed him.
*** ** ***
The bruising grip on his forearm disappeared suddenly as Crawford tossed him into the room. He lost his footing and went down on the stone floor, scraping his knees. He gathered himself as quickly as possible, kneeling, naked and already cold from the chilled room.
Crawford advanced, grabbing the leash from where it dangled over his pressed thighs, yanking his head up, then, as Aya stared into angry, gold eyes, backhanding him hard across the cheek.
“Slut. Feel like telling me no again?”
There was no anger in the voice, leaving it starling in its chilled expression of threats.
Another hit, breaking his already tender lip and bringing the familiar taste of blood to his mouth.
“You don’t say no.”
A kick to his stomach, making him cough, and another, knocking him off balance. Crawford’s foot pressed in the middle of his back, forcing down, face-first into the cold floor. It wasn’t very bright in the room, and all Aya could see were the dim stones.
His arms were yanked backwards, ties tightly with something soft. Crawford’s tie.
Aya hated that. He hated everything.
He wanted to fight, to drag himself off the floor and defend the shredded honor his father had died for. But…Aya-chan…
“You’ll learn to listen,” Crawford told him. Footsteps. A tiny part of Aya’s mind hoped he was leaving, but it was sliver of an idea.
“I have a surprise for you, Ran. You’ll like it.”
Crawford knelt on one knee, next to Aya’s head. A strong hand twisted in his still-long hair, wrapping around it and dragging his neck up at an uncomfortable angle. In his free hand was a knife, a long, eight-inch blade loomed over the wrapped handle.
“You don’t want me. You would rather die than fuck me?” Crawford sneered, throwing back the words Aya had carelessly hurled at him in a moment of thoughtless anger. “Fine. You’ll fuck this instead.”
Pain. Aya’s head rebounded slightly off the floor as the man dropped his head onto it.
He needed to run, but with his body tired and arms bound, Aya could do little more than wriggle like some pathetic worm.
“Eager, aren’t you,” Crawford mocked in that icy tone. “Patience.”
There was some shuffling—taking off his shirt, maybe. Aya couldn’t tell where Crawford was until a hand ran over his exposed bottom.
“No,” he whispered.
The hand smacked, hard. Again.
“You don’t say no.”
Then the knife handle was pressing against his entrance. He tried to move away, and Crawford grabbed his hip, dragging him back. The man forced it, shoving several inches inside, and when Aya cried out, roughly inserted the rest.
Aya felt something inside him tear and couldn’t help the tears that came to his eyes. He hid his face against the stone floor, not wanting to give Crawford the satisfaction of seeing him cry.
The wrapped handle slid roughly against his insides, hardly lessened by the blood he could feel dripping down, slowly pooling between his legs. Crawford continued to thrust the handle inside him at a rough, measured pace, taking all the way out before forcing it back in.
Aya felt bile rise into his mouth, and he swallowed hard, choking and trying to keep it down. He couldn’t breathe.
“You like it, Ran. How disgusting.”
Aya hoped he died right then. He didn’t want to look at anyone after this. Even Aya-chan. How could he ever—
*** ** ***
“Aya! Look at me! What’s the—”
“Y-Yohji?”
“Yeah,R 21; Yohji answered quietly as he finally remembered to breathe when the shaky voice answered him. Aya hadn’t been responding there for a second. He had walked into the room just in time to see Omi make a grab for the boy’s arm, too sudden, and generally a bad fucking plan.
Gently, careful of the trembling body he was holding up against his own, Yohji sat back on the steps, positioning Aya across his lap and brushing back red bangs to look in his eyes. The pupils were slightly dilated, and, worse, Aya looked scared shitless.
“Okay?”
Aya nodded, looking away.
Yohji wanted to talk about it. He wanted Aya to sit there, pulled close to his chest, and tell him exactly what he had been thinking about. There was little doubt it was some kind of flashback, the kind of shit that tortured the boy at night and, less frequently, during the day. A lot of the time, Aya could shake it off by himself, maybe with a tug at his hair or some other odd thing, preferring to go out to the greenhouse and work through it than talk.
He never told Yohji anything.
But this was a bad one, no doubt brought on by Omi’s touch. Still, Yohji doubted Aya was suddenly going to spill his guts. He was not going to stress over that, not right now. He took action, instead, concentrating on getting Aya focused on the now.
“Come on,” he spoke quietly, helping Aya to his feet. The boy still seemed out of it, and Yohji guided him to the soft armchair that had quickly become his spot in the living room. The blonde left him for just a second, grabbing the book Aya had dropped on the floor and coming back to press it into pale hands.
At least Aya had stopped shaking.
“Here, you were gonna read this, right?”
Aya nodded, looking at the book as if was something he hadn’t seen before. Yohji sighed, unable to resist running a hand through Aya’s hair and grateful when the boy didn’t flinch from the touch.
“Want some tea or something?”
No, Aya shook his head again.
“Okay. I’ve got some work to do,” he said quietly, “You sit here and read your book. I’ll just be in the kitchen if you need me.”
Again, Aya nodded, but made no move to open his book. Having learned to let it be, Yohji turned and headed to the adjoining room to give the boy some space. Omi, having silently witnessed the scene, followed.
“I’m sorry,” he said as soon as they entered the dim kitchen.
Yohji hit the lights and got a beer, both actions done on instinct. He paused, put the beer back, and took out a soda instead.
“I was trying to help,” Omi defended.
“Don’t touch him, Omi,” Yohji criticized, not quite able to be friendly about it. “It’s one thing if you’re training—
that’s different, somehow, but like now…he can’t handle that.”
~tbc~
Converting /tmp/phpKvEEtb to /dev/stdout
Chapter warnings: NCS
Chapter Seventy-Three: Grab Me
“Good job, Aya-kun!”
Omi’s voice was loud even in the mission room, and Yohji, already curious as to where Aya had gone, quickened his step in hopes of getting to see precisely what had the younger blonde so excited.
He wasn’t quite quick enough, apparently. Walking through the open gym door, he found a smiling Omi picking up a number of darts from the floor; Aya stood a little bit away, watching cautiously. He looked good, almost healthy with the slight flush of exertion on his face. Even though he would probably always be on the thin side, now the hollows of his cheeks had smoothed out, and his arms were starting to pick up a bit of definition from his practice. If he would only pick up a bit more weight.
Hence his expedition to the basement. He had, under his own power no less, rolled out of bed at the ungodly hour of seven-thirty on a Saturday and made breakfast. Okay, so not so much made as went and bought, but, still.
Omi noticed him leaning against the doorframe and smiled, a little nervous, apparently; he should be, especially if he was throwing those things at Aya.
“Good morning, Yohji-kun! You’re up early.”
“What’re you two doing?”
“Oh, uh,” Omi laughed and hid a handful of darts behind his back. “Nothing much.”
Yohji just shook his head, unable to hide a slight smile. For all his seriousness the other night, Omi was too much, looking like a kid hiding a piece of candy.
It wasn’t really a secret that Omi and Ken had been training with Aya. Ken had been taking part since that first sparing session, and since Aya seemed to embrace the challenge, Yohji had pretty much left the brunette to it. He didn’t know exactly how Omi had gotten in on the sessions, but it would be to Aya’s benefit to know how to deal with projectiles, and also how Omi’s weapon worked if the boy was going to serve as Aya’s backup.
Not that Yohji had any intention of letting him. He and Aya were going together. End of story.
“Might as well show me,” he told them.
Omi nodded, looking a bit sheepish as he drew out a rubber-tipped dart; Yohji didn’t expect the same expression on Aya’s face, but he still wasn’t prepared for the cold, hard look the boy had aimed at Omi. The younger blonde didn’t seem to take notice of it as he backed up.
Omi lifted a dart; Aya brought up his sheathed sword.
“Ready?”
A nod.
Omi tossed the dart with unerring accuracy. Just as it looked like it would land on Aya’s shoulder, the redhead sidestepped, bringing up the sword so quickly Yohji had a little trouble figuring out just what had happened as the dart dropped to the ground. The sheath was in Aya’s left hand now, bare sword in his right. Yohji saw the second round a little better, Aya stepping back and to the left in order to block the dart with the side of his blade. A third one clipped him on the arm, but he got the forth with the hilt of his sword.
That seemed to finish the demonstration.
“We’ve only been working on it a couple days,” Omi offered. His smile was absent for a few beats, then back with a force when he turned to Yohji. “He’s good, right?”
“Yeah, he’s good.”
~*~
“Don’t make yourself sick,” Yohji warned.
Aya stopped and looked up at him, a tiny bit of jelly clinging just to the side of his mouth. Yohji reached without thinking and wiped it off with his thumb, his better sense kicking in just before he stuck it in his own mouth. He wiped it on a napkin instead, handing another clean one to Aya.
The redhead nodded a little in thanks, wiped his mouth more thoroughly, then continued to eat. Not the healthiest choice, but Yohji was thrilled. They were cheap and easy to get (before nine a.m., anyway), and so far the doughnuts were the only food Aya had actually asked for seconds of.
That was worth getting up for.
Next to him at the table, Yohji watched Aya finish the pastry then lick the end of his finger, cleaning off the last of the dark red jelly.
Yeah, that was definitely worth getting up for.
~*~
“How’s the greenhouse?” Ken wondered casually as he leaned against the counter where Yohji was working.
“He’s actually got shit growing out there.”
“Yohji-kun,” Omi chided, tilting his head toward the last of the fangirls. Oh, right, he wasn’t supposed to offend the delicate sensibilities of the girls who wanted to grope him.
“I wanted to talk to you—” Omi broke off as the girls walked by. “Have a good evening!”
There was a collective sigh of relief when they were gone, Ken sagging a little more against the counter and Yohji propping his head on his hand as he sat behind the register. There was still an hour before closing, but customers should be few and far between.
“I wanted to talk to you, Yohji-kun, about Aya-kun.”
“I haven’t looked at the papers yet.”
The look he got was censure masquerading as disappointment, like when he admitted to leaving a mission folder to the last minute.
“I haven’t had time. He can’t be there,” Yohji waved off the criticism. Not the first time, not the last.
“Please read them. Besides that, though, his training is going well.”
Yohji nodded, not really interested. Well, he was, but people kept telling him that. He had eyes.
Ken and Omi shared a look. He got the distinct impression he was missing something.
“Um, Yohji-kun, don’t you think, well, don’t you think it’s going a little too well?”
Unsure what Omi was hinting at, Yohji lifted an eyebrow and waited for an explanation.
“It’s only been five weeks, and he’s…improved…a lot.”
“I can barely land a hit on him,” Ken repeated an earlier claim. Yohji felt like he was watching a television rerun, and the script wasn’t that great the first time.
“And he blocks most of what I throw at him.”
“The kid’s got skills, so what?”
“In five weeks?” Omi reiterated.
“Not five weeks. He had kendo before, remember?” Yohji returned. Still, he was a more alert to the conversation, not that anyone else would know that from the way he leaned lazily on his hand as he talked. He didn’t want to seem too concerned. It might ruin his reputation.
“It’s not the same,” Omi pronounced with conviction. “It’s not, Yohji-kun. He’s using a real sword for what’s got to be the first time in his life. He’s picking up basic defensive techniques, fist-fighting—”
“When the hell has he been—”
“You asked us to help,” Ken cut in, no lightness in his voice now.
“He needs to know.”
Yohji conceded, though not gracefully. Giving each of the men a glare over the edge of his shades, he turned again to stare out the window to turn over their words. They waited.
“So,” he finally said without looking at them, “something finally goes right, and you two want to bitch about it.”
~*~
“You want to go with me?” Omi asked, smiling, trying to be open and friendly. The attitude didn’t seem to be helping. Despite practicing with him, Aya was still reserved during any other interaction, maybe even more so after their talk.
Aya looked around, just a subtle movement of his head, half hidden under his bangs. Looking for Yohji, Omi realized. He wondered if it was just so the blonde could provide an answer to his question or if Aya thought he was a threat.
Fortunately or not, Yohji was not in the living room at the moment. Omi knew the older man was busy in the shop, trying to clean up the dirt and plant and pot he had caused Ken to drop. That, in fact, was why he had come to get Aya, catching him at the bottom of the stairs. Omi wasn’t exactly sure where he had been going, but the book in his hand suggested it was nothing more exciting than to the couch to read.
Omi had other plans. He needed to get Aya out of the house for two reasons. First, Yohji had to read those papers. The man had been right that Aya shouldn’t be around , especially if Yohji decided to express his opinions (often done loudly with gratuitous swearing) over some piece of information. Second, he really needed more details those papers did not provide, and the only way of getting them was to convince Aya to talk to him.
“You’ll like the park, Aya-kun. Or, if you want, we could go to the arcade. That’s fun, right?”
No, Aya shook his head, actually taking a step back from him.
“What’s the matter?”
Aya looked ready to run, and, without thinking, Omi reached out to grab his arm. Purple eyes went wide; for a second, Aya tensed, like he would pull away, but he didn’t. Instead he dropped his head, eyes closed tight, trembling.
~*~
No, Aya thought, he didn’t want to go anywhere, not with Omi. He couldn’t go out without Yohji, not when Schuldig could be waiting to take him back.
He would go back upstairs and wait for Yohji.
No, wait. He didn’t need to run. He could do this.
What should he say? How did he get Omi to leave him alone? Would Yohji be mad?
“What’s the matter?”
Then Omi grabbed him.
*** ** ***
The bruising grip on his forearm disappeared suddenly as Crawford tossed him into the room. He lost his footing and went down on the stone floor, scraping his knees. He gathered himself as quickly as possible, kneeling, naked and already cold from the chilled room.
Crawford advanced, grabbing the leash from where it dangled over his pressed thighs, yanking his head up, then, as Aya stared into angry, gold eyes, backhanding him hard across the cheek.
“Slut. Feel like telling me no again?”
There was no anger in the voice, leaving it starling in its chilled expression of threats.
Another hit, breaking his already tender lip and bringing the familiar taste of blood to his mouth.
“You don’t say no.”
A kick to his stomach, making him cough, and another, knocking him off balance. Crawford’s foot pressed in the middle of his back, forcing down, face-first into the cold floor. It wasn’t very bright in the room, and all Aya could see were the dim stones.
His arms were yanked backwards, ties tightly with something soft. Crawford’s tie.
Aya hated that. He hated everything.
He wanted to fight, to drag himself off the floor and defend the shredded honor his father had died for. But…Aya-chan…
“You’ll learn to listen,” Crawford told him. Footsteps. A tiny part of Aya’s mind hoped he was leaving, but it was sliver of an idea.
“I have a surprise for you, Ran. You’ll like it.”
Crawford knelt on one knee, next to Aya’s head. A strong hand twisted in his still-long hair, wrapping around it and dragging his neck up at an uncomfortable angle. In his free hand was a knife, a long, eight-inch blade loomed over the wrapped handle.
“You don’t want me. You would rather die than fuck me?” Crawford sneered, throwing back the words Aya had carelessly hurled at him in a moment of thoughtless anger. “Fine. You’ll fuck this instead.”
Pain. Aya’s head rebounded slightly off the floor as the man dropped his head onto it.
He needed to run, but with his body tired and arms bound, Aya could do little more than wriggle like some pathetic worm.
“Eager, aren’t you,” Crawford mocked in that icy tone. “Patience.”
There was some shuffling—taking off his shirt, maybe. Aya couldn’t tell where Crawford was until a hand ran over his exposed bottom.
“No,” he whispered.
The hand smacked, hard. Again.
“You don’t say no.”
Then the knife handle was pressing against his entrance. He tried to move away, and Crawford grabbed his hip, dragging him back. The man forced it, shoving several inches inside, and when Aya cried out, roughly inserted the rest.
Aya felt something inside him tear and couldn’t help the tears that came to his eyes. He hid his face against the stone floor, not wanting to give Crawford the satisfaction of seeing him cry.
The wrapped handle slid roughly against his insides, hardly lessened by the blood he could feel dripping down, slowly pooling between his legs. Crawford continued to thrust the handle inside him at a rough, measured pace, taking all the way out before forcing it back in.
Aya felt bile rise into his mouth, and he swallowed hard, choking and trying to keep it down. He couldn’t breathe.
“You like it, Ran. How disgusting.”
Aya hoped he died right then. He didn’t want to look at anyone after this. Even Aya-chan. How could he ever—
*** ** ***
“Aya! Look at me! What’s the—”
“Y-Yohji?”
“Yeah,R 21; Yohji answered quietly as he finally remembered to breathe when the shaky voice answered him. Aya hadn’t been responding there for a second. He had walked into the room just in time to see Omi make a grab for the boy’s arm, too sudden, and generally a bad fucking plan.
Gently, careful of the trembling body he was holding up against his own, Yohji sat back on the steps, positioning Aya across his lap and brushing back red bangs to look in his eyes. The pupils were slightly dilated, and, worse, Aya looked scared shitless.
“Okay?”
Aya nodded, looking away.
Yohji wanted to talk about it. He wanted Aya to sit there, pulled close to his chest, and tell him exactly what he had been thinking about. There was little doubt it was some kind of flashback, the kind of shit that tortured the boy at night and, less frequently, during the day. A lot of the time, Aya could shake it off by himself, maybe with a tug at his hair or some other odd thing, preferring to go out to the greenhouse and work through it than talk.
He never told Yohji anything.
But this was a bad one, no doubt brought on by Omi’s touch. Still, Yohji doubted Aya was suddenly going to spill his guts. He was not going to stress over that, not right now. He took action, instead, concentrating on getting Aya focused on the now.
“Come on,” he spoke quietly, helping Aya to his feet. The boy still seemed out of it, and Yohji guided him to the soft armchair that had quickly become his spot in the living room. The blonde left him for just a second, grabbing the book Aya had dropped on the floor and coming back to press it into pale hands.
At least Aya had stopped shaking.
“Here, you were gonna read this, right?”
Aya nodded, looking at the book as if was something he hadn’t seen before. Yohji sighed, unable to resist running a hand through Aya’s hair and grateful when the boy didn’t flinch from the touch.
“Want some tea or something?”
No, Aya shook his head again.
“Okay. I’ve got some work to do,” he said quietly, “You sit here and read your book. I’ll just be in the kitchen if you need me.”
Again, Aya nodded, but made no move to open his book. Having learned to let it be, Yohji turned and headed to the adjoining room to give the boy some space. Omi, having silently witnessed the scene, followed.
“I’m sorry,” he said as soon as they entered the dim kitchen.
Yohji hit the lights and got a beer, both actions done on instinct. He paused, put the beer back, and took out a soda instead.
“I was trying to help,” Omi defended.
“Don’t touch him, Omi,” Yohji criticized, not quite able to be friendly about it. “It’s one thing if you’re training—
that’s different, somehow, but like now…he can’t handle that.”
~tbc~
Converting /tmp/phpKvEEtb to /dev/stdout