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 least not in any of their special places...

Chapter Twenty-Four: Watch Me

Yohji had hoped to implement his plan the second night of Aya’s stay, but each time he had checked on the boy, he had found him sleeping so soundly that he couldn’t bring himself to disturb his rest. He conferenced with Omi over Chinese takeout, and both decided it would be best to keep the redhead in bed for at least another day or two.

So the next forty-eight hours passed in much the same way. Aya’s body seemed to need rest desperately, and he slept both day and night, interrupted only by meals prepared by Yohji, brief trips to the restroom, and short spells of crying. Though he was never truly awake during the latter, Yohji couldn’t imagine he was resting easily.

Throughout the process, Aya seemed to become a little more at ease with him, but only as much as to cease waking immediately to a defensive stance; there was still a good deal of hesitation and wary regard. Having now read Omi’s document stack (and its two supplemental additions) in detail, Yohji knew better than to expect rapid recovery or anything like normal responses for quite some time. Really, compared to some of the horror stories presented in the research, their progress seemed good.

It made him wonder how long Aya had been in captivity. He showed residual signs of abuse, the almost-cowering from a raised hand (something Yohji was quickly learning not to do even by accident), a general inability or unwillingness to engage in conversation, and, according to Omi, a tendency towards self-harm that was particularly disturbing and hinted at an inability to manage stress. But, he didn’t seem completely tame or accepting of his subservient status; he wasn’t blank or dull or hopeless, and, though obviously badly beaten, his body showed few signs of permanent damage that long years of servitude would surely create.

There had to be a story behind it all, no doubt revolving around the mysterious sister.

Yohji needed to ask Aya some questions about that, both for his recovery and for a potential rescue of the girl. He wondered if she’d be as beautiful as her brother, a little waifish thing with that deep red hair and big, violet eyes. Maybe. Whatever she looked like, no girl, no human being, deserved to be in the company of such monsters; there was no guessing at the kinds of tortures they put her through.

Weiss might look for her, at least do some preliminary research, if he had a name to go on. Perhaps he could get that much of Aya’s past without delving in to the whole unpleasant subject. Not that any of it was going to be pleasant.

Yohji shook his head and tried to focus on the arrangement of peonies he was making for a giggling schoolgirl. Tying it off with a yellow ribbon, he handed it over with a patented Kudou smile, sending her tittering to the register.

He glanced to the clock to find it read just a bit after five; there was still another hour, then cleanup, before he could check on Aya. He caught Omi’s gaze by accident, but the smiling boy motioned him over.

“The girls are almost gone, Yohji-kun. Why don’t you go on?”


Omi nodded sagely, lifting one finger as he laid out his logic, “Of course. You’ve been here all day, tomorrow we close at lunch, and Friday Ken will have to leave for soccer. So, Wednesday is Yohji’s early day!”

“Thanks, chibi,” he patted the kid on the shoulder before reaching to take off his apron.

“Oh, and Yohji-kun.”


“Aya-kun was awake when I checked in on him, so you might want to let him up for a while.”


Omi was right. A pair of purple eyes peeked over the edge of the covers when Yohji entered the room.

“Finally get your nap out?” Yohji questioned, unconsciously repeating a phrase from his childhood. He smiled and sat down on the bed as Aya pushed the covers down to his waist to sit as well. His hair was sticking up in various directions, and, catching Yohji’s look, he tried to smooth it down.

“We’ll go out in the morning, if you can,” he explained as he picked a bit of green from beneath his nails, “We can watch a movie or something tonight, though. Sound good?”

A little nod.

“Downstairs, then?” he asked, adding, “You can wear the PJs, no one here but the guys.”

Aya shuffled carefully out of the bed. He put the covers back into place and took a second to straighten his clothing. It was a futile attempt. The blue pajamas (with a green paw print pattern) refused to look anything but frumpy, and, indicative of their real owner, they were a touch short at both wrists and ankles, fleece giving way to pale skin.

“We’ll get you some clothes tomorrow,” Yohji informed him, “come on.” He stood waiting at the open door. Aya hesitated, and Yohji wondered what was giving the boy pause. He’d seen the look before, a slight expectation mixed with confusion, when they went to the shower, to breakfast, to bed. Yohji didn’t understand what precipitated the expression. “Okay?”

A nod, and then Aya put his head down and followed.

It was only when the redhead unconsciously fingered the collar’s ring that Yohji realized he was used to being on a leash.


Confused barely began to describe his state of mind.

Before, Aya had thought of himself as an intelligent person, but he just couldn’t figure out what was going on. He wondered if Schuldig had damaged his brain. There wasn’t really anyway to know.

He had thought his owner’s declaration of intent had been a farce, some extensive test of his loyalty, making the long period of sleep an attempt to build his strength to last through punishment, but now, how to justify the continued kindness? And no leash. He wasn’t drug about , stumbling behind him; he wasn’t tied up or to things or even sequestered behind locked doors. He had been trusted to stay in the bedroom, and, just now, it was to a wonderfully comfortable chair his owner had brought him. He was left alone in the spacious, carpeted living room with its windows and furniture while his owner left, promising to bring back not a weapon, but dinner.

Was he serious about . . .

Could he . . .

No. No, Aya would not be swept into idealizations.

He had to stay vigilant, to keep the man’s anger at bay. Surely the appearance of freedom was invisibly safeguarded by some impressive security or surveillance. It didn’t explain the gentle way of handling, but perhaps that leant some other satisfaction to the moment of reversal when Aya would be suddenly and severely used. It didn’t matter, he told himself sternly. Whatever game his owner was playing, Aya had to abide by his rules without violating Crawford’s. Schuldig would come, and he had to be on guard.

His fingers reached to touch the collar briefly, then up to brush against the earring.

He missed her.


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