Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Chains ❯ Foster Me ( Chapter 97 )
[ 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: 11.12.2011 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.0K | Visits: 202 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 11.12.2011 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.0K | Visits: 202 | Status: Work In Progress
Notes: I’m sorry it’s been so long between posts! You may all punish the author appropriately…or inappropriately, as you wish. Pesky reality got in the way for a bit, but I’m back from beneath my rock and will try my utmost to be a bit more reliable in the following weeks. I just hope you lovely, patient readers are still interested!
Chapter Ninety-Seven: Foster Me
Aya sat in the living room by himself, wedged into the corner of the chair with his feet tucked up in front of him, Hamami’s book open across his knees as he studied it under the light of the lamp.
He hadn’t been able to eat supper. Omi had made spaghetti, and something about the look and smell of it turned his stomach to the point he knew better than try to get it down. Yohji had caught him when he put a hand over his mouth, trying not to think about it, and with only a few words, the blonde had let him leave the table despite Omi’s protests.
It was, Aya thought, easier to eat what he cooked himself, and he was fortunate that Yohji let him do that.
Yohji.
He couldn’t figure the man out, and every time he had thought he had his relationship with the other sorted out, it changed, often dramatically and without warning. This new fascination with kissing, for example. Aya didn’t understand it, and he didn’t exactly like it.
The actual physicality of it wasn’t too unpleasant, but each time the blonde got close like that, it reminded Aya of other things: the closeness of Crawford’s body before he beat him, the rough press of Schuldig’s lips against his own, the terrible moment of lingering hesitation before he was hurt. But Yohji didn’t hurt him. Not yet.
He won’t, part of Aya’s mind whispered. It was a small, hopeful part, the portion that kept conjuring some ideal world where Aya-chan was awake and no one wanted to hurt either of them. Delusional, he thought. Stupid.
Aya wasn’t meant for happiness. He wasn’t meant for anything more than pain and abuse. But Yohji…
As if summoned by his thoughts, the blonde wandered through the doorway. He stood for a minute just looking, and Aya couldn’t figure out why. Was Yohji thinking of ways to hurt him? No, he didn’t think so, but he couldn’t think of any other reason for the man to study him like that. Was it because he was so strange? Maybe the other would berate him, remind him of how lucky he was to be treated so well, demand recompense.
But Yohji just smiled and sat down on the couch, not too close.
“Can I get you some dinner, Aya?” he asked.
What? Yohji did that now, too. Asking if he could do things, and then doing them. It was strange and put Aya ill at ease. Shouldn’t he be asking for Aya to do things? More things. Not just cooking dinner or…or…
“Aya?” Yohji repeated. Aya just shook his head. “You need to eat. People will think I’m starving you.”
“You aren’t,” he said without thinking. He had to stop that. Speaking too freely was bound to get him in trouble. He ducked his head, an automatic reflex now.
There was a soft chuckle from Yohji.
“You’re cute, you know,” the blonde said.
“I am not,” Aya said without looking up. What a stupid thing to call him. He was weird, a corruption, not…cute.
“Whatever. But you are.”
~*~
Yohji watched Aya bow his head further over the large book and decided his attempt at a compliment hadn’t gone over that well. He also decided to change the subject.
“So, you can read that?” he asked, pointing to the book and waiting for Aya to look up at him. The boy nodded, clutching it a bit closer as if Yohji would take it away from him. “You read English?”
Again Aya nodded.
“You’re smart, aren’t you, Aya? Omi said that your school was prestigious. Did you get in because you were smart?”
He was met with a guarded, blank expression, like Aya was trying to figure him out. He sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to get the boy to affirm anything.
“Do you read any other languages?”
A hesitant nod.
“Gonna tell me which ones?”
Again with the long looks, calculating, maybe.
“Italian, French, and…German. Not many others.”
“Not many?” Yohji half laughed. “How’d you learn all those? At school?”
No, Aya shook his head. Yohji waited, like always, wondering if the boy would pick up the hint and fall into anything like normal conversation.
“Who taught you?” Yohji asked. Aya seemed to think about it.
“I…a tutor. Father hired him.”
“Why’d you need a tutor?”
“I don’t know,” Aya mumbled, and Yohji got the distinct impression that he was making an excuse.
“Come here, Aya. Sit with me,” he asked, patting the couch next to him, adding, “Please.”
Aya unfolded his legs and stood, book awkwardly in his hands like he didn’t want to put it down. Ultimately he did, sitting it cautiously on the coffee table and stepping around the furniture to take a seat on the other end of the couch.
“I won’t bite,” Yohji said. Aya actually shuddered at the comment, hands coming up to tug at the hem of his shirt. “I’m not going to do anything you’re not okay with.”
He felt like he was repeating himself, but his student seemed more than a tad possessive of the idea that Yohji would actually harm him, despite two months and many, many instances that proved that theory wrong. Hoping to give him yet another example, and, he easily admitted, reassure himself in the process, Yohji shifted to the middle cushion.
“Okay?” he questioned. Aya looked at him again, some of the trepidation fading under aggravation. Still, if he insisted on doubting Yohji, he was going to have to put up with constant reinforcement. When he realized Yohji wasn’t being rhetorical, he nodded.
Yohji shifted again, settling his hip against Aya’s, not roughly, not enough to pin him against the arm of the couch. Aya was tense, but, when nothing else happened, he began to relax a bit.
“Okay?” Yohji checked.
“Stop asking,” Aya snapped. Yohji grinned, ignoring the subsequent apology as he waited for Aya to calm down again.
Slowly, he reached out to snag one pale hand, tugging it over to his own leg and putting it there. Aya jerked it back, then, after a long breath, put it down again, the light pressure of his palm against Yohji’s knee. Still careful and deliberate, Yohji laid his own hand on top of it, threading their fingers together.
~*~
Omi poked his head into the living room to ask the others what they were doing and was caught by surprise to see Yohji jerk his hand quickly away from Aya, a distinctly guilty look on his face as he edged away from the boy.
How close had they been sitting? And what had Yohji been doing?
A quick glance to Aya confirmed nothing, the boy’s head down as he reached for the big book he’d been carrying around all day.
~*~
Yohji drug the man up in his weapon, and, suddenly, his vain struggles ceased with one strong tug on the wire. Looking over the man’s sagging head, he saw Aya turn away.
“Thanks,” he said quickly, hurrying to follow the other out of the building. Aya made swift moves, turning right then left down another hallway. Yohji struggled to remember where they were, where the blueprint had said they should go; he wanted to check Aya’s moves, but he couldn’t stop to get his baring without losing the other.
Suddenly, Aya stopped. He turned again and shoved Yohji against the wall. Quick on the uptake, the older man flattened himself against the surface, listening. There were footsteps, soft on the carpet of the office hallways, but headed in their direction. He looked at Aya, and purple eyes met his, passing a silent ‘ready’ but little beyond it.
The footsteps closed in, and then two security guards turned the corner. Yohji snagged one before they even knew the assassins were there. The other tried to draw his gun, but Aya sliced at his arm, sending out a spray of blood as the limb fell unnaturally back without being completely severed. The man screamed, but Aya just turned and jammed his sword deep into the guard’s stomach. The man gurgled and fell, and Aya yanked the sword back. He landed sideways on the carpet just as Yohji finished off his own man.
Aya was breathing hard, leaning a little against the wall as he straightened up from wiping his sword on the guard’s blue uniform.
“Okay?” Yohji asked.
“Fine,” the redhead answered, straightening up. Yohji nodded. They had already finished the mission, taking out more than six guys; it was no surprise Aya was tired.
They exited the building without other incident, crouching behind a wall as it burst into flames, listening to Omi confirm detonation over the comm.
~*~
Sitting in the back of a nondescript rental car, Yohji scooched closer to Aya whose head was resting awkwardly on his shoulder. The boy hadn’t been in the car more than ten minutes before he fell asleep.
He caught Ken’s stare in the rearview mirror and smiled a bit; the brunette didn’t seem to share the sentiment, but soon returned his eyes to the road. This, however, was not accomplished without a sidelong glance at Omi. The younger boy twisted in his seat to look back at them.
“Is he okay?” Omi questioned.
“Yeah, just tired,” Yohji said, stroking a hand through crimson hair. Omi followed the movement.
“Yohji-kun…do you, are you…are you interested in Aya-kun?”
“What do you mean?” Yohji returned, instantly on guard.
“I just…he’s very young, Yohji-kun. And, you know…it might not be good for him.”
“I’m not going to hurt him.”
Omi’s eyes were doubtful, and he was going to say something else, but Ken hit a bump in the road that jarred Aya awake. He jerked upward, looking around, and quickly moved away from Yohji’s side.
“I’m sorry,” he said, running a gloved hand over his face.
“It’s fine,” Yohji said, both to him and to Omi.
~tbc~
Notes: Review to encourage the author to be more punctual…or at least to encourage Yohji in his pursuit.
Converting /tmp/php3L35Qr to /dev/stdout
Chapter Ninety-Seven: Foster Me
Aya sat in the living room by himself, wedged into the corner of the chair with his feet tucked up in front of him, Hamami’s book open across his knees as he studied it under the light of the lamp.
He hadn’t been able to eat supper. Omi had made spaghetti, and something about the look and smell of it turned his stomach to the point he knew better than try to get it down. Yohji had caught him when he put a hand over his mouth, trying not to think about it, and with only a few words, the blonde had let him leave the table despite Omi’s protests.
It was, Aya thought, easier to eat what he cooked himself, and he was fortunate that Yohji let him do that.
Yohji.
He couldn’t figure the man out, and every time he had thought he had his relationship with the other sorted out, it changed, often dramatically and without warning. This new fascination with kissing, for example. Aya didn’t understand it, and he didn’t exactly like it.
The actual physicality of it wasn’t too unpleasant, but each time the blonde got close like that, it reminded Aya of other things: the closeness of Crawford’s body before he beat him, the rough press of Schuldig’s lips against his own, the terrible moment of lingering hesitation before he was hurt. But Yohji didn’t hurt him. Not yet.
He won’t, part of Aya’s mind whispered. It was a small, hopeful part, the portion that kept conjuring some ideal world where Aya-chan was awake and no one wanted to hurt either of them. Delusional, he thought. Stupid.
Aya wasn’t meant for happiness. He wasn’t meant for anything more than pain and abuse. But Yohji…
As if summoned by his thoughts, the blonde wandered through the doorway. He stood for a minute just looking, and Aya couldn’t figure out why. Was Yohji thinking of ways to hurt him? No, he didn’t think so, but he couldn’t think of any other reason for the man to study him like that. Was it because he was so strange? Maybe the other would berate him, remind him of how lucky he was to be treated so well, demand recompense.
But Yohji just smiled and sat down on the couch, not too close.
“Can I get you some dinner, Aya?” he asked.
What? Yohji did that now, too. Asking if he could do things, and then doing them. It was strange and put Aya ill at ease. Shouldn’t he be asking for Aya to do things? More things. Not just cooking dinner or…or…
“Aya?” Yohji repeated. Aya just shook his head. “You need to eat. People will think I’m starving you.”
“You aren’t,” he said without thinking. He had to stop that. Speaking too freely was bound to get him in trouble. He ducked his head, an automatic reflex now.
There was a soft chuckle from Yohji.
“You’re cute, you know,” the blonde said.
“I am not,” Aya said without looking up. What a stupid thing to call him. He was weird, a corruption, not…cute.
“Whatever. But you are.”
~*~
Yohji watched Aya bow his head further over the large book and decided his attempt at a compliment hadn’t gone over that well. He also decided to change the subject.
“So, you can read that?” he asked, pointing to the book and waiting for Aya to look up at him. The boy nodded, clutching it a bit closer as if Yohji would take it away from him. “You read English?”
Again Aya nodded.
“You’re smart, aren’t you, Aya? Omi said that your school was prestigious. Did you get in because you were smart?”
He was met with a guarded, blank expression, like Aya was trying to figure him out. He sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to get the boy to affirm anything.
“Do you read any other languages?”
A hesitant nod.
“Gonna tell me which ones?”
Again with the long looks, calculating, maybe.
“Italian, French, and…German. Not many others.”
“Not many?” Yohji half laughed. “How’d you learn all those? At school?”
No, Aya shook his head. Yohji waited, like always, wondering if the boy would pick up the hint and fall into anything like normal conversation.
“Who taught you?” Yohji asked. Aya seemed to think about it.
“I…a tutor. Father hired him.”
“Why’d you need a tutor?”
“I don’t know,” Aya mumbled, and Yohji got the distinct impression that he was making an excuse.
“Come here, Aya. Sit with me,” he asked, patting the couch next to him, adding, “Please.”
Aya unfolded his legs and stood, book awkwardly in his hands like he didn’t want to put it down. Ultimately he did, sitting it cautiously on the coffee table and stepping around the furniture to take a seat on the other end of the couch.
“I won’t bite,” Yohji said. Aya actually shuddered at the comment, hands coming up to tug at the hem of his shirt. “I’m not going to do anything you’re not okay with.”
He felt like he was repeating himself, but his student seemed more than a tad possessive of the idea that Yohji would actually harm him, despite two months and many, many instances that proved that theory wrong. Hoping to give him yet another example, and, he easily admitted, reassure himself in the process, Yohji shifted to the middle cushion.
“Okay?” he questioned. Aya looked at him again, some of the trepidation fading under aggravation. Still, if he insisted on doubting Yohji, he was going to have to put up with constant reinforcement. When he realized Yohji wasn’t being rhetorical, he nodded.
Yohji shifted again, settling his hip against Aya’s, not roughly, not enough to pin him against the arm of the couch. Aya was tense, but, when nothing else happened, he began to relax a bit.
“Okay?” Yohji checked.
“Stop asking,” Aya snapped. Yohji grinned, ignoring the subsequent apology as he waited for Aya to calm down again.
Slowly, he reached out to snag one pale hand, tugging it over to his own leg and putting it there. Aya jerked it back, then, after a long breath, put it down again, the light pressure of his palm against Yohji’s knee. Still careful and deliberate, Yohji laid his own hand on top of it, threading their fingers together.
~*~
Omi poked his head into the living room to ask the others what they were doing and was caught by surprise to see Yohji jerk his hand quickly away from Aya, a distinctly guilty look on his face as he edged away from the boy.
How close had they been sitting? And what had Yohji been doing?
A quick glance to Aya confirmed nothing, the boy’s head down as he reached for the big book he’d been carrying around all day.
~*~
Yohji drug the man up in his weapon, and, suddenly, his vain struggles ceased with one strong tug on the wire. Looking over the man’s sagging head, he saw Aya turn away.
“Thanks,” he said quickly, hurrying to follow the other out of the building. Aya made swift moves, turning right then left down another hallway. Yohji struggled to remember where they were, where the blueprint had said they should go; he wanted to check Aya’s moves, but he couldn’t stop to get his baring without losing the other.
Suddenly, Aya stopped. He turned again and shoved Yohji against the wall. Quick on the uptake, the older man flattened himself against the surface, listening. There were footsteps, soft on the carpet of the office hallways, but headed in their direction. He looked at Aya, and purple eyes met his, passing a silent ‘ready’ but little beyond it.
The footsteps closed in, and then two security guards turned the corner. Yohji snagged one before they even knew the assassins were there. The other tried to draw his gun, but Aya sliced at his arm, sending out a spray of blood as the limb fell unnaturally back without being completely severed. The man screamed, but Aya just turned and jammed his sword deep into the guard’s stomach. The man gurgled and fell, and Aya yanked the sword back. He landed sideways on the carpet just as Yohji finished off his own man.
Aya was breathing hard, leaning a little against the wall as he straightened up from wiping his sword on the guard’s blue uniform.
“Okay?” Yohji asked.
“Fine,” the redhead answered, straightening up. Yohji nodded. They had already finished the mission, taking out more than six guys; it was no surprise Aya was tired.
They exited the building without other incident, crouching behind a wall as it burst into flames, listening to Omi confirm detonation over the comm.
~*~
Sitting in the back of a nondescript rental car, Yohji scooched closer to Aya whose head was resting awkwardly on his shoulder. The boy hadn’t been in the car more than ten minutes before he fell asleep.
He caught Ken’s stare in the rearview mirror and smiled a bit; the brunette didn’t seem to share the sentiment, but soon returned his eyes to the road. This, however, was not accomplished without a sidelong glance at Omi. The younger boy twisted in his seat to look back at them.
“Is he okay?” Omi questioned.
“Yeah, just tired,” Yohji said, stroking a hand through crimson hair. Omi followed the movement.
“Yohji-kun…do you, are you…are you interested in Aya-kun?”
“What do you mean?” Yohji returned, instantly on guard.
“I just…he’s very young, Yohji-kun. And, you know…it might not be good for him.”
“I’m not going to hurt him.”
Omi’s eyes were doubtful, and he was going to say something else, but Ken hit a bump in the road that jarred Aya awake. He jerked upward, looking around, and quickly moved away from Yohji’s side.
“I’m sorry,” he said, running a gloved hand over his face.
“It’s fine,” Yohji said, both to him and to Omi.
~tbc~
Notes: Review to encourage the author to be more punctual…or at least to encourage Yohji in his pursuit.
Converting /tmp/php3L35Qr to /dev/stdout