The earsplitting sound of explosions, as loud as thunder cracking through the sky, the bitter smell of smoke burning his nostrils like acid, choking all the air from his lungs. The falling rubble, crashing to the floor around in him in chunks with such force the ground seemed to shake as though the earth was quaking, the hot blaze of the inferno closing in on him, boiling him in his jacket, burning down his throat. None of it mattered to him at all. The only thing that he cared for was Aoba. He couldn't find Aoba. He desperately needed to find Aoba. He couldn't leave without Aoba.
Mink was out later than usual, clearing his head with the stinging chill of cold fresh air, after a fitful sleep filled with nightmares. It was so that cold he could see his breathe, feel the chill set into his bones like ice. The first flakes of snow this winter had began falling, initially in a fine and steady sprinkle, dusting the forest floor like sugar, but soon in heavy flurries of white feathers, whipping into his skin mercilessly, forcing him to hurry back to the shelter of his home. He strode with determination, his broad shoulders hunched into the collar of his jacket to defend against the heavy snow. As he walked, he saw something, just from the corner of his eye, bright blue against the thin white blanket of that hid the forest floor.
He thought about leaving it alone, but gave into curiosity and investigated. With each step he took closer, trudging through the snowfall, leaving footprints with his heavy boots, the figure seemed to take shape. A small, slender man, with long blue hair scattered around his face in a disheveled mess, lying face up as white flakes settled on his body. At first he thought it was someone else, lying unconscious on the white covered earth. Someone else with distinctive blue hair and skin as pale as winter. Or maybe it was his imagination, playing a cruel joke on him, his dread and guilt coming back to haunt him after all this time. He closed his eyes tightly, and saw Aoba's crying face, engraved into his memory like a scar that would never heal.
He opened his eyes. The man was still lying there, only now his eyes had fluttered open, and he was staring with an empty gaze up at the sky. Blood seeped into the snow around him, dying the crystal white blanket a deep crimson and spreading out slowly. It seemed to be pouring from a wound on his side, soaking through his thin blue shirt. There was an angry red slash across his cheek, and his ankle, beneath his snow powdered jeans was bent in an odd shape. His uncovered fingers were slightly blue around the tips with the onset of frostbite, but it didn't look too bad, he couldn't have been lying there long. He was extremely still though, appearing limp and lifeless like a corpse.
Mink kneeled down and lightly pressed his fingers to the man's pulse point, thinking that he may have died. The man who he could not bear to call by his name, lest he was dreaming, so he was simply just a man lying in the snow like a fallen angel. His skin was so cold, like it was made of ice itself, and there was a weak pulse, beating subtly beneath where his fingers touched. He still breathed in small shallow breathes, faint puffs of white in the air, his chest rising and falling shakily, and his body slightly trembled as he fussed under the touch. Despite the cold, Mink removed his own heavy jacket and wrapped it around him as he lifted him. Instantly his exposed arms broke out in goose flesh, feeling as though needles of ice pierced every pour. He stirred a little in Mink's hold, letting out a small confused groan of pain.
"Why?" he asked, his voice quiet and filled with terror, then his head went limp against Mink's shoulder, and he closed his eyes. But there was no mistaking that voice. As weak as it had come out, it was the same voice that permanently took residence in the back of his mind, that resounded through his heart every day like wish or a prayer, reminding him that he had to live. Aoba's voice. He had found Aoba. He hurried back to his cabin, fighting against the wind that cut through him like a blade, and the snow that needled into his skin.
He heard a sudden cry, turned to see that long blue hair, streaked with orange as it reflected in the light of the blazing inferno. His pale face was stained with tears and ash, his light hazel eyes were red rimmed and shining. Aoba. He tried to call out his name, but the smoke was too thick, the swirling tendrils poured into his throat like fire, instantly drying it out, and he choked out the name instead, feeling like he'd swallowed a branch of thorns. Aoba's lips were moving, he was calling out to Mink. But he couldn't hear him over the roar of the crackling flames.
Mink opened his eyes gradually from his half asleep state, his heart racing a little. He looked over at the blue haired man lying asleep on the sofa, from where he sat on the arm rest. Aoba was still there. It wasn't a dream. It was real. Treating his wounds while he lay unconscious last night had been real. Cleaning and covering that horrible slash just below his right rib cage, most likely inflicted by a knife, binding his broken ankle, which was horribly swollen around the joint, the skin red and bruised, and wiping the blood from the small cut on his face, it had all happened. Even that brief conversation they'd had was real, after the idiot had awoken in a confusion and attempted to escape by dragging himself across the floor. That had been real too, not some twisted dream.
The fire still burned slightly in the fireplace opposite them, and the unsteady orange embers sent warm shadows dancing across his pale sweat glistened face, flame coloured streaks flickering against his blue hair. His lips were still slightly blue around the edges, the dark circles under his eyes accentuated by the shadow his lashes cast over his delicate cheekbones, more prominent on his face than Mink remembered. He'd lost a bit of weight it seemed. He was breathing steadily, but every now and then he'd let out a small pained groan, or shiver slightly and stir under the sheets. He was thin and frail and sickly, wounded and hurting, and it made Mink yearn to reach out and stroke his hair in a comforting manner, to wrap him up in his arms and hold him until he was better. This sort of affection was strange and alien to him, something that he'd removed from his heart like cutting away at a chord, and he'd never had any love for anyone or anything until he'd met Aoba.
He almost extended his hand, fighting the urge to run his fingers through his hair. But he recoiled at the last moment, curling his fingers back, dropping it to his side once more. He couldn't touch Aoba like that. After everything he'd done, he had no right.
Aoba let out a soft whimper, and shivered, pulling the blankets up to his chin, and then moments later reached out a hand, as though searching for something to comfort him. His fingers brushed Mink's knee, latching tightly onto the material of his jeans, like a baby blindly searching for a mother's comfort. "Hold my hand Granny. I'm scared." Aoba murmured in his sleep, his voice thin with fear. Mink placed his hand over Aoba's, and instantly thin fingers wrapped around his. His hand was so small that Mink felt more like he was clutching a poorly child's rather than a man's. Aoba had always been small, at least to Mink anyway, but now it was like he was withering away to nothing. He held that tiny hand tightly, giving it a gentle squeeze.
Aoba had called out for his Grandma, even if he was dreaming or delusional, did it mean he had remembered something?
They were holding me down against the bed, Trip's hands pressed into my shoulders from behind me, as heavy as iron weights, and Virus between my legs, forcefully prying them open, his hands already fumbling with my jeans. I'd given up fighting back, realising how futile it was, that I'd only face horrific punishment and gain nothing from resisting or disobeying them. Cold horror slid to the bottom of my heart. I feared them.
"We love you, Aoba." Trip leaned down and whispered into my ear, his warm breathe hot against the side of my face. I suppressed a shiver. They usually took turns with me, but when they were together it was somehow scarier. The air around them became colder and sharper than usual, and the desire and lust became tinted with a dark possessiveness.
Virus thrust into me, and I jumped, letting out a choked cry. There was amusement in his cold eyes and I could feel his gaze travel over my body. I hadn't even noticed him remove the clothes from my lower half, and he hadn't prepared me at all. I was too scared to think, and my body instantly reacted, my dick going stiff, even though I didn't want to feel this way, pleasure still began thrumming through me, pooling between my legs like smoldering heat.
I was scared. The whole world around me seemed to go dark with terror, and I was deathly afraid. I wanted someone to save me, a hand to reach out for, to hold onto and pull me out of the darkness.
Granny. Granny would save me, just like she always did.
I jolted awake. The first thing I felt was warmth, even before my other senses had came into focus. The dream still lingered on the edges of my memory, and I recalled most of what it was about. Just like all the others, it involved Virus and Trip, my memories of their abuse, but something felt different this time, like there was something else I dreamed of too. I tried hard to pull it to the front of my mind, everything else around me forgotten, but it was already gone, like dust scattered in the wind. I used to hate the feeling of waking from a dream that was already slipping from my mind, and trying but being unable to recall it. Now I was grateful for such a luxury, because my nightmares were worse than Hell.
"Oi." a voice pulled me out of my thoughts, and I craned me neck back, looking up to see that guy perched on the arm rest of the sofa. His name was Mink if I recalled correctly. "Are you going to let go now?" he asked, lifting and eyebrow. For a moment I had no idea what he was referring to, but then through the haze of my groggy mind, I finally realised my arm was pulled up behind my head and I felt something warm and sweaty in my hand. I'd been clutching onto his fingers. I pulled my hand away and tucked it under the sheets, a small cry of embarrassment escaping my lips, my face heating up as I silently cursed myself. Why were we practically holding hands? Had I reached out for him in my sleep, like a silly little child?
"Sorry." I mumbled.
"It's fine." he replied remotely. Then he got up and stalked off, leaving the room. I guess I must have really pissed him off.
An image flashed into my mind, something suddenly floating up to the surface from the darkest depths. Cold blue eyes, with a tinge of green, staring down at me from an intense scowling face. Dark brown dreadlocks, tanned skin, a pink headband, a hand bunched into my shirt collar. The tangy taste of blood on my lips, a dull ache pounding through my body. The memory of anger boiling in my blood and fear lancing through my heart.
As suddenly as the vivid vision came, it was gone and my mind was unable to grab back onto the image, to recall any more, just like the barely remembered dreams. I frowned, confusion and frustration swirling in my chest like a snowstorm. My mind felt so broken, like part of it was missing, and I just wanted those pieces to come back together, to fall into place. I'd never worried about it before because I'd never had the luxury to dwell on such things, but if he really was someone from my hidden past, now was my chance to find out about myself.
I knew there was something there, beneath the darkness, and I yearned to find out what it was.
I looked around the room I was in, pushing myself with effort into a sitting position. My body felt stiff, and all my joints were heavy with aches and pains, especially my right ankle, which throbbed constantly, sending sharp pains lancing up my leg. My vision wavered a little at first, but eventually became focused. I was looking at a small cabin room, dyed with the orange glow of sunlight streaming through a small window, and the burning remains of a fire, now just embers and black ash. The walls around me were just plain wooden paneling, and the decor was very simplistic and minimal, a feathered dream catcher dangling by a door behind me, and in front of me a small coffee table with an empty surface. There were a few shelves, with intricate wooding carvings of animals on them, a horse, a bull, a dog. I didn't know how many other rooms there were, how large or small this place was. All I could see from my position was one door slightly behind me to my right, and then the front door to my left, a window next to it. I looked out of the window, but couldn't see anything, the morning sunlight so intense it was as though the glass had been painted orange.
It must have been a beautiful sunrise. I hadn't got to admire something like that in so long, I almost wanted to walk up to the window and gaze out. But as soon as I put any weight on my feet, daggers of pain shot into my right leg, so I couldn't move.
Mink returned a few minutes later with a steaming cup, and the sharp smell of coffee filled the air. He handed it to me, and I slowly reached out with weak arms and accepted it with a hesitant smile. It smelled good, the scent wafting up from the hot liquid somehow comforting and familiar. I couldn't remember the last time I had a cup of coffee. I could barely remember what it tasted like, and when I took my first tentative sip, it burned a little, but mostly it tasted bitter, with a slight hint of sugar and milk, and it swirled down my throat, seeming to thaw the ice from inside of my body as it settled in my stomach.
Then a sudden thought occurred to me, and I stopped drinking. Was this safe to drink? What if he wasn't actually friendly, what if he'd done something to it, put something in it? Mink glanced at me. "What's wrong?" he asked. For a moment I imagined his eyes flashing blue.
I'd only drank a little bit. I'd be okay if he was up to something, surely?
"It's just coffee." he said, with a heavy sigh and an eye roll.
I stared in stunned silence. Had he guessed what I was thinking? Mink let out a small grunt, sounding a little frustrated. "You're not like before." he said deliberately.
If he really knew me, could I get information about my past from him?
I hesitated for a moment, before asking. "What was I like, then?"
He regarded me thoughtfully, his eyes meeting mine for a brief moment. "Less scrawny." he finally said.
It was my turn to roll my eyes. "Seriously..." I muttered.
The corner of his mouth twitched as though he was going to smile, but in a moment it was gone, and his lips were set straight once more.
"You were a lot of trouble." he said, not without affection, and then he closed his mouth.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded.
He shook his head. "Nothing. Finish your damn coffee."
I was really cold, and couldn't stop shivering, as though ice had settled on my skin, but the coffee helped so I decided to comply. If he was going to hurt me, wouldn't he have just done it while I was out cold anyway? I didn't really care anymore. I felt tired, an overwhelming exhaustion that drained both mind and body to the extent I felt hollow. After over a year of torture and abuse at the hands of two men I once considered good friends, and almost a month on the cold, dark terrifying streets of an unfamiliar country, I was just happy for something warm to drink and somewhere warm to stay.
Mink's eyes seemed to flicker to me every now and then, and when I caught his gaze it seemed there were a thousand questions hidden beneath the surface. "What?" I asked, feeling a little unsettled.
"Where have you been?" his question was more of a demand, and I was taken aback by his tone.
"What do you mean?"
"For over a year. I thought you were dead."
I felt a little shocked by that statement. His voice was steady with no hint of emotion, but there was a repressed air of pain and sadness about him, something I could sense rather than see. Had I been someone he cared for? Had I really lived a life so dangerous, that others believed me to be dead, or was it an accident? So many questions filled my mind, racing through my head one after the other.
I thought about answering his first, though. I took a deep breathe, trying to still my trembling nerves. I could almost feel the colour draining from my face. Should I tell him about Virus and Trip? How much should I say? Would he help me if I told him? No. I couldn't. I didn't know him well enough, I didn't know what relationship I had with him before, and I couldn't really trust him. It was something agonizing and terrifying to think of, something that lingered in my darkest nightmares and still had me waking up in the night, drowning in terror. How could I share something so deep and dark and horrifying with a man I didn't know? I didn't even want to think about it, let alone talk about it to others. Why couldn't those memories have been erased instead?
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." he said slowly.
I didn't even realise how tightly my fingers were clutching the sheets until he leaned down and carefully brushed a hand over mine. For a brief moment, I felt a flash of warmth run through my body, and then it was gone and he was stalking out the front door, a heavy jacket slung over his shoulder. Since I escaped, if other people approached me or tried to touch me, it made me feel really uneasy or afraid, and I'd shy away, but with him it was different.
"I'm going to get some stuff." he mumbled as he left, shutting the door behind him.
I didn't hear the sound of keys jangling in the lock. He hadn't locked me in. That meant he wasn't trying to detain me here, to keep me imprisoned like an animal in a cage. I was free to leave whenever I wanted. I thought about it, of slipping away while he was out, but what use would that be? It was freezing out there, and my ankle was so sore I couldn't even walk. I suspected it was probably broken, and the intense pain seemed to reassure me of that, but I couldn't really remember what had happened. It was all a blur of coldness and darkness, of panic and pain.
Mink stood outside, leaning against the door and taking deep breathes. He closed his eyes tightly, pushing his chin into the warm fur colour of his coat.
He was almost there. He'd almost got to him, and then above then there was an awful cracking noise, and the ceiling began to break into pieces, caving in on itself. For a moment the whole world seemed to stand still, like he was staring at a painting before him instead of reality. Aoba extended an arm toward him, his long slender fingers splayed out in front of him. Mink reached out too, but it was too late. The last thing he saw was Aoba's eyes, wide with fear, his long blue hair whirling around his face like it was caught in a strong wind, his mouth open, his lips forming words that couldn't be heard. That image burned itself into his mind. And then it had fallen between them, a wall of rubble that piled up creating a blockade, and they were separated from each other.
He'd clawed at it until his hands were sore and bloody, until his knuckles were scraped to the bone, ignoring as the flames closed in and more burning chunks fell around him, like meteorites crashing from the Heavens to the Earth. He'd pulled away piece after piece, one hundred, one thousand, he didn't know anymore, he just kept digging and digging through the debris, praying he could get to Aoba, each moment they were apart carving dark despair into his heart. The smoke was so thick he could barely breathe, and he could feel the heat of the fire closing in, making him feel boiling and sweaty in his skin. If he stayed, he was going to die. And Aoba had told him to live.
He opened his eyes, looking at the trees before him, outlined by the burning orange sunrise as it shone through like fire, framed glistening white with snow. The ground beneath him was covered too, almost half a foot of it, but the air now was cold and still and silent, save for the distant chirping of birds. He hated snow, it always built up and got in the way, making simple tasks difficult and tedious, making the air freeze and the plants wither and die. But this morning, he couldn't deny it was beautiful, in all its cold white purity, a clean blanket over the Earth, that wiped away all the dirt on the ground. He took a deep breathe, but this time it could not clear his head, for Aoba filled his thoughts, seeping to every corner of his mind like a sponge soaking up water.
Mink headed in the direction of the town. It was less than a mile, a fifteen minute walk. He suspected Aoba would be hungry, so he needed to go pick up something nice for breakfast.
