Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Chains ❯ Catch Me ( Chapter 91 )
[ 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: 08.02.2011 | Pages: 3 | Words: 2.9K | Visits: 243 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 08.02.2011 | Pages: 3 | Words: 2.9K | Visits: 243 | Status: Work In Progress
Notes: Some actual plot is in the works, hopefully in the next three or four chapters! Thanks for reading (and especially reviewing)!
Chapter Ninety-One: Catch Me
Aya did not like some of the customers. He would never like them. He knew this immediately.
The men were the worst. Flurried and unsure, they didn’t know what they wanted, and their palpable nervousness made Aya nervous in return. The men who came in during the morning were bad enough, but these late-comers who had obligations and no clue what they needed, ate at his nerves.
He wasn’t good at talking with Yohji, let alone these strangers. He didn’t want to talk to them, and since Yohji had not told him he should, Aya decided that he would do so only at a minimum.
The first two male customers (without pre-orders, which, in his brief experience, they never thought of), he attempted to glean what they wanted, only to be frustrated and asking them to point, please, to the cooler, where they were even more overwhelmed. Aya had never been a person of patience, and in the back of his mind, he was surprised to feel this trait reemerge; it was increasingly odd to feel like a person. But his surprise was not helping the situation.
By the third, confused customer, Aya figured out a way to expedite the situation. The man said he didn’t know what he wanted; Aya said simply, “Roses?”
The man nodded, and, not asking for more details, Aya constructed a bouquet of a half-dozen red roses. The man seemed pleased, and so Aya decided that all such customers could be handled in that way. Having this plan helped.
But the ladies were another thing entirely. They confused him.
There were a few younger women who came in with the rush of customers, but most of these were thankfully drawn away by Yohji, leaving Aya to tend to the few elderly matrons. It was hard to imagine them as a threat when they look so small or so rotund, with their wrinkled faces and soft, polite words.
Aya wouldn’t say he liked them—not that he intended to say anything about any of it—but he vastly preferred them to the other customers.
Upon realizing this, he was once against surprised to find that he had preferences about that kind of thing. Who was he to preference anything? He should be grateful—was—that he wasn’t chained to a wall somewhere getting—no, no, he wasn’t going to do that.
But it was too late.
*** ** ***
His face was pressed against the wall, the rough stone scraping at his temple. His arms strained, his hands bound over his head, his naked body half-suspended against the cold wall.
It was dark.
His body ached, and it was hard to breath. He had done something, but his fogged brain couldn’t remember what it was, and Aya didn’t particularly care. He couldn’t care, not when he chest hurt so badly, or when he tasted blood when he coughed. Crawford had broken something, and Aya waffled between hoping it wasn’t too serious and hoping it was.
Other parts hurt too, and he tried not to think about it.
He just wanted to be left alone there, in the dark, with no one looking at him or hitting him or fucking him.
Aya coughed, the movement wracking his chest and sending another bit of blood into his mouth. He spit it out and tried to breathe.
The door opened, and Aya closed his eyes. He didn’t want to know who or why.
//You aren’t happy to see me?//
Schuldig.
//Yes, dearest. What’s happened to my pretty little kätzchen now?//
Shut up, Aya thought it, but he never knew if Schuldig heard him or not. The German said something, but Aya’s mind was consumed in revulsion as those soft hands ran over his shoulders and down his back.
“Do something for me?” Schuldig asked, breath warm at Aya’s ear and the cloth of his pants rough against naked thighs. He started to shake and felt Schuldig laugh, a deep chuckle that seemed to run through his bones. “Don’t worry, it’s simple.”
The hands were running back up, feeling his ribs, settling there as Schuldig leaned even closer, resting some of his weight against Aya and pressing the boy into the wall. It was even harder to breathe.
“Say my name, kätzchen.”
A triviality ,one of Schuldig’s favorite kinds of game. Aya hated it.
“No,” the redhead growled at him, the sound too quiet as he fought for air.
Then there was pain, bright, as Schuldig grabbed roughly at his side, pushing the broken rib further inward. Aya gasped, coughed, struggled for air.
“Just once.”
“No,” he said again. He didn’t care if it hurt, didn’t care if the man killed him.
“I’m going to see your sister tomorrow. Play with me, and I’ll take her a message. Keep this up…well, I have other games.”
Sharp teeth bit into his earlobe, and Aya found he didn’t have the strength to pull away. He was helpless.
“Schuldig,” he conceded, too easily, the terrible name spilling from his lips, accented oddly and in a voice that was broken.
“There now, not so hard, kätzchen. Now, scream it…”
*** ** ***
“Aya!” someone was whispering in an urgent tone.
There was a hand around Aya’s upper arm, leading, half-dragging him through the back door and into another room. He couldn’t think, and he jerked away instinctually from the touch. He didn’t want to go back there; he didn’t want to be used and beaten and—
“Stop that!” Yohji demanded.
Yohji.
Reality suddenly broke through, and Aya found himself in the back storage room surrounded by flowers and pots and tools. He stood, shaking, and Yohji looked at him expectantly.
He’d done it again.
~*~
Yohji had seen it about to happen, though why Aya freaked out while tending to Kirai-san (an elderly lady asking for violets) and not the many other customers he had adeptly handled, the blonde didn’t have a clue. Thankfully, Aya hadn’t done anything to call attention to himself; it was, rather, just that blankness of eyes that clued Yohji in to what was happening.
Disengaging himself quickly from the few lingering girls, he had slipped to Aya’s side, made some flimsy excuse, and taken hold on the boy’s arm. He had to get Aya out of there.
Forgetting the unmanned shop, Yohji had drug a resistant Aya to the back, frustrated when the boy tried to pull away.
“Stop that!” he said, knowing Aya wasn’t really with him.
Then, suddenly, the boy all but collapsed. Only Yohji’s arm, slipped quickly and awkwardly around his thin waist, kept him from crumbling to the ground. Half dragging the redhead, Yohji made it to the worn-out couch and set him down on it, kneeling quickly in front of him and trying to get Aya to look up. The boy stared resolutely at his lap, his hands clenched.
“Aya?”
“I’m sorry, Yohji.”
“It’s alright,” he said, keeping his voice quiet. “Are you okay?”
Aya nodded, still not looking at him.
“You sure?” The boy’s posture was not reading ‘okay.’
Aya nodded again, and Yohji sighed. He rested his hand lightly on Aya’s knee, trying to comfort, but they boy only shuddered at the touch, and Yohji quickly removed his hand. At a loss of what else to do, he told Aya he was going back to the shop.
~*~
“No one took anything!” Yohji defended, ignoring Omi’s hard look as he pushed past the boy and into the living room. But Omi followed.
“You can’t just leave the shop, Yohji-kun,” he said, again. Yohji rolled his eyes and dropped onto the sofa; he had more important things to worry about.
Like what was going on with Aya. The boy hadn’t come back to the shop, and when Yohji had inevitably gone to find him, he had been out in the greenhouse. Rather than fiddling with his plants, the redhead had been in the back, hunkered down by some clutter piled there, staring silently at the floor while the cat stood watch beside him. When Yohji came near, it hissed at him, but Aya never looked up.
The blonde had spent a few minutes questioning, but Aya told him nothing was wrong. Yohji didn’t believe that for a second, but he got Aya to come inside and sit down for dinner. Not that he ate much of anything. Afterwards, they had sat together on the couch for over an hour, Aya completely still and silent, until the boy asked Yohji quietly if he could go and practice.
Three hours later, he was still at it. Yohji had been prepared to go get him, again, when he had been accosted by Omi who had heard from Ken that Yohji happened to have left the shop for ten minutes earlier in the day.
“Well?” Omi questioned. Having no idea of what had preceded this comment, Yohji just shrugged and pushed his sunglasses further up on his face.
~*~
“That’s enough,” Yohji said from the doorway, sick of watching Aya drive himself towards exhaustion. It was quickly becoming clear that the boy was using his sword practice as a means of self-punishment, and though Yohji hadn’t quite figured out why or for what, he wasn’t going to stand and watch while Aya beat himself up.
The sword was lowered, purple eyes following its end as it fell towards the floor. Silently he put it away and came to stand by Yohji.
“What’s the matter, Aya?”
“Nothing.”
~*~
Yes. No. He should—wait—
Aya stopped pacing, reaching up to tug harshly on one of his eartails as he tried to get his thoughts in order. Yohji would come back soon, and he had to figure out what to do.
He was sure the man would be—was—mad at him for his lapse in the shop. And he knew that he couldn’t promise it wouldn’t happen again, because it would, and the knowledge of that was awful in itself. Worse, Aya wasn’t sure he could be normal at all. He couldn’t even act like he was.
And Yohji would be angry. This surety mixed and turned with the odd feelings he was experiencing. He didn’t think Yohji would send him back, but he didn’t want to disappoint the other, not after Yohji had been so pleased with him. He didn’t want the man to yell at him, and after everything else he had experienced, Aya couldn’t figure out why the idea of it bothered him so much except that Yohji was the first person in a long time not to do it, to talk to Aya in a way that didn’t make him feel so terrible. But he didn’t know what to do to keep it that way.
Looking around their bedroom anxiously, he finally settled himself on the floor and ducked his head. It helped, didn’t it? That was what Schuldig had always wanted him to do. But Yohji didn’t like it, but that was when Aya had been doing well. Maybe now that’s what he would want. Maybe Yohji wouldn’t yell at him that way.
Aya pulled on his hair again, managing to settle his hands in his lap just as the door opened.
~*~
What the fucking hell?
Yohji took a deep breath and shut the door. It slammed against the frame, and Aya jerked in response. The blonde felt a laugh rise in his throat and pushed it forcibly down. It wasn’t funny.
Pointedly avoiding Aya, who, apparently, had decided to forget every damn thing they had talked about in the last month and was currently kneeling on the damn floor, Yohji went to the window and cracked it open. He stood there smoking, wondering if he should say anything about how stupid this was or if he should just let Aya sit there until he came to the realization on his own.
What could he say? He tried to calm down enough to figure it out, but he couldn’t get a handle on the anger that flared up at this. How could Aya do that? How could he just…Yohji felt betrayed, and he hated it.
He flicked the cigarette butt out the window, and stepped towards the boy, but he was too mad. It was so fucking stupid! He decided he couldn’t handle this without going off.
He left.
~*~
It was well after midnight, and Yohji wasn’t really watching the television. He left it on for the noise, and it was the only light, casting a blue, shifting glow over the otherwise dark living room.
He had drank a little, not too much and not too recently, trying to sort through exactly what the redhead was thinking. It was a perverse and difficult game.
Suddenly, with enough stealth that he was half startled, Aya appeared at his side, standing awkwardly beside the couch and staring at the carpet. He worried his hands, long fingers sliding along one wrist then the other. Grabbing both those hands—nearly cool to the touch—Yohji pulled the boy down. It was an impulse, instinct almost, that made him tug Aya into his lap.
The boy went stiff at the proximity, but Yohji ignored it, carefully arranging them so that Aya sat across his lap, long legs half-bent over his own knees and the boy’s back against the arm of the couch. He slung his own arm over Aya’s shoulders and pulled him close, waiting patiently until Aya got the hint and rested his head on Yohji’s shoulder.
That was better.
As Aya slowly relaxed, Yohji felt some alleviation of the tension that had been afflicting him since he’d found Aya upstairs.
“I’m sorry, Yohji,” the boy whispered, one of his busy hands now fingering the soft cloth of Yohji’s shirt.
“I don’t even know what you’re sorry for,” Yohji admitted, keeping his voice quiet, determined not to startle or scare.
“Today. I…I can’t help it.”
It sounded like Aya was condemning himself.
“What?”
“When…I, the…”
Yohji waited; Aya took a long breath and tried again.
“When I think about…them…I can’t stop it.”
The flashbacks. Finally on board with what was bothering the young man, Yohji was instantly concerned with the level of worry Aya had over something that had been happening from the beginning. It wasn’t the redhead’s fault, but it sounded like he was more than ready to take the blame.
“You can’t help that,” Yohji said seriously, “Why would I be mad about that?”
Aya just shook his head, but Yohji persisted.
“Aya, when have I ever been upset with you over being scared?”
There wasn’t even a rebuke about Aya’s not being scared, nothing but that slow shaking of his head.
“Listen to me,” Yohji demanded, shifting them around until Aya was sitting across his lap and facing him. The boy was light enough that the movement was easy, and he offered no resistance. “Look at me. I’m not mad at you.”
He thought it best to leave out the fact that he had been thoroughly pissed off by Aya’s refusal to just talk to him earlier. He didn’t trust the boy’s ability to sort out the finer points of his emotions.
“Why are you so upset about this?”
For a long time Aya didn’t answer, just looked at him. Finally, “Because you wanted it.”
“What?”
“Me…to be…to be normal.” Purple eyes dropped again, staring at Yohji’s chest. “And I’m not.”
~tbc~
Converting /tmp/phpLhkHhq to /dev/stdout
Chapter Ninety-One: Catch Me
Aya did not like some of the customers. He would never like them. He knew this immediately.
The men were the worst. Flurried and unsure, they didn’t know what they wanted, and their palpable nervousness made Aya nervous in return. The men who came in during the morning were bad enough, but these late-comers who had obligations and no clue what they needed, ate at his nerves.
He wasn’t good at talking with Yohji, let alone these strangers. He didn’t want to talk to them, and since Yohji had not told him he should, Aya decided that he would do so only at a minimum.
The first two male customers (without pre-orders, which, in his brief experience, they never thought of), he attempted to glean what they wanted, only to be frustrated and asking them to point, please, to the cooler, where they were even more overwhelmed. Aya had never been a person of patience, and in the back of his mind, he was surprised to feel this trait reemerge; it was increasingly odd to feel like a person. But his surprise was not helping the situation.
By the third, confused customer, Aya figured out a way to expedite the situation. The man said he didn’t know what he wanted; Aya said simply, “Roses?”
The man nodded, and, not asking for more details, Aya constructed a bouquet of a half-dozen red roses. The man seemed pleased, and so Aya decided that all such customers could be handled in that way. Having this plan helped.
But the ladies were another thing entirely. They confused him.
There were a few younger women who came in with the rush of customers, but most of these were thankfully drawn away by Yohji, leaving Aya to tend to the few elderly matrons. It was hard to imagine them as a threat when they look so small or so rotund, with their wrinkled faces and soft, polite words.
Aya wouldn’t say he liked them—not that he intended to say anything about any of it—but he vastly preferred them to the other customers.
Upon realizing this, he was once against surprised to find that he had preferences about that kind of thing. Who was he to preference anything? He should be grateful—was—that he wasn’t chained to a wall somewhere getting—no, no, he wasn’t going to do that.
But it was too late.
*** ** ***
His face was pressed against the wall, the rough stone scraping at his temple. His arms strained, his hands bound over his head, his naked body half-suspended against the cold wall.
It was dark.
His body ached, and it was hard to breath. He had done something, but his fogged brain couldn’t remember what it was, and Aya didn’t particularly care. He couldn’t care, not when he chest hurt so badly, or when he tasted blood when he coughed. Crawford had broken something, and Aya waffled between hoping it wasn’t too serious and hoping it was.
Other parts hurt too, and he tried not to think about it.
He just wanted to be left alone there, in the dark, with no one looking at him or hitting him or fucking him.
Aya coughed, the movement wracking his chest and sending another bit of blood into his mouth. He spit it out and tried to breathe.
The door opened, and Aya closed his eyes. He didn’t want to know who or why.
//You aren’t happy to see me?//
Schuldig.
//Yes, dearest. What’s happened to my pretty little kätzchen now?//
Shut up, Aya thought it, but he never knew if Schuldig heard him or not. The German said something, but Aya’s mind was consumed in revulsion as those soft hands ran over his shoulders and down his back.
“Do something for me?” Schuldig asked, breath warm at Aya’s ear and the cloth of his pants rough against naked thighs. He started to shake and felt Schuldig laugh, a deep chuckle that seemed to run through his bones. “Don’t worry, it’s simple.”
The hands were running back up, feeling his ribs, settling there as Schuldig leaned even closer, resting some of his weight against Aya and pressing the boy into the wall. It was even harder to breathe.
“Say my name, kätzchen.”
A triviality ,one of Schuldig’s favorite kinds of game. Aya hated it.
“No,” the redhead growled at him, the sound too quiet as he fought for air.
Then there was pain, bright, as Schuldig grabbed roughly at his side, pushing the broken rib further inward. Aya gasped, coughed, struggled for air.
“Just once.”
“No,” he said again. He didn’t care if it hurt, didn’t care if the man killed him.
“I’m going to see your sister tomorrow. Play with me, and I’ll take her a message. Keep this up…well, I have other games.”
Sharp teeth bit into his earlobe, and Aya found he didn’t have the strength to pull away. He was helpless.
“Schuldig,” he conceded, too easily, the terrible name spilling from his lips, accented oddly and in a voice that was broken.
“There now, not so hard, kätzchen. Now, scream it…”
*** ** ***
“Aya!” someone was whispering in an urgent tone.
There was a hand around Aya’s upper arm, leading, half-dragging him through the back door and into another room. He couldn’t think, and he jerked away instinctually from the touch. He didn’t want to go back there; he didn’t want to be used and beaten and—
“Stop that!” Yohji demanded.
Yohji.
Reality suddenly broke through, and Aya found himself in the back storage room surrounded by flowers and pots and tools. He stood, shaking, and Yohji looked at him expectantly.
He’d done it again.
~*~
Yohji had seen it about to happen, though why Aya freaked out while tending to Kirai-san (an elderly lady asking for violets) and not the many other customers he had adeptly handled, the blonde didn’t have a clue. Thankfully, Aya hadn’t done anything to call attention to himself; it was, rather, just that blankness of eyes that clued Yohji in to what was happening.
Disengaging himself quickly from the few lingering girls, he had slipped to Aya’s side, made some flimsy excuse, and taken hold on the boy’s arm. He had to get Aya out of there.
Forgetting the unmanned shop, Yohji had drug a resistant Aya to the back, frustrated when the boy tried to pull away.
“Stop that!” he said, knowing Aya wasn’t really with him.
Then, suddenly, the boy all but collapsed. Only Yohji’s arm, slipped quickly and awkwardly around his thin waist, kept him from crumbling to the ground. Half dragging the redhead, Yohji made it to the worn-out couch and set him down on it, kneeling quickly in front of him and trying to get Aya to look up. The boy stared resolutely at his lap, his hands clenched.
“Aya?”
“I’m sorry, Yohji.”
“It’s alright,” he said, keeping his voice quiet. “Are you okay?”
Aya nodded, still not looking at him.
“You sure?” The boy’s posture was not reading ‘okay.’
Aya nodded again, and Yohji sighed. He rested his hand lightly on Aya’s knee, trying to comfort, but they boy only shuddered at the touch, and Yohji quickly removed his hand. At a loss of what else to do, he told Aya he was going back to the shop.
~*~
“No one took anything!” Yohji defended, ignoring Omi’s hard look as he pushed past the boy and into the living room. But Omi followed.
“You can’t just leave the shop, Yohji-kun,” he said, again. Yohji rolled his eyes and dropped onto the sofa; he had more important things to worry about.
Like what was going on with Aya. The boy hadn’t come back to the shop, and when Yohji had inevitably gone to find him, he had been out in the greenhouse. Rather than fiddling with his plants, the redhead had been in the back, hunkered down by some clutter piled there, staring silently at the floor while the cat stood watch beside him. When Yohji came near, it hissed at him, but Aya never looked up.
The blonde had spent a few minutes questioning, but Aya told him nothing was wrong. Yohji didn’t believe that for a second, but he got Aya to come inside and sit down for dinner. Not that he ate much of anything. Afterwards, they had sat together on the couch for over an hour, Aya completely still and silent, until the boy asked Yohji quietly if he could go and practice.
Three hours later, he was still at it. Yohji had been prepared to go get him, again, when he had been accosted by Omi who had heard from Ken that Yohji happened to have left the shop for ten minutes earlier in the day.
“Well?” Omi questioned. Having no idea of what had preceded this comment, Yohji just shrugged and pushed his sunglasses further up on his face.
~*~
“That’s enough,” Yohji said from the doorway, sick of watching Aya drive himself towards exhaustion. It was quickly becoming clear that the boy was using his sword practice as a means of self-punishment, and though Yohji hadn’t quite figured out why or for what, he wasn’t going to stand and watch while Aya beat himself up.
The sword was lowered, purple eyes following its end as it fell towards the floor. Silently he put it away and came to stand by Yohji.
“What’s the matter, Aya?”
“Nothing.”
~*~
Yes. No. He should—wait—
Aya stopped pacing, reaching up to tug harshly on one of his eartails as he tried to get his thoughts in order. Yohji would come back soon, and he had to figure out what to do.
He was sure the man would be—was—mad at him for his lapse in the shop. And he knew that he couldn’t promise it wouldn’t happen again, because it would, and the knowledge of that was awful in itself. Worse, Aya wasn’t sure he could be normal at all. He couldn’t even act like he was.
And Yohji would be angry. This surety mixed and turned with the odd feelings he was experiencing. He didn’t think Yohji would send him back, but he didn’t want to disappoint the other, not after Yohji had been so pleased with him. He didn’t want the man to yell at him, and after everything else he had experienced, Aya couldn’t figure out why the idea of it bothered him so much except that Yohji was the first person in a long time not to do it, to talk to Aya in a way that didn’t make him feel so terrible. But he didn’t know what to do to keep it that way.
Looking around their bedroom anxiously, he finally settled himself on the floor and ducked his head. It helped, didn’t it? That was what Schuldig had always wanted him to do. But Yohji didn’t like it, but that was when Aya had been doing well. Maybe now that’s what he would want. Maybe Yohji wouldn’t yell at him that way.
Aya pulled on his hair again, managing to settle his hands in his lap just as the door opened.
~*~
What the fucking hell?
Yohji took a deep breath and shut the door. It slammed against the frame, and Aya jerked in response. The blonde felt a laugh rise in his throat and pushed it forcibly down. It wasn’t funny.
Pointedly avoiding Aya, who, apparently, had decided to forget every damn thing they had talked about in the last month and was currently kneeling on the damn floor, Yohji went to the window and cracked it open. He stood there smoking, wondering if he should say anything about how stupid this was or if he should just let Aya sit there until he came to the realization on his own.
What could he say? He tried to calm down enough to figure it out, but he couldn’t get a handle on the anger that flared up at this. How could Aya do that? How could he just…Yohji felt betrayed, and he hated it.
He flicked the cigarette butt out the window, and stepped towards the boy, but he was too mad. It was so fucking stupid! He decided he couldn’t handle this without going off.
He left.
~*~
It was well after midnight, and Yohji wasn’t really watching the television. He left it on for the noise, and it was the only light, casting a blue, shifting glow over the otherwise dark living room.
He had drank a little, not too much and not too recently, trying to sort through exactly what the redhead was thinking. It was a perverse and difficult game.
Suddenly, with enough stealth that he was half startled, Aya appeared at his side, standing awkwardly beside the couch and staring at the carpet. He worried his hands, long fingers sliding along one wrist then the other. Grabbing both those hands—nearly cool to the touch—Yohji pulled the boy down. It was an impulse, instinct almost, that made him tug Aya into his lap.
The boy went stiff at the proximity, but Yohji ignored it, carefully arranging them so that Aya sat across his lap, long legs half-bent over his own knees and the boy’s back against the arm of the couch. He slung his own arm over Aya’s shoulders and pulled him close, waiting patiently until Aya got the hint and rested his head on Yohji’s shoulder.
That was better.
As Aya slowly relaxed, Yohji felt some alleviation of the tension that had been afflicting him since he’d found Aya upstairs.
“I’m sorry, Yohji,” the boy whispered, one of his busy hands now fingering the soft cloth of Yohji’s shirt.
“I don’t even know what you’re sorry for,” Yohji admitted, keeping his voice quiet, determined not to startle or scare.
“Today. I…I can’t help it.”
It sounded like Aya was condemning himself.
“What?”
“When…I, the…”
Yohji waited; Aya took a long breath and tried again.
“When I think about…them…I can’t stop it.”
The flashbacks. Finally on board with what was bothering the young man, Yohji was instantly concerned with the level of worry Aya had over something that had been happening from the beginning. It wasn’t the redhead’s fault, but it sounded like he was more than ready to take the blame.
“You can’t help that,” Yohji said seriously, “Why would I be mad about that?”
Aya just shook his head, but Yohji persisted.
“Aya, when have I ever been upset with you over being scared?”
There wasn’t even a rebuke about Aya’s not being scared, nothing but that slow shaking of his head.
“Listen to me,” Yohji demanded, shifting them around until Aya was sitting across his lap and facing him. The boy was light enough that the movement was easy, and he offered no resistance. “Look at me. I’m not mad at you.”
He thought it best to leave out the fact that he had been thoroughly pissed off by Aya’s refusal to just talk to him earlier. He didn’t trust the boy’s ability to sort out the finer points of his emotions.
“Why are you so upset about this?”
For a long time Aya didn’t answer, just looked at him. Finally, “Because you wanted it.”
“What?”
“Me…to be…to be normal.” Purple eyes dropped again, staring at Yohji’s chest. “And I’m not.”
~tbc~
Converting /tmp/phpLhkHhq to /dev/stdout