A/N:
Summary: Three years ago, Asami kicked Takaba out of the penthouse, in order to marry, and produce an heir for his company. Three years later, his young son has been murdered, and all evidence regarding the killer points to the eccentric photographer. However, Akihito has steered clear of Asami since their breakup, and expected to older man to do the same. Only, Asami wants him to suffer for a crime he did not commit, and is willing to do anything it takes to make the photograph pay.
Just a warning, if you do not like an overload of angst, I don't read this. I am warning you, if you're coming to hate, than you will find a lot to hate, because there are a lot of unanswered questions. If you do not like Aki being tortured by a deranged Asami, or vice versa, than I repeat DO NOT READ IT! It isn't exactly for the "faint of heart", because while it will have a "happy" ending, the ending doesn't come till the end of the story! I'm waning you now, this...is a little messed up, this story. If you don't want to see a traumatized Akihito, than I wouldn't read it, or a depressed Asami, or an "abused" child, I wouldn't read it!
If you stayed, well, kudos
Anyway, i've always wanted to write something like this. Originally, I posted it to ao3, but I decided to give it a try here. If I get good feed back, i'll continue it on here, if you guys absolutely hate it, i'll take it down. This was inspired by Philip Philips song "Gone".
Disclaimer: I don't own the Finder Series.
A pail of ice cold water splashed over the photographers dirty head. Cool tendrils of liquid soaked his blood stained shirt, and dribbles of water crashed to the concrete ground.
His arms ached from their prolonged position of being tied to the back of very uncomfortable, wooden chair.
His head was slumped over, and ached with an edging pain.
"I'll ask you again." Came the silky voice, "Why did you kill him?"
It had been like this for hours. The same damn question, the same damn response...didn't this man tire of the endless cycle.
"I-I t-told you, you bastard! I d-din't k-kill y-you're d-damn son!" Croaked the photographer, as he struggled to look up at the older man. However, It was too no avail. His head slumped down, and his chin hit his chest softly.
"Don't" hissed Asami, as he leaned down, and tilted Takaba's chair towards him "address him like that!"
The vile hate in Asami's voice was enough to make Akihito sick, but the fact that the resent was directed towards him was enough to make the photographer want to puke.
The pain of being replaced weighed heavily on his conscience, and far outshone the physical pain that he was currently being subjected to.
When Asami had left him three years ago-more like to him to get out-apart of his heart still clung to the older man. He still loved him, and the love was like a burning fire. It was eating away at Akihito, burning his hollow wood like a red blaze to a dry forest.
When Asami had married, and gotten his wife pregnant, and had a child...Takaba allowed the agonizing flames to lick his body, and peel away at the skin, carving a crater in his chest and allowing his broken heart to spill out.
He avoided Shinjuki like the plague, and avoided all jobs that took place there. He wanted to give up photography anyway.
A rough shake to his body jerked him back into reality. Asami's large hand had clawed into the tender muscle of his shoulder.
"Look at me!" Growled the older man, though his voice cracked with distress, "Why Akihito!? Why!"
Asami was delusional, he was hysterical. Whoever set Akihito up, had provided clean evidence that consisted of a video...
Evidence stood on Asami's side, while God stood on Akihito's. Given Takaba's battered state, the victor certainly wasn't the latter.
His eyes had gone slightly distant as he reminisced on the past, but a call to attention had garnered the little respect he had left for Asami.
"I told you," he croaked, as he bit back the aching pain, "I didn't hurt your son!"
Asami inhaled sharply, and closed his eyes tightly. Bringing a shaky hand to the bridge of his nose, Asami stood up.
"I want you to pay for what you did-"
"I didn't do a fucking thing! Stop making damn excuses! What would my motive be, huh! I wanted to get away from you Asami! Don't blame me for the death of your damn son! You're his father, it's not my fault his parents didn't give two shits about him! Just own up to-"
Suddenly, the adrenaline died down, and was replaced with a raw, stinging sensation that tingled on his cheek.
He looked up in utter shock...Asami had hit him. Akihito looked up at his ex-lover's eyes and saw regret and betrayal swirling in those golden orbs. He didn't want to hurt him.
"A...sa-"
The older man silenced him.
"You've done something to me, Akihito, that no one in this entire world has come close to doing. You see, I regret to say, I have fallen in love with you. That's right Akihito, I still love you. But the desire to make you suffer for what you took from me nearly overrides my urge to let you live..." the man ran a hand through his unkempt hair, "So your punishment no longer is in my hands, personally. I cannot kill you...and though I want to instill into you the same pain I've felt for these past few months, I can not. I will never be able to hurt you...However, I believethey can do the job better than I can."
They referred to the men who stood in the shadows of the dark room, watching the bloody scene from a safe distance. They were like hungry vultures. The minute that the lion left, would be the minute that they devoured Akihito whole. And he would be defenseless against their licentious motives.
Asami that bastard...he knew that too.
"I was willing to start everything over, Akihito," began the older man, as he made his way to leave the dark room, "I didn't love her, by the way. My son was a different story, however. I loved him...maybe more than I loved you. But your anger took him away from me."
Takaba didn't bother defending himself this time, as the scene felt entirely surreal.
This was wrong, it was vile, and cruel! Why the hell did bad things happen to him? He never asked for such a shitty life.
"If you're alive by the end of this, Akihito..."Asami's voice lowered drastically, and sounded rather distant.
He never finished his sentence, and the door shut with a "click".
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The boy's blood curdling screams filled the warehouse that night. At times, the sound was music to Asami's hungry ears. Other times, however, it sounded as if nails were being dragged along a chalk board. The noise was killing Asami, but the older man knew a punishment had to be carried out.
He wanted Takaba to suffer, yet he wanted him to live...He didn't know what he wanted anymore. The evidence had been presented to him, analyzed, and proven the murder to be Akihito himself. His source was trustworthy, in fact, it had been a family friend of Asami's and his ex-wife's.
They wouldn't lie to him, and perhaps this torment would force an answer, and a motive from Akihito's lying lips. He knew it wasn't in Akihito's nature to kill, but heartbreak drove even the most serene beings to made insanity.
But the screams were beginning to crawl under Asami's skin.
Whenever his emotions sought to destroy his resolve and to rescue Takaba, he willed his mind to present to him a photo of his late son, the child he never knew he wanted.
They hadn't even found the boy's body.
Takaba was a liar, and though it was so uncharacteristic of the photographer to harm another being, he had his jealousy to burn off of.
And Asami needed an answer. He was the father of a dead child, therefore, he needed closure.
Takaba offered just that.
The older man leaned against the wall. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his eyes were closed tightly as Takaba's screams grew louder.
Once or twice, the screaming stopped, and Asami's heart jumped slightly, only to resume it's pace when the screaming resumed.
The photographer was wailing himself hoarse as the men continued to hurt him. Asami knew what they were doing, and perhaps, three years earlier, he would have killed them for even looking at his Kitten. But times had changed, and Akihito needed to pay for his actions.
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Akihito had passed out from head trauma, physical trauma, a collapsed lung, and blood loss. His pants were at his ankles. Blood, and dry semen trickled down his bruised thighs. His shirt had been torn open, revealing bloody bite marks, and fresh hickies that had painted his pale chest. Once blue and vibrant, his eyes were now a pool of dull maroon. The pupils had lost their focus, and had morphed into a blank, distant state.
Takaba Akihito was gone, and his assaulters weren't even halfway through.
Despite their Boss' initial idea to allow these brutes to finish the photographer off, Kirishima and Suoh had put an abrupt stop to the barbaric act, and alerted Asami of his condition.
"Take him to a hospital." Said the golden eyed man, his voice smaller than usual, and slightly defeated, "Somewhere where I'll never see him again. And I advise you two to forget about him, forever." Asami left the warehouse after that.
And after clearing the room of the insane psychopaths that found such pleasure in tormenting Akihito in the first place, both bodyguards secured the broken form, and brought him to the a hospital outside of Tokyo.
He was bleeding everywhere, his body was bruised, and unrecognizable, completely unrecognizable.
That was the last they saw of Akihito.
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3 years later
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The young boy walked out of the storm, and into the old, two story house. The dim lights buzzed on the low ceilings, and somewhere in the home, the roof leaked onto the kitchen floor. The boy removed his muddy shoes, and stepped onto the wooden floor.
Above him, upstairs, the floor creaked loudly. He looked up, and noticed one of the lamps shaking.
A loud crack of thunder erupted through the sky, and even the boy jumped at the sound. The creaking increased, and grew faster in rate.
He sighed, and made his way up stairs. Each step sunk with his light weight, and he was surprised that the old staircase hadn't given out yet.
On his small adventure up the stairs, he could hear heavy drops of rain pelting the windows and the side of the house. From where he was, he could hear the leaking in the kitchen increased as the house was assaulted by another array of hail.
He would have to fix that later.
Finally, atop of the stairs, he stood at the end of the hallway, as the sound of senseless creaking echoed off of the walls. Above them, the light blinked dimly. Not because of the storm though, no. never.
He needed to change the bulb.
At the end of the hallway stood a long, wooden door. It belonged to the closet, and on the sides, stood two doors directly opposite of each other. The one on the left belonged to him, while the one on the left belonged to his psychotic room mate.
The thunder clapped again, and the house shook with its fury. Like expected, the creaking sped up tremendously. As he got closer to the room, he could hear the older man wailing from behind the door.
For as long as he could remember, Akihito had acquired a fear of loud noises, and from the few psychologist that they could afford, his condition had been a result of some sort of trauma.
Loud noises didn't phase the boy too much, though this storm happened to be a rather rambunctious sort of storm, one that he wasn't entirely used to.
He stood on his toes, fingered Akihito's metal door knob, and pushed.
Upon entering the room, the creaking of the floor, toppled with the rocking of the bed nearly outshone the loud thunder itself. With his head down, and arms wrapped around his knees, the blond man rocked back and fourth with a terrified fury. His knuckles were bone white as he locked them on his legs, and he muttered something inaudible as he continued his rocking.
The light was bright, so bright that it was sickening. Dust had flown through the rays, as the old fan spun slowly. The metal string dangled back and fourth, clicking against the glass.
He needed to fix that now.
Slowly, and carefully, he walked over to the shivering form on the bed. He was careful not to approach him to fast, as his three years of living with the unstable man had told him of the horrors that his mood swings brought on.
"Akihito," Called the child, as he placed a gentle hand on the young man's leg, "why don't you move to my room. I need to fix your light."
The photographer responded with a shake of his head, and all the while, refused to look up at the boy.
The young child sighed, "Akihito, if you don't go, it's going to get dark when I take the light bulb out, and you'll be scared. Just go to my room and turn the light on...please?"
The rocking on the bed increased, and the adolescent child was certain he had just lost his battle.
"Fine, stay in here for all I care." He pouted, as he searched the small room for a ladder, or a chair he could stand on top of.
The brown walls gave the room a rather large illusion, as it wasn't entirely that big. Opposite from the door was the window, which was slightly open, though no light, nor stars could be seen in the sky. Under the window was a heavy wooden desk, and a chair. The youth walked over the the large, wooden structure, grabbed at the back of the wooden chair, and pulled it under the fan, where the light buzzed with burning anticipation.
It was going to go out, so he needed to do this quickly.
However, even with the chair stacked up under the light, he was still too short to unscrew the light. He looked at the figure huddling in the bed.
Now Takaba's was looking straight at him, his cold blue eyes guessing what the boy might do next. At full height, Takaba would have no problem unscrewing the bulb. But since the two had fallen short of means to purchase Akihito's medicine, he'd been spending most of his time in bed where he couldn't hurt anyone, or himself.
That being said, the task of changing the light bulb remained with the boy, and the boy alone. So with all the strength that his little, malnourished arms could provide, he pushed the desk off of the wall, and into the center of the room, thus knocking the chair out of the way.
Using the chair, he climbed onto the wooden seat, and then onto the slick surface of the desk. There were professional pictures of people, and places crunching under his feet, and if the former photographer had any discomfort about the boy stepping over his work, he showed no signs of protest.
He only looked on.
Tall enough to now grab the light, the boy stretched his arm up, and his thin fingers slowly made their way towards the burning, bright bulb.
Lightning cracked like a hot whip through the sky, and instantly, a flash of light erupted throughout the house. The light-bulb gave out one final flash before dying seconds after the lighting strike.
The boy's fingers had lightly brushed the hot glass surface, and instantly, he recoiled them. He cursed himself for forgetting the fire that burned within the bulbs.
But scorched finger tips were the least of his problems now. The room was dark, and the creaking had started back up, but only for a second. The bed squealed one last time, as a heavy weight was lifted off of it, and bare feet made contact with the wooden ground.
The boy's heart stopped suddenly, as Akihito rarely left the bed now a days.
Darkness was the ex-photographer's mortal enemy. He felt defenseless in it, and now surrounded by it, he needed to find away out.
The lighting flashed again, and the youth noticed the older man gone, out of the room and sprinting down the hallway.
"Dammit Akihito!" He jumped off of the desk, nearly missing the chair that was cloaked in darkness. Through the obscurity, he groped for the way out of the room.
The thunder shook nearly half a minute after the lightning struck. The rattling of the house nearly caused him to lose his balance.
Another strike, and his head was out of the door. Akihito was nearing the stairs at an incredibly fast rate, and the boy was struggling to keep up.
Another soundless strike, and Akihito had darted down the staircase. The boy believed he was further than he actually was, and when the explosion in the sky sounded seconds after the lightening struck, he tripped over his limps as he delve forward.
The dark haired child hurled down the wooden staircase in a bunch of tousled limbs.
Now his body was laying motionlessly on the cold, wooden floor. The fall had knocked the air out of tiny lungs, and even the smallest movement of a muscle caused pain to radiate through his entire being.. His head throbbed with pain, and his back was in agony. He forced an eye open, and cringed at the loud buzzing in his ears.
Another lighting flash, and Akihito was running to the kitchen. The boy screamed in annoyance, and forced his tattered body to its feet, thus following his adult roommate.
It took him a little longer than expected, and he thought he twisted his ankle. He tried to stand, and fell. He repeated the action, only to follow again.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, he bit his lip, and forced himself to limp.
The delayed explosion rattled the foundation once more, but this time, the boy's slow pace kept him at bay.
The rain beat on the house, the distant thunder rumbled, and with a defining limp, small child groped his way into the kitchen. His hand shot to the light switch that was low enough for him to reach, but incidentally, he forgot about their power outage.
The switch clicked, but the power did not.
In the kitchen, the natural sounds from the storm were somewhat muted, though the boy could hear them if he strained his ears enough. No, the outside sounds weren't too loud, instead the boy heard the dripping of the leak, and the breathing of a very terrified, very dangerous Takaba Akihito.
The youth began feeling along the wooden cabinets in an attempt to touch his friend. He did so with a sort of caution though, as Akihito was very unstable, and was at his worse when he was surrounded by darkness.
"Drip...drip...drip..." The water splattered onto the ground, and the noise made it hard to hear the breathing, but his forced his ears to discern the sound from the leak.
The breathing was muffled, erratic and terrified. It was close.
"Takaba." Whispered the child, as he stopped in his place, and listened for the ragged breath. It seemed to be everywhere around the small room. It bounced off of the kitchen walls, off of the sink, and fell in tandem with the steady dripping of the leak
The boy gulped, and proceeded with outstretched arms, and a tiny limp with each step. Once or twice he thought he brushed the straw fabric that made Takaba's clothing, but was relieved to discover it was just a hanging kitchen towel, or a dirty rag that was draped over the counter.
Silent thunder rumbled, and his fingers brushed against something living.
He paused as he felt his hand press against an arm. He brought his other hand higher, and felt through a forest of thin hair.
The body was stiff, and unmoving.
"Akihi-"
The lightning flashed, and the boy's eye caught a glint of something shiny and silver. Damn it! He thought, as the man slashed his tiny hand with the sharp blade of the knife.
"Get away from me!" His warning for outdid the volume of the thunder, and in a second, the blond hopped to his feet, and sprinted towards the living room, towards the door.
Shit! Grabbing his bloodied hand, the boy chased after the knife wielding lunatic who desperately needed his medication.
The door swung open, allowing the dying storm to edge its way into the house. Takaba had darted outside onto the long, walk way leading out into the street. The boy was fast though, and with the light provided by their outside light, he was able to catch the running specter.
He jumped on his legs, pulling him down. They both crashed onto the pavement, and the knife flew out of Takaba's hand. The boy took the opportunity to throw it into the street. Takaba tried to go after it, but the golden eyed child jumped on top of him, and used what little strength he could muster to keep the older man at bay.
"Akihito!" he shouted at the struggling man, "Calm down!"
His pleading went unnoticed by the blond, as the storm, even in death, shouted louder than the boy could. He struggled with the man, pulling at his wet clothing to prevent him from running into the street, and grabbing the knife.
"Let go of me Asami!"Bellowed Takaba, as he jeered his fist into the boy's ribcage.
The youth bit his lip hard enough to draw blood at the impact, and his eyes watered with the steady rain. His breath hitched, and he fought to stay in control. But already, the blood loss from his hand was causing his grip to loosen, and holding Akihito with just one hand was impossible.
"Aki-Akihito! I'm not Asami!" He lied, and wrapped his arms tightly around the blond's torso, and buried his head in the blonds stomach. He did the only thing he could do now.
He spoke.
"I'm just Kyoshi! We're friends remember! We knew each other in the hospital?" A final flash of lightning tore through the dark clouds, and the thunder followed seconds later. It rumbled the earth, and with the dying storm, the photographer's struggles began to subside.
Kyoshi lay atop of the panting photographer, his bone crushing hug unyielding. Drops of rain dribbled on them like saw dust. Kyoshi closed his eyes, and inhaled Akihito's damp scent.
The photographer brought a hand to the boy's wait hair, and buried his fingers in the damp strands.
"I'm sorry..."
"I know...but let's go inside," Kyoshi pushed off of Akihito, and hissed as pain erupted in his body, "Look, the power's back on...you can sleep in my room until I fix your light."
The photographer sat up, and a weary look painted his features. He simply nodded.
Kyoshi helped him up with his healthy hand, and held the photographer's until they went back inside. Even in his calm state, he didn't fully trust Akihito to stay beside him.
He first directed the man to the restroom, and turned on the faucet to its warmest. The photographer was shivering as the draft from indoors assaulted his wet skin.
In silence, the boy helped him undress, and settled him into the tub. Takaba still shook even as the warm water tingled his exposed skin.
Bruises, they covered his thin body. Kyoshi didn't ask a lot of questions, because he figured it wasn't his business. He hardly knew anything about Takaba. The only thing they had in common was that they had been in the same hospital three years ago. Then Kyoshi had stumbled into Takaba's room. He didn't eat, didn't speak, or sleep. There were bandages all over him. They covered his arms, his thighs, his torso, everything.
All day, he just stared. He seemed lost. Kyoshi was lost too. So they both stared together.
Kyoshi didn't know much about himself either. However, he did know that his last name was Asami, and that at any given time during the day, his golden eyes, pale skin, and dark hair sent Akihito into hysterics.
But why, he did not know. He did not ask. He simply just lived.
But living wasn't doing him all that good now a days, because without medication, Aki's tantrums turned violent, and Kyoshi feared that when he grew older, he would look exactly like that Asami Takaba hated so much.
Perhaps then, he'd kill him in his sleep. Kyoshi didn't know who his parents were.
The only piece of evidence he had that let him know he was Kyoshi Asami was the hospital band that he had left the hospital with. He didn't know why he was admitted in the hospital, or who put him there.
In fact, it was as if his memory from age zero to three had been altered.
That was another reason he needed Akihito. Something in Kyoshi's little head told him that the former photographer was the key to his memory.
Takaba had been paid with nearly everything he had, and this torn down home was a result of the little money he had left. Kyoshi followed him when he left.
Since then, they'd lived like this. Takaba grew worse over the years though, and it was hard for him to keep a job, plus, hospital bills were piling up. He used to be a photographer, but with his unstable mind, it was impossible. Takaba grew depressed, as he could no longer do what he loved.
So Kyoshi began to steal to pay the bills, and to put food on the table. Takaba did what he could, but his social awkwardness...it never helped.
He was afraid of the dark, and terrified of men. Unfortunately, that was what the world was made of, the dark and men.
Akihito was afraid of the world, so Kysohi stole so the blond could stay inside, hidden and safe. Takaba needed a doctor for his brain, but they hadn't the money.
Maybe i'll go pick pocket some pig in Shinjuku, he thought to himself, as he helped Takaba out of the tub and onto the bathroom rug. He cast a glance towards the pale thighs, and quickly looked away as his gaze landed on the bruises that painted them.
Why did he have so many bruises on his thighs? Why did he have so many bruises on his body?
Surely, if Akihto wouldn't tell Kyoshi (but Kyoshi never even asked, he was too afraid to), then perhaps he'd tell a doctor?
But what on earth could he steal? What would cover the cost of a good psychiatrist?
Kyoshi didn't know, but he was still determined.
Update! Just in case you're confused, Kyoshi is 6 years old.
And there you have it. There are many, many unanswered questions. I'm well aware of that, and hopefully I get back to this story. Like I said, depending on the feedback I get, I may continue it, if not...ehh, i'll just work on my other stories, and probably take this one down altogether. However, I've always wanted to write a story like this, and I finally did. Anyway, have a nice summer, and God bless.