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-Six: Wow Me

Yohji spent the first minutes of their outing on guard, ready at any moment to scoop Aya up and make a dash back to the car. He waffled between berating himself for the stupidity of the idea and assuring himself that it wasn’t that big of an idea. Maybe he should have started smaller, but, then again, it was a good test of Aya’s ability to be in public. Still, as they crossed the parking lot, he felt the palpable tension.

As ordered, Aya walked at his side, head ducked and hands curled up to hold on to the long cuffs of the marron jacket. Yohji had the urge to reach out an grab his hand, and, really, he thought it could be helpful, but two men holding hands in public might draw unwanted attention, and they were likely to have that already. Had he really thought this was a good idea?

The initial test of people came in the form of an elderly couple who were entering the doors in front of them. They spared a glance at Yohji and Aya, then proceeded inside without a thought; Yohji turned to Aya to find him still, slightly tense, but okay.

“Come on,” he said, reaching for the door and tugging it open.

Aya looked up at him, blinking in confusion. He looked different in the morning light, not as kind as the shifting iridescents of the house. He face was too thin even for the current trends towards waifish boys, his skin tending unhealthily towards transparent. His hair looked ill-washed, a little tangled as if it dried without brushing. And his eyes; they were still scared.

Yohji didn’t know what to do.

“Go on,” he motioned Aya to walk in first. The red brows drew together, but Aya bowed his head and went, waiting patiently inside for Yohji to come back to his side. The blonde caught an almost frantic survey of the wide food court, but Aya just curled his hand tighter.

“Okay?” Yohji asked quietly.

“Yes.” His voice was softer than in the car, but the tone was the same. Yohji was sure it was a lie, but if Aya could do it, so could he. Adopting the best casual look he could, he offered a smile and started off.

“Alright, time to begin your official makeover, Aya, courtesy of Yohji Kudou, stylist extraordinaire.”

It would have come off better if Aya had laughed, and Yohji found himself smiling awkwardly at his own playful boasting.


For over forty-five minutes Aya followed silently at his side, accepting the items Yohji pulled from various racks and occasionally nodding in response to the blonde’s assessment of particularly horrendous items. When Yohji asked him what his favorite colors were, he looked completely baffled.

“Colors, Aya. You know, which ones do you like to wear?”

“…” His brows were creased in thought, like it was some life or death decision. Was he trying to figure out what Yohji wanted him to say?

The blonde sighed, turning back to the rack, “Well, if you don’t speak up, I’ll dress you in pink, Princess.” On cue, he lifted a pale pink polo shirt that he personally wouldn’t be caught dead in.

“Black,” Aya answered quickly, eyes a little wide at the threat of the pink top.

Yohji laughed, putting t away. It was nice to see him react that way.

“Black, okay. Here,” he handed over a black, long-sleeved polo shirt instead. Personally he thought t a bit common, but with Aya’s features it would probably work. Checking the size, he added a pair of black jeans and then a pair of light gray ones. “Other colors?”

“Whatever you like, Yohji.”

“Ma, Aya,” he shook his head, purposefully keeping the criticism as light as possible without foregoing it completely. “I’m picking what I like, but let’s get some you like too.”

He thought it was a nice balance.

Then Aya found it.

And it was hideous.

Yohji would have walked away, maybe made some comment, but there was something in the almost wistful brush of Aya’s fingers over the sweater that made him pick it up immediately. If Aya was interested in it, they would buy it. Even if it was hideous. Even if it was orange.

Fucking orange.

Yohji summoned a smile, wanting to encourage more exploration of Aya’s own tastes (and the whole time praying to the gods of fashion that orange was not the boy’s real favorite color).

It was with extreme hesitation that he selected one of two shirts Yohji held out, and the blonde met with almost paralyzing reluctance when he suggested Aya pick up something on his own. He quickly rescinded this thought when the boy reached to tug at his own hair.

“Oh, wait. Here,” he took the top of Aya’s considerable clothes piles, “maybe we should try some of these on first. Over there, I think.”

He had already made up his mind to try on only the items he questioned, one of each size and so forth. To go through the entire selection would undoubtedly exhaust Aya, not to mention Yohji .

They entered the fitting room area, and while Yohji thought it might be fun to see Aya parade each outfit for him, he had serious doubts that the other could get through the trying on process without some serious direction, or at least encouragement. So he selected the handicapped room on the end, and ushered Aya inside, setting their collective burden on one side of the bench and squeezing himself onto the other.

Aya stood before him, arms crossed over his midsection in a nervous gesture.

“Just clothes,” Yohji tried to comfort without overwhelming; he hesitated, though, over telling the boy to strip down. Not that he hadn’t seen Aya naked. Hm, well, that made it a bit easier perhaps. Deciding to act like everything was cool, which, he realized, it was, he picked up a t-shirt and lifted it towards Aya without getting up.

The eartail was tugged one more time, but Aya reached to peal the dark sweater from his body. Yohji turned away politely, only to catch his own reflection in the large mirror behind Aya. He also saw the boy’s back, the just-healing lines where Kaimo had hit him. Quickly, he turned his attention back to Aya’s front, finding it better to watch a little awkwardly that see those marks secretly.

Aya carefully pulled the gray t-shirt over his head. It was supposed to be fitted, but even a small had a little room in the shoulders and waist. It ended there, just above Aya’s hipbones, completely visible as Yohji’s jeans hung low on him.

“Let’s get that one,” Yohji decided, hoping that Aya would fill out to wear it properly. A tight t-shirt would look nice on him if he picked up a bit of weight, and the blonde shifted two of similar fit into the keep pile. “Okay, this next.”

It was the hideous sweater. Again Yohji caught something in Aya’s movement when he touched the thing, but only once he had it on did Yohji realize why precisely it appealed to him. The taller man stood and gently turned him towards the mirror, looking over Aya’s shoulder.

Aya’s fingers ran over his stomach, feeling the soft cloth, then, slowly, he raised his eyes to look.

Yohji saw it too, the way the sweater was big enough to hide his smallness, how it didn’t cling to his visible bones. Even more prominent, the high, thick turtleneck concealed the collar completely.

“I like it,” Yohji decided.

A pale hand touched the neck of the sweater, smoothing it a little. Then, very softly, Aya said, “Me too.”


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