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...


Miko: We’ve reached the 25,000 words mark, and people are still reading! I love you guys!

Subaru-san: So, how’s that serious novel going?

Miko: Shut up. I’m worshipping the readers *bows to readers and hands out celebration cookies with lemon icing*

Chapter Twenty-Two: Detonate Me

“Your sister?”

Aya nodded; the hand pulled a tiny bit, but went instantly still. Yohji let it go, and the younger man drew it back as he wrapped his arms around himself.

“Is she,” he swallowed, not liking the idea forming in his head, “doing what you are?”

No, the shake of the head said. The subject was obviously sensitive, or maybe forbidden. Aya was trying to curl away, getting distant.

“And they keep her so you’ll stay like this?”

“Yes,” it was almost a hiss and Yohji realized that a good deal of anger was mixed with the trepidation; Aya was trying to hold it all back. “Maybe,” the boy amended more quietly; he was still seething, and pronounced this like it was a long-shattered theory, “I’m in debt to them.”

Yohji turned the subject in his mind, sorting out the details that he could: it was a paltry collection, but even so, there were misfittings. The girl’s captivity made sense if those in charge desired Aya’s servitude, but why keep her if he was to be sent off to serve someone else? That would be a financial boon, but then why continue to check on him?

“But . . . if they have a hostage, why sell you?”

Yohji hadn’t been there to witness the torture, hadn’t seen the blows are heard the screams, but when something in Aya broke free, he saw them all reflected in the bright flash of pure anger that shot through those violet eyes. His voice was the same: sharp and pained and angry.

“I don’t know!”

He glared with an unexpected ferocity that spoke of death.

Yohji knew Aya could be Weiss.

Then it was over, and the quiet, hesitant Aya was there, repeating some kind of too-formal apology that Yohji was too surprised to listen to.


He was exhausted. It had taken well over an hour to get Aya into PJs, assure him he should be in the bed, and lay still while he went to sleep. He’d checked the boy’s back somewhere in the midst of this fiasco, noting the new bandage on his left arm but, at the time, he thought it best to keep quiet about it. Yohji had also planned on ignoring the profuse apologies, but after Aya ended up on the floor for the second time, he accepted what he had to, and told the boy to, for gods sakes, just get in the damn bed. Then it was his turn to apologize for yelling.

He’d laid there stiff, distrustful, and awake each time Yohji cracked an eye to check; it continued until the blonde grew tired of his own feigned sleep. He was about to broach conversation again when he looked a last time to find the boy finally and suddenly in the clasp of exhausted sleep.

Recalling the chilled hand, Yohji had added another heavy blanket to his bed, and now Aya was buried under it. He faced Yohji, but only the top of his head was visible as he curled into a kind of fetal position beneath the comforter. His bedmate was just happy to see him asleep.

Yohji rolled carefully onto his back, drug his arms from beneath the hot wrap of the covers, and tucked them behind his head. His white t-shirt pulled slightly at his shoulders, and, unused to sleeping clothed, he again debated pulling it off, ultimately dismissing the idea in favor of Aya’s meager comfort.

And it was meager. Yohji had no real indication that he had put the boy any way at ease. He would make it a point to try harder; he needed Aya to find some level of comfort there, not just for Yohji’s own peace of mind, but in order to advance any type of plan to incorporate him into Weiss.

Some rules might be necessary, not just the don’t-sit-on-the-floor rules, but even a few more unsavory kinds of basics. After glancing at Omi’s ever-relevant research, Yohji found more than one psychologist suggesting a slow transition back to full self-sufficiency and independence. Aya might need a structure he was used to, modified of course, and much more humane, but something he could grasp until Yohji got it through his pretty red head that life would be much more attractive as a free man.

That idea clearly terrified him at the moment.

Yohji hadn’t exactly counted on a long-term project, but it looked like he had one.

Putting nice clothes on Aya and dropping him in the shop, well, the disaster was too easy to imagine, and might result in something as bad as a mental breakdown.

He could do better than that. Yohji resolved, not for the first time, to be more observant. Really, he might enjoy it; the PI part of his brain liked the occasional workout, actually clamored for it when it wasn’t overtly sated with alcohol and sex. And, though he was loathe to admit it, those things weren’t giving him quite the thrill they once had, not that he was going cold turkey anytime soon, certainly not. But maybe a minor detour wasn’t all bad.

The first day had been rough, very near the disaster he had predicted, but it would get better. Yohji would watch, Omi would help, Ken would come around, and Aya would get better: simple.

Yohji smiled at his own optimism, knowing his life didn’t really work that way. But he would help where he could, and that started by laying out some rules Aya could understand.

But what rules? And how could Yohji create a semblance of normalcy with such regulations passing between them?

He set his mind hard upon the problem, but soon his late night caught up with the early morning and he fell asleep.


It was still dark.

He didn’t know what time it was, and though he could have checked the clock again, Yohji didn’t bother.

For the third time in as many hours, Aya was crying in his sleep. It was a quiet, tremulous sound he made, muffled more so by the hands curled near his face.

The first time Yohji had flicked on the light and lifted the covers, watching the pale, drawn face, fascinated at the crystalline tears that leaked from beneath red eyelashes. Without thinking, he had reached to touch one shaking shoulder, then, just as his fingers brushed the blue fleece of Omi’s borrowed sleepwear, he remembered Aya’s reaction to being awakened in such a way.

He was about to jerk away, but the boy hadn’t woken up.

So Yohji had risked it, letting his long fingers rest over the thin shoulder, listening as the soft crying faded, leaving the room quiet save the beating of his own heart. It had been too loud for his liking, and Yohji had quickly withdrawn his hand and settled back to sleep.

This time, he didn’t turn on the light. He reached, carefully, and laid his hand once more in its place on Aya’s shoulder. And once more, the crying subsided.


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