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 Forty-Two: Seclude Me

Everything seemed to be going smoothly. Ken was shifting the heavy plants towards the door, Aya was sweeping quietly, and even Yohji was lending a hand as he took on the demanding chore of putting change into the register. That was, until Ichiro Matsura decided to phone twenty minutes before they opened to inform them that he needed not twenty-five but forty-five centerpieces for the afternoon wedding; he didn’t know what had gotten into him when he placed the order. Cursing wedding planners, brides who insisted on peach roses, and the entire institution of marriage, Ken and Yohji started a desperate count of the flowers to see if they had enough to even attempt to accommodate the stressed Matsura’s sudden alteration.

Yohji completely forgot to watch the clock.

Later Yohji promised to berate himself for being such a fuck up, but the second he came out of the back room, arms full of peach roses, all he could think of was getting Aya out.

It was Saturday, and once the sign had been flipped to open, they had been instantly inundated. News had spread quickly, and the fangirls were more than a little eager to get a glimpse of the newest florist. There was a renewed flurry of questions, reaching hands, flash of cameras.

“What’s your name?”

“Did you just move here?”

“Do you go to high school? Which one?”

“What year are you?”

“Are your ears really pierced?”

“Do you have a favorite food?”

“Forget the food, Na-chan! Do you have a girlfriend?”

There was a general moan of disappointment at the thought; Aya had not even come close to providing an answer, preoccupied by backing up against the display case, broom loose in his hand.


“Yohji-kun!” Omi called, trying to make his way through the tight ring of girls.

“Aya!” Yohji all but shouted from across the room. He wanted to rush over, and hurried to find a place to drop his burden, managing to bump into Ken in his rush.

“Yohji,” Ken grumbled, trying to disentangle the blooms he was holding from those Yohji brought. “Pay attention.”

He was, just not to Ken.

About to toss the roses onto the floor, their wedding order was saved at the last second as Omi (having apologetically elbowed a particularly big girl) got to Aya. He took the broom from what Yohji knew were trembling fingers and, turning, the boy shielded the redhead from the crowd.

“Ah, Aya-kun, there you are. Yohji-kun said we need to sort out the greenhouse! Come on!”

There was a louder sigh of disappointment from the girls, and, having piled the roses in Ken’s arms, Yohji swept in.

“Now, girls, surely you aren’t that disappointed with Kudou’s world class service? You’re going to break my heart.”

As predicted, they rushed to assure the blonde that he was still deeply wanted, at least until they realized Omi had Aya by the hand as he was trying to guide him in the direction of the greenhouse. Yohji felt a sudden surge of emotion at Aya’s being touched: fear that the boy would be frightened, worry that he would cause a scene, and, a little unexpectedly, jealousy that he let Omi take him away.

But Yohji knew why Omi had that hand; he knew upset, Aya would be unlikely to follow under his own volition.

The girls, however, didn’t see it that way.

Maeko, a short girl with a round face and bobbed hair, was the acknowledged president of Omi’s fan club; she was quick to step towards the departing boys, stilling them instantly with her loud, shocked words.

“Omi-san! No!”

This set off a new wave of recognition and questioning.

“Look, they’re holding hands!”

“Omi-san, are you dating?!”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

“Can we see you kiss?”

“On the cheek, on the cheek!”

“Too cute!”

“Is it true? Are you together?”

The respect Yohji had for Omi doubled as, shrugging off every insinuation that he was not only gay but openly dating another boy, he simply turned, tightened his grip on Aya’s hand, and led him out of the room.

Of course, Yohji was left to deal with the questions. And there were a damn lot of questions.


Having assured the girls that Omi was (as far as they were concerned, at least) completely of the heterosexual persuasion and having distracted them with a rather ingenious diversion (not that Ken liked getting sprayed with the hose, but he had to take one for the team), Yohji had just managed to get free to go check on his charge when Omi came through the back door of the shop. Aya wasn’t with him. About to hurry past the blonde in order to verify the redhead’s whereabouts, Yohji found his sleeve expertly snagged, bringing him up short in front of a none too happy Omi.

“He’s fine,” the other assured him quietly, as if Yohji wouldn’t bother to ask. He was obviously miffed over the latest screw up.

“Yeah, thanks,” Yohji said seriously. Starting off again, he halted when Omi refused to relinquish his shirt.

“Listen,” he was offered a serious look, “Leave him alone for a while. He needs the space.”

“Space? But—”

“No buts. Leave him alone.”


“Yohji-kun! Give him an hour, okay? Just an hour to himself. It’ll be good for him.”

“I don’t think it…will it?” After all, the chibi had been right about a lot of things. Yohji was learning to listen; it might save him a hell of a lot of regret.

“Yes. Besides,” he released his captured cloth and smoothed it politely, “I think he’ll like it in there.”


Aya stood near the door of the small greenhouse, feeling a little lost since Omi had left him alone with no instructions. It had taken a few minutes to calm himself, his mind full of memories set off by those girls.

Soon, too soon, he had to focus on the immediate situation and a sudden, frightening surety that Schuldig would come for him now that he was alone. He wanted to go to Yohji where he might be safe, but he knew better than to leave a place he was obviously meant to stay. His presence in the shop would only cause his owner more difficulty. Violet eyes darted from one corner to the other, searching, thankful that the building wasn’t large, its entirety illuminated and visible; the fact that there was nowhere to hide helped to calm his nerves. Consciously, Aya relaxed his fists, but his hands still tugged at one another as he surveyed the space.

The walls were covered with green canvas; it sagged in places, revealing dusty green glass. The floor was constructed of simple wooden planks that separated here and there over the packed dirt beneath. To his right was some kind of workstation, with a waist-high surface, shelves, and drawers. Two long wooden tables, sturdy-looking ones, sat longways to occupy the majority of the rectangular enclosure; they held a variety of items, but Aya could only see three flowerpots, and only one of these had anything growing inside. There were no trees or bushes, only a vast collection of disused tools, some of which he didn’t think had ever been put to use in the shop. He studied these from a distance for just a moment before turning his attention upward to the gentle slope of the roof; like the walls, it was constructed from squares of thick green glass, like an old soft drink bottle, only more transparent. It let in a wash of warm sunlight, and taking a hesitant step forward, Aya slipped out of the shadows and into its brightness, breathing deeply as if to take the warmth inside himself.


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