Chains

BY : MikoNoHoshi
Category: Weiß Kreuz > Yaoi - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 4283
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 boys...at least not in any of their special places...

Notes: My internets . . . they’re back . . . so happy. . .


Chapter Nineteen: Defuse Me

Before dinner, Yohji had more than a sneaking suspicion that he’d messed things up.

After dinner, he was sure.

The entire meal alternated between lecture and interrogation, Omi playing headmistresses and Yohji involuntarily taking up the part of chastised troublemaker. He also remembered why Omi was their strategy guy: he was all details and reality, in this case mixed with a helping dose of compassion. He’d hidden this well at first introduction, but a mere eight hours later, now that he’d decided to accept Aya as part of their group, Omi was all about making sure he was well cared for.

No one would suffer neglect at the hands of mommy Omi; Yohji said as much and found himself whacked upside the head with a well-aimed soup spoon.

“Be serious, Yohji-kun!”

Now where had he heard that before?

“You can’t just drag him around. He’s got to rest. Oh,” he jumped up suddenly, opened a drawer, and, as if by magic, produced an impressive stack of papers. “I did some research; this might help.”

“Uh--”

“Read it.”

“Alright, alright.”

Omi nodded, all smiles again. He went to the stove as Ken and Yohji cleared the table. After the chore was completed (or at least reduced to a sink full of dishes), Yohji looked over Omi’s shoulder to investigate the simmering pan of clear liquid. It smelled like chicken.

“Chicken noodle soup?” he asked.

“Broth,” Omi stated, lifting the spoon up for Yohji to try it. It was bland and dull, like it was made with too much water. He made a face.

“Can’t you make it stronger?”

“He needs it like this,” Omi asserted, flicking off the burner and pouring the liquid into a mug; there was a cartoonish picture of a fluffy, orange cat on one side that appeared to be smiling. Next he began to think out loud, and Yohji felt it was more of a teaching exercise for his own benefit than an actual working out of problems. “What should we give him to drink?”

“Ginger ale?” It struck Yohji as a savvy choice, and something that came highly recommended from his own mother.

“Hm,” Omi apparently did not approve. “I don’t think carbonation is a good idea. Is there any juice?”

Yohji checked the fridge, quickly dismissed the orange juice as too acidic and came up with cranberry-apple instead. Why it was in there in the first place, he couldn’t fathom, but the seal was unbroken. Had Omi bought it at the store?

“Perfect!” the younger boy praised. Yohji rolled his eyes, going to get a glass. He had plenty of real talents; Omi didn’t need to compliment his ability to find some planted juice. Deciding that his mood could use some improving, Yohji fished out a cigarette and lit it before taking down a clear glass and filling it with the red liquid.

For once, Omi didn’t tell him not to smoke in the kitchen.

The chibi took the glass and settled it on a tray with the broth, added a napkin, and stood back to stare at it.

“Good?” he asked.

“Sure.” Yohji felt his opinion was a moot point.

“Okay, let’s get him up,” he picked up the tray and walked ahead. Setting it on the coffee table quietly, he warned Yohji (lingering in the doorway), “Gently, Yohji-kun.”

Stepping forward, Yohji took a moment just to look.

Aya was curled up on the gray sofa, the soft, white throw draped over his legs. One hand clutched at its edge, the other held tightly to his long bangs. He faced the cushion, seemed to be trying to snuggle into them; even with the blanket, Yohji thought he looked cold.

Rounding the couch, Yohji carefully avoided the temptation of his hair and reached to touch his shoulder. Again those strange eyes snapped open, and again the hands sprang to protect his face.

“Aya—”

Well, he should have expected that. The minute the name fell from his lips, Aya slipped from the couch and dropped to his knees directly in front of Yohji, pressing his forehead to the ground and apologizing.

“I’m sorry, Master. I did not mean to make you angry. Please punish me.”

“Aya,” he began, but in the pause he took for breath, the other continued.

“Please,” he asked, the formality of his speech falling away like an excess garment, “punish me. Don’t send me back.”

It was the same voice, the same plea from the night before.

“I’m not sending you back, Aya. Get up.”

The redhead got quickly to his feet, standing with his head lowered before him. Yohji’s gaze swept over him, noting the tousled hair, the thick collar, and the trembling shoulders. Was the boy cold, or was he afraid? There was a sinking suspicion in Yohji’s stomach that told him it was primarily the latter and that, despite his wish otherwise, it was not a fear of being hit.

Punish me.

Don’t send me back.

Yohji took the cigarette from between his lips and put it out in the nearby ashtray. Then he tried to get Aya to look at him, to return his smile, but the boy was staring at the floor, no better than that morning. His own attempt at cheerfulness fell through.

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m not going anywhere; you’re not going anywhere. Okay?”

Not even a nod, and the trembling.

“What are you afraid of?”

Silence.

“Please answer me, Aya. I can’t fix it if I don’t know. What are you afraid of?”

“Disappointing you, Master.”

The name rang false again, having a light catch to it, but there was something true in the statement that made Yohji answer it.

“You won’t.”

The tension only grew in the silent room, and Yohji was mere seconds away from lighting another smoke when Omi stepped in.

“Dinner!” he announced, plopping down on the couch and patting the middle cushion as an indication for Aya. The redhead looked briefly up to Yohji, who nodded and took a seat at the other end, causing Aya to rush to sit in the middle. Seeing him sit on the sofa and not the floor made Yohji almost proud, and his smile returned as Aya watched Omi curiously while the chibi lifted the mug from the tray and handed it to him.

Then his eyes were fleetingly back on Yohji. The blonde sighed, but the smile lingered on his face.

“Eat, Aya.”

~tbc~



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