Note: Sorry for the delay again. I've had time lately but I've just been so distracted lately. Hehe ^^; Well, enjoy the second chapter of this strange tale of fated lovers.

Chapter 2: Imprisoned

Each individual cell was small, with only the absolute necessities in it. In this case, a hole in the floor served as a way of relieving oneself in one corner and a blanket and pillow served as sleeping quarters in another. Up until this morning- or what Miyavi assumed was morning- the prisoner had had a cell mate. However, the other man had had a death sentence that was finally dealt with. And so, Miyavi sat alone in his cell. There were no windows in his cell and and meals were never brought at set times. So the tattooed man had no idea what time it was or even how much of it had passed. To him, minutes felt like hours. Hours felt like days. For all he knew, a month could have gone by.

The only solace he got was when one of the king's servants brought him his meals. It was always the same one; honey blonde hair feathered out around a soft and sweet face. Puppy dog brown eyes would always give Miyavi an apologetic stare as he slid the tray of food in to him. Long slender legs were always bare, save for a pair of extremely short, tight-fitting shorts. They were usually some variation of black velvet roses patterns on red silk. Miyavi was grateful to see the same person on a daily basis. It gave him a sense of consistency in an otherwise boring and schedule-free life. Not to mention, he was easy on the eyes. Just as this thought crossed Miyavi's mind, he heard the dungeon door open and saw the dull light of the torch splash against the walls. His scantily-clad food-bearer was quick to follow, sliding the torch into it's holder outside of Miyavi's cell.

"Well good morning, sunshine." Miyavi called out with forced enthusiasm. "Isn't it just beautiful out today? Ah, the sun feels so nice, the breeze is carrying the song of the birds, and this fresh air makes me feel fantastic! Don't you agree?" He even put on a smile for the servant.

"...Its raining...storming, actually. I'm just lucky you're in the closer of the cells and I didn't have to go outside in this." Came the dull, excruciatingly monotonous reply.

Miyavi put his head on his knees and averted his gaze with a little noise of dissatisfaction. "Well, there goes my attempt of a good mood." His tone matched that of the servant's.

"Well, let's get to it, then. I'm going to place the key to the shackles on your tray, step away so you can have some privacy, you call me over after you've finished and I stay until you've eaten. Then you'll lock those ankles back up, I collect the key and tray, then we part ways again." The servant spoke with such authority that, had Miyavi not been hearing it on a daily basis, he'd be surprised someone so beautiful could sound so strict.

"Yeah yeah yeah. I know. Though there's no need for you to step out, okay? We'll just get straight to the meal."

Miyavi shifted and the chain linked to his ankles clinked along the floor. Yeah, he had no freedom in his already limited cell. He heaved a sigh as the tin tray scraped harshly along the rough floor, the servant getting it as close as he could. Miyavi was thankful he was a tall thin man; he easily reached out and snatched the edge of the tray, pulling it to him. With quick and nimble fingers, he was unlocked and freed...well, sort of. He stood and stretched, groaning with pleasure as his muscles tingled from the use. He heard a chuckle and glanced at the servant, who was watching him intently. He shot him a half-assed glare before turning away, continuing to stretch his neglected muscles. It felt wonderful to do such a simple- and usually trivial- thing when he spent most of the day stuck in the same spot, unable to move far. He finally turned his attention to his food, fighting a grimace.

"Oh boy; a stale bread roll, an apple, and what I assume to be the reject pieces of a pig. Again. My favorite." He said dryly, making no attempt to hide his distaste and earning another chuckle from the servant, who had taken to sitting cross-legged just outside the cell.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh. Its just funny to watch and hear you. No matter what you say or do, you amuse me."

This caused the dark-haired male to spring up and approach the bars, grabbing them as he pressed his lean body against them."Really now? I'm locked away like some caged animal, chained to the spot, stripped of my identity and enjoying what meager luxuries I can...and I'm amusing?" As he snapped, the servant's smile faded and he looked away. "You have no clue what this is like. You know what? I'll bet you've never even been told the name of the prisoner you now deal with."

Silence. Miyavi could feel the rage that had bubbled up start to slip away. He stalked over to the tray and grabbed his small container of water, bringing it to his lips and drinking deeply. The cool liquid refreshed him and helped to calm him. He sat down, ripping a chunk out of the bread and eating it slowly. He vaguely heard a soft whisper from the servant. Looking over to him, his brows knitted together in confusion.

"Hm?"

"I said Miyavi...Its your name, right?" The servant spoke up, meeting Miyavi's gaze.

Miyavi had mixed emotions running through him; some were very plainly displayed across his face while others remained hidden inside. Surprise and some form of choked-up happiness surged to the surface because someone cared to know who he was here. There was a brief feeling of relief that was quickly replaced by mild irritation. If he knew then why laugh at another human's misfortunes? He even felt a twinge of remorse for snapping the way he did. He was just stressed.

"I...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go off on you. I just...I have no idea why I'm in here. I'm tired of being treated less than human and I just...I need a friend in here. One who isn't on death row, preferably." He ran tattooed fingers through black hair and sighed heavily.

Miyavi lapsed into silence as he resumed eating his meal. The servant sat there, merely watching the prisoner once again. He was right; he didn't know what the tattooed man before him was going through. After all, he was merely Kamijo's bitch...in ways he hoped he'd never have to openly admit. He chewed his lip nervously as he watched Miyavi, not sure what to say. Miyavi finished his meal, returned to his restraints near his makeshift bed, and locked himself back into them. With an irritated huff, he tossed the key- rather childishly- onto the empty tray. He pulled his knees up, draped his arms over them, and let his head rest atop, gaze away from the front of the cell. He heard the clank of the door opening, the servant's soft footsteps, the clatter of things on the tray, and the retreating footsteps. Once the door clanged shut and the click of the lock sounded, Miyavi turned to watch him walk away. He let out a sigh as his world was thrown into darkness once more. He was brought back to attention when the scuff of feet making an abrupt stop filled the void.

"Oh, and you can call me Uruha. You can count me as a friend in here." Came the soft voice and kinds words Miyavi had longed to hear since arriving in this Hellhole.

Note: Aw~ Uruha is Miyavi's friend now. How sweet :) You know, I just might start updating this story more if you all start reviewing. I have it all written out and I think, for the most part, it has a beautiful end. Don't you all wanna know what happens?