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...

Notes: I feel like I might be lingering in the first days too long (I really do have a plot, I swear!), but I’m interested in how it would all play out and I think the foundation of Aya and Yohji’s relationship is crucial to later developments. If it’s bothering you all, please let me know and I’ll do my best get on with it.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Will Me

“I don’t know, Yohji-kun,” Omi fretted as he watched his friend rifle through the hall closet.

“Yours?” the blonde questioned, holding up a puffy, fuchsia overcoat.

“Yes. But, listen—”

“Burn it.”

Yohji made a face at the coat before hanging it back in the closet, obviously thinking it well below the navy, thigh-length trench he was currently wearing. He shoved a few heavily laden hangers to the side, considered a khaki jacket, then shifted it as well.


“Ah! Here, Aya,” he pulled a leather maroon jacket from the depth of the closet, taking it from the hanger and handing it to the redhead. Aya stared at it. “Put it on,” Yohji directed casually.

Omi wondered where the blonde’s frustration had gone; he seemed almost as rejuvenated by the past two days as Aya. The younger man had certainly benefited from the time in bed. The dark circles under his eyes had lessened, though were by no means gone, he seemed to catch on more quickly to what was wanted of him, and, thankfully, it didn’t look like he was going to fall over at any moment. Still, Omi had no delusions that he was perfectly fine.

Since he had arrived, Aya had managed to eat little else than warm liquids, a few crackers, and, just that morning, not quite half a piece of dry toast. Omi watched him carefully slip his arms into the jacket, noting the way Yohji’s dark purple sweater hung on him; its owner was no big step away from stick thin, so to see it loose over Aya’s chest and shoulders was an indication of his state. And Yohji wanted to take him out.

“Please reconsider, Yohji-kun, we can go to the store by ourselves and get what he needs.”

Yohji hmphed a little, currently engaged in tying the coat’s belt around a wary Aya’s thin waist. He stepped back to admire the overall effect; the look read approval, but was not the exuberant wink Omi had often seen the older man lavish on his own reflection.

“We’re going out, Omi.” Then, with a pointed glance at the clock, “You’re late for school.”

Shoot! Yohji was right. Omi snagged his bag from the kitchen chair and made a dash for the door, praying that traffic wasn’t bad and that his physics exam was multiple choice.


As they coasted to a stop at the red light, Yohji reached to turn down the Seven’s radio. Aya’s attention seemed trained out the window, and though cautious, he seemed almost pleased to be outside. Both hands on the door, he breathed the cool air deeply as he watched an elderly man hobble down the sidewalk.

Yohji let the light turn, and they sped off before he began the discussion.

“If you get tired, let me know, okay?”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Aya dip his head in acknowledgement.

“And try to stay close by me; I want to see what you pick out, after all. In case you haven’t noticed, I happen to have an excellent fashion sense.”

Nothing. He didn’t take it personally. Shifting into fourth, he broached the foreseen difficulty of their day.

“Aya, while we’re out, you can’t act like you do at home,” he paused, regretting the way it sounded like a personal criticism. “I mean, people can’t know that you are, were, uh—”

“I understand.”

Really? Yohji hadn’t expressed it anywhere near coherently.

Aya’s hands were in his lap now, the bowed head back, and Yohji hated himself for bringing him back from the curious inspection of the road.

“What should I do, Yohji?”

Damn. Well, he’d just go with it for the moment and hope it wasn’t as bad as Aya obviously thought it would be.

“No sitting on the floor, okay?”

“Yes, M—”

Yohji was watching the road, but he caught the cut-off syllable. That stung, but he continued, thinking it for the best.

“Stay with me, but don’t walk behind me. Stay, you know, beside me, like we’re friends.”


“We can be friends, right Aya?”


The last answer was no different than the others, but he chose to take it at face value.

“Good, cause I think it’s probably been a while since you were out.”


“Am I right?”


He really had no idea how long it had been since Aya had been allowed to interact with other people. Yohji hoped he wouldn’t be too uncomfortable, but the research (now his guiding light of Aya-care) preferenced limited periods of normal interaction over restriction to the home which would only imitate imprisonment.

“Thought so. Well, I’ll show you the latest trends, no problem,” he conversed largely with himself, “If something bothers you, or if you don’t know what to do, just ask me. All right?”

Yohji complimented himself on the smooth integration of instruction.


He thought for a second.

“And, Aya?”

Quiet attention and utter stillness.

“Relax. It’s just the mall.”

Yohji didn’t quite think Aya could walk into the sleek Armani shop with an ill fit sweater and a collar around his neck. He had attempted to remove the latter that morning, but when Aya looked ready to panic, he had abandoned the effort immediately. They would enough to deal with; the collar could wait.

It wasn’t too hideous, in the shallowest physical sense, though it couldn’t be comfortable. After staring at it with vengeance off and on for three days, he guessed the band to be about an inch and half wide. It was probably expensive and completely utilitarian, certainly not your average dog collar. There was a large silver buckle at the back, one strong silver prong sliding through the hole and the loose flap secured by both the buckle and two thin cross strips. Each side had a fairly discrete D-ring attached; the silver pieces folded back against the band, almost unnoticeable beneath the fall of Aya’s hair, but no doubt with serviceable intent. They were by no means as well used as the O-ring in the front. It was thick silver, attached front and center at Aya’s throat with a stud of sorts, allowing it turn; when at rest, it created a visible circle with the bottom of its curve hanging just a few millimeters below the collar’s lower edge. Most of the silver shined dully, but on this ring there were scrapes across the silver, some noticeable impressions in its surface. They spoke of repeated struggles, hard, desperate attempts to get away or strong, deliberate yanks to get him back.

There were fewer marks in the surface of the collar which was made of thick, black leather. This also hinted at quality. Though it had no doubt grown stiff from being wet repeatedly (not always, Yohji thought, with water), it didn’t crack (nor did the rings rust). The edge, he noted, bit into Aya’s neck, but he had never seen the boy tug or adjust it.

Yohji wanted it gone, and he had been tempted to sneak it off while Aya was asleep. But the mere mention of its removal sent the redhead into an unhealthy state of terror, so Yohji left it alone.

Thankfully, it could pass as an eccentric piece of jewelry, a kind of everyday bondage gear that wouldn’t have been too out of place on a punk kid or anyone with a gothic edge to their outfitting. And the earring, another curious possession, did give him a kind of offbeat look. Of course, if Aya’s tastes tended towards khaki slacks and sweater vests, they might have more of a problem.

Yohji hoped not. While he could pull off an argyle vest with the best of them, he preferred cashmere and lace and, on occasion, leather.

Just not leather collars.

He had hesitated on the decision, but ultimately Aeon Mall won out, at least for their being out in public test run. They would be less noticeable there, much less so than in the sparsely occupied brand shops where personal attention was a point of pride. The only attention Aya needed at the moment was Yohji’s.

Pulling into the parking lot, he found a suitably safe spot near the back and killed the engine. After a brief check for wallet, shades, and watch, he turned to Aya. The boy was sitting with his eyes closed, his back held in a stiff posture away from the seat.

“Aya,” he began seriously, resting his hands on the wheel and looking ahead, “this isn’t some kind of trick or plan; you’re not going to get in trouble. I just want you to have some decent clothes.”

“That is what you want, Yohji?”

He was surprised to hear the hesitant response when the boy hadn’t been directly prompted, and the direction of query seemed a promising one.

“Yes,” he affirmed, “that’s what I want.”


You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story