Disclaimer: I don't own these character nor the anime they were taken from.
Keigo kept thinking of his responsibilities as the captain of his team while walking down the halls of the palace. That place had once been amazingly beautiful for him, now it was just fitting for his person. It reminded him, only how great of a man, and how close to perfect he was. The case changed when he got inside a special room. In that place called « La Galerie Des Glaces » he always remembered his childhood, tender years. Just the slight look at his own reflection made him travel years into the past.
{b}
Keigo Atobe was the happiest little boy on hearth, he was about to pass the coolest winter vacation ever. Not because his parents had rented the whole Château de Versailles for the season, but because they had invited him along to party the European Christmas and New Year with them. He was running, like a crazy little fairy, through every room of the palace, not minding the guests as he interrupted the most banal or intimate situations around him. His innocent child eyes didn't catch any perversion in that, just the boring adult life.
Further down the hall he found one of the places he was forbidden from getting in. His parents told him it was being prepared for the party, so he should keep as far from it as possible. With all the wisdom, his five years of age granted him, he decided it was a good idea to disobey and enter the room.
It was an absolutely gorgeous sight. There he was, reflected, on every mirror, whenever he took a step, and beside him was the moon. He ran and danced, all around the place, until his balance betrayed him and his body felt on the floor. He stayed there, panting for some minutes, with his eyes closed, until he started noticing the darkness thickening around him... over him. Searching for any traces of light, he attempted to look at the ceiling, but found only blackness. He also felt a huge weight over his chest, leaving him unable to breathe. Following the weight came the heat, then the smell, such a disgusting, wet, putrid stench, and lastly, came the hands. He tried to scream, but that monster had his little mouth over assault. He tried to kick, but that only made him notice the cold floor under his bare pinkish thighs. 'Bare?' His body paralyzed. Inside his head everything turned terrifyingly silent and slow, as fear filled every inch of himself. Everything was happening in slow motion, painfully slow. He noticed the others grasp to loosen, he could move again, so he tried, with all his forces, to run away. Already in all fours, and not willing to look back, he started his way to freedom. The laugh that followed that act was not cold and thick, as they say it tends to be, it was liquid fire and would keep burnt into his memory for as long as he lived. The pain would also stay forever imprinted in him. As the cruel creature from hell invaded his baby-like tender flesh he lost his voice along with his tears. When the man spread his seed inside Keigo, it burned like acid, turning everything it touched into the most dreadfully disgusting, and impure, path.
After all, that miss-happening was the most perfect analogy for the rest of his life. Everything would be perfect as long as he kept walking along the tracks, going against the rules meant pain, destruction and humiliation.
Keigo was seating now, shallow, noisy, breathing and shaky, sweaty, hands. He looked around, as the twilight darkness started to fill the gallery, and saw the shadows running towards him. All around, wherever he looked, there was the face of a most handsome man, lightly tempered with fear. Such a gorgeous expression his was. He knelt on the ground as his eyes gave in to tears. The mirrors started to shift and close around him, pressing hard on this chest, taking away the few oxygen he got to keep, between soft sobs. The hands, filthy hands, exited the mirrors as if through the portals of his mind's past nightmares, and went inside his clothes, his body, attaching themselves to his organs like parasites. Atobe pushed them away, punched them, but it only helped to get HIM hurt, very hurt. Blood gushing from an unknown source, his blood, filled the small place quickly, leaving marks on the, until then, clean mirrors. As that thick organ, he knew so well, entered him again, hundreds of them, he kept looking at his porcelain, doll-like, face, also painted in red. The precious liquid was now up to his chin and kept going higher, passing his nose and, finally, his eyes. He kept them open until he couldn't breathe anymore, under the crimson ocean. But the awareness lasted much longer than that. Enough to feel the warm delicious acid filling every entrance of his body, like so many years before, as he was once more cruelly raped. He collapsed, at last, under the effect of blissful humiliation and comfortable self meaninglessness.
{b}
When his eyes caught light again he opened them. His first sight? A candle. What he heard? Low, rushed voices. Thankful enough for the numbness of his body, he voluntarily fell into darkness once more.
The voices around meant nothing for him, they might as well have been screaming, it would sound like the sweetest lullaby. Nor did the serious worried tone, they had, sound different from pleasant to him.
"When the servants found him, he was fallen amid broken glass. His hands and wrists were all bloody. What is the meaning of this?" His father was more than scared, although trying not to, he sounded terrified. Nobody, from the whole group of mental health professionals, could answer what he wanted them to, anything but the truth.
"Sir, please, calm down. What we think, is that this was a reaction to the... trauma he suffered as a child. From what we gathered, he broke all the mirrors with his own fists and, seeing as he had his bloody hands over his mouth and nose, tried to prevent the air from getting in his body... maybe attempting suicide..."
"HE DID NOT! What a ridiculous thing to say, you call yourself a Psychiatrist? He was obviously just kissing the naughty wounds away!" His ever so lovely mother. Not even all the perfume and gold in the world would be able to turn the filthiness of the situation into glory now.
Kabaji was holding him tight, but kept deadly quiet. Atobe could feel his strong heart, beating with passion and hatred. That heart wanted to kill, it wanted revenge. Everything, every little detail... it was just like before. Just this time, father didn't send the dogs to find the monster. He just stayed there, looking mortified and disoriented. Traitor father.
"Is he going to be ok?" Munehiro's voice, against his ribcage, sounded strong and aggressive, yet comforting at the same time.
"Oh, yes, of course he is! Just make sure he doesn't quit his medicine. As long as he takes all the drugs we prescribed, and tends to his wounds carefully, there is nothing to fear..."
That was the last word Keigo heard before, as he felt into slumber again, letting that man back in. Only this time, like many others after falling asleep, he knew it was just a bad dream. And, at any moment, his best friend, his knight in shiny armor, would come and protect him, rip the monster's limbs apart, and hungrily feed on his flesh and blood.