BY : MikoNoHoshi
Category: Weiß Kreuz > Yaoi - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 4275
Disclaimer: I get no money from writing these fics, nor I don't own Weiss. In fact, I'm not even allowed to touch the pretty least not in any of their special places...

Chapter Thirteen: Doubt Me

“Omi,” Yohji appeared at the kitchen door, offering a charming smile that Omi could easily interpret: Yohji wanted a favor. Praying that after such a taxing morning it was only food or a change of shifts, he wearily acknowledged the blonde with a smile of his own. “We’re hungry; can you fix us something?”

The ‘us’ made him think instantly of Ken (and thus consider the extravagant portions that would be necessary to meet that request), but the brunette was off to the park. It was only after thinking this through that Omi noticed the person standing silently behind his friend. His new mouth to feed. Not that money was an issue, but Omi really didn’t need any more responsibilities, and Yohji wasn’t renowned for his tender care of, well, anything.

Had Yohji even considered the serious possibility that this Aya was a spy? They didn’t know a thing about his history. He could be dangerous for Weiss. Omi had gotten on board with the wounded rabbit that had temporarily lived in the garage, but he really couldn’t fathom what the blonde was thinking, bringing home this particular stray.

Still, Omi had never been one to dwell on the negative. Perhaps they would just have to be cautious and leave it to Kritiker to reliably dig up the boy’s past. No doubt it would soon be delivered to him in a tidy file. Yeah, right.

“Please?” Yohji tried when his request wasn’t immediately granted. Omi had to grin at the slight desperation of the plea. Ever since the battle royale the older man had staged with the toaster, he was reluctant to engage the other appliances.

“Of course, Yohji-kun.”

“You’re the best, chibi! I hate to ask—”

Here Omi laughing inserted another silent ‘yeah right’

“—but it’s not fair that Aya’s first meal here is a frozen dinner.”

“It’s fine. Aya-san and I need to have a chat, anyway. Please sit down and I’ll fix lunch.”

Shoving himself off the doorframe where he had been leaning, Yohji sauntered easily into the kitchen and took a seat at the table. The familiar routine, having gotten as far as Omi’s gathering ingredients for a simple curry, was thrown off kilter when Aya soundlessly took a seat on the floor by Yohji’s chair.

Frozen vegetables in one hand and instant curry sauce in the other, Omi stopped and stared. The redhead was kneeling on the floor as if he belonged there, looking small and carefully tucked into himself as he hands each clasp their opposite. And Yohji! The man simply shook his head and stared down at the boy.

It made Omi uncomfortable, someone sitting on the floor like some kind of pet. They’d all seen too much of that subjugation at the hands of dark beasts, not just in the recent files but scattered throughout their years as Weiss. He instantly regretted calling the boy a stray, even in his own head, and wanted to fix it as soon as possible. Dangerous plant or not, he was still human. And Yohji was just sitting there, a kind of displeased expression on his face as he lit a cigarette.

“Do something!” Omi finally blurted, adding another regret to his list as Aya started at the noise, regaining his statue-like decorum the next instant. “Don’t let him sit there.”

The boy looked up at that, but not towards Omi. His worried eyes focused on Yohji.

“He wants you to sit in the chair,” Yohji sighed. “Remember?”

“I’m sorry, Master, I—”


“I’m working on it!” Yohji snapped back at him, making Aya cringe a little and hunker down near Yohji’s feat, not scared precisely, more prepared and cautious. The way his head was tucked between his shoulders, it was like he was trying to protect it. “Aw, shit. Aya, c’mon; I’m not mad. Go on.”

It was quiet, muffled by the way he was one again bowing apologetically, but there was desperation in the words, “I don’t know what you want.”

“Okay. First, get off the floor.”

He was quick, Omi thought, to lift himself from such a position so easily.

“Sit in the chair.”

That motion was more awkward, the way his fingers peeked out from under the long sleeve of Yohji’s shirt to catch the back of the chair experimentally before he pulled it slowly from the table and settled hesitantly on its edge. His legs were held tightly together, his back rigid, and his gaze directed to the floor.

“See, now Omi’s happy,” Yohji indicated him with a wave of his cigarette. “Cook, Omi.”

He nodded, finding it easier to follow the blatant direction as his brain tried to incorporate this reality into the information Yohji had provided them with earlier. His friend had purchased the boy at the target’s auction, so he really was a slave, or, well, it was certainly hard to cast him as a wily infiltrator when actually looking at him. Omi wasn’t closing that door completely just yet, but it looked like the kid had been more than mistreated. It would be hard to fake those jumps, the subtle trembling of the hands that he tried to hide by linking them together, or the constant expectation of reprimand. And his response to Yohji. It wasn’t calculated; even from the meager exchanges Omi had observed, he could see the desperation to obey. The motivation, however, he couldn’t fathom.

Surely Yohji hadn’t said anything to threaten Aya.

Had he?

The ding of the rice cooker put an abrupt end to considerations, and he hurried to stir together the curry and serve three plates of it over the fresh rice. Truthfully, though, he wasn’t very hungry.


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