Just like always, thank you for all the love and support you're giving this fic!
Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroko no Basuke. Fujimaki Tadatoshi-sensei owns it. The only thing I own is this story.
I do not own the cover photo either. Credits go to their respective owners.
Warning: Grammatical errors, limited vocabulary, unbetaed, a little bit of violence (and evidence of how much I suck at writing these scenes) and mentions of suicide attempt. Sorry.
Chapter 13
What, for fuck's sake, is wrong with this world!? Mayuzumi clucked in annoyance as he shifted underneath the thin blanket of the hospital bed. Me? On fucking narcotics? The very thought sent a shiver down his spines. He hated it. He hated any kinds of drug, be it for medication or for different purposes.
Mayuzumi wasn't fond of consuming such unnaturally prepared– or created– medicament. Fucking Nijimura! He should've just told them about my work! I don't "use" drugs. I "study" if people had used them! That asshole! And why the fuck is he even my relative? We don't look fucking alike! He felt a cold sweat dribble down his temple. That's disgusting!
Mayuzumi returned to wondering how he ended up in his current situation. He was supposed to be working– no matter how much he hated it– in his laboratory or his desk in his godforsaken office. He wasn't supposed to be recuperating on a fucking hospital bed.
The afternoon sun outside has started to set, dyeing the sky with shades of orange, magenta, and night blue. The scenery was delicately captured on the only window present in the gray-haired coroner's hospital room. It was beautiful, but Mayuzumi couldn't care less.
He has more important things to do– one, being to know how he ended up here. But, first, he has to make sure if his suspicions were correct. He wasn't as foolhardy and impetuous as someone he knew to just dive headfirst in the rogue's den. He wasn't that stupid.
He has someone he needed to contact first. He needed to alert him– them– especially with their enemy lurking so, very, close… and about to bite them. However, again, he wasn't exactly sure about it yet. That was why he has to investigate everything first, and he knew he needed his assistance. He inwardly puked at the thought.
He unconsciously clicked his tongue in annoyance. He wasn't one to start a conversation, so phoning him up, just the very thought of that, was totally outrageous.
But, you have to. He told himself. He has to. And, maybe, he would confront him about his situation, before ending the call.
In the middle of his thoughts, all of a sudden, an unwelcomed sound pierced through. He peered behind the blanket with a glare, and turned his head to the side. His phone was ringing. He was thankful that he had been allowed to keep his phone with him.
Fucking Nijimura and the strings he controls.
Mayuzumi reluctantly sat up and picked it up. His eyes slightly lit up, when he saw who the caller was. This just saved him the trouble of establishing the conversation.
He pressed the accept button.
"Mayuzumi-fucking-Chihiro here."
A unusually tall man with golden-blond hair, medium in length, strode haughtily across the small crowd. His expression was stern, but his equally deep lustrous yellow eyes glinted condescendingly as he looked down on the dressed personnel of the bar, looming his six foot or so figure above them. The light-yellow dress shirt he was wearing had two buttons open– on his collar and upper chest– revealing a tribal tattoo that stretched from his neck and slithered down his left shoulder, and the toned muscles underneath the pressed fabric. The air around him spoke volumes of authority.
Behind him, two of his lackeys stood with their backs straight, following his every step, holding the same extent of arrogance. On his left was a tall, dark-skinned, muscular man with a black hair in the form of a buzz cut, while a similarly tanned man, shorter than the other, with a bald head stood on his right. They both wore a proud, supercilious look on their faces. Demeaning.
As they reached a semi-circular sofa, the one in the most lighted part of the dimly lit establishment, the golden-haired man spoke, his voice cold and superior. "Zack," he called out, his accent American, as he gestured his head to the ones who were occupying the seat.
The one on his right rushed forward, dominating with his height the evidently drunk occupants of the leather couch. "Hey," he began threateningly, "mind choosing some other space to waste?" He pointed to the circular table below his tall figure, his finger reflecting on the polished glass. "This place belongs to us."
"Hah!? What d'you mean 't belongs to you? We're 'ere first, so fuck off!" One of the two men– the one pouring some sort of liquor on an empty glass– sitting on the couch slurred, his reddish eyes narrowed at the three men as he tipped his half-filled glass toward them.
The golden-haired man's eyelids lowered, his expression seething, his irises glinting as if he had just been rubbed the wrong way.
The man on his left seemed to have noticed this. He swallowed thickly, before prodding himself forward. He snatched the glass from the inebriated man, causing the other to jump startlingly, because of the uncouth action. With a browbeat smile, he coerced, "We don't want anything bad happening now, do we?"
"Give 't back!" The debauched man groused furiously at how he had just been treated as he attempted to get his drink back.
The man with the buzz cut just taunted him even more, shaking the glass in front of him.
"Now, you've dunnit, you fucker!"
The taller dark-skinned man crashed the glass on the drunken man's head, before driving the latter's face hard on the table.
The inebriated man cried out in pain as he felt the broken pieces of the glass got embedded deeply into his skin, effectively washing away his drunken stupor.
His companion– the one who appeared to have a good hold of his liquor– abruptly stood up, pushing the girl he had been audaciously touching, one who was dressed rather inappropriately, aside. He stepped out of the semi-circular couch and faced the three, despite his height a few inches shorter than them. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, you assholes!?" He reached for the taller dark-skinned man with his fist, but the other just lolled his head to the side, completely evading the attack. "Shit!" He tried to send another punch, but, this time, the man caught his fist.
The taller dark-skinned man, with his right hand, gripped the other's fist tighter, before slowly turning it outwardly. Without warning, with his pliers-grip, he forcibly twisted, creating a loud snap which instantly died down as the loud music escalated.
The other crumbled to his knees, holding his left wrist, as he bellowed in rage while glaring at the tall man with a peculiar hair.
The golden-haired man was ignorant about their exchange. He walked forward in derisive steps. His arm bumped with one of his lackeys, but he didn't appear to care. As soon as he was in front of the man kneeling on the floor, he offered a hand.
The man stared in confusion, but, in spur of the moment, reached for the hand with his uninjured one, the other one pressed on the tiled floor for support. However, out of the blue, something strong and heavy pressed against his left hand, grinding, crushing his already swollen fingers. The surge of pain made him see white, and he crumpled to the floor even more. He heard an amused laughter which turned his blood into ice with every breath.
"You suit the floor better like that. Monkeys need to learn where they stand." The golden-haired man, unimpressed, looked down at the other as he continued to grind his foot harder on the other's hand, eliciting more cries of pain.
The taller dark-skinned man gripped the hair of his companion– the one whose face was still on the table– and forced him to look at him. He pulled the other out of the couch and threw him to the floor, right beside him.
The girl hurriedly attempted to flee while fixing her revealing dress, but a strong grasp on her wrist made her stop. She turned with a jump, and saw the bald man smiling menacingly like a mad dog about to feast on something– on her– who had her left wrist secured. She tried to wriggle his wrist free, despite knowing that it was a futile attempt.
"S-Stop it! P-Please, we're going to leave already, s-so please stop!" The man whose hand was still being crushed by the golden-haired man's foot pleaded as he punched the latter's burnished shoe with his other free hand, trying to remove it, but the action only caused the foot to get driven to his hand even more. He cursed in pain.
The golden-haired man sighed, lessening the force on his foot. "What an embarrassing display. I thought monkeys were more than… this," he closed his lustrous gold eyes. A disappointed look crossed his face as he opened them. "Allen," he said, finally retreating his foot. He walked back, and slipped into the couch. With a loud crashing sound, he plunked his foot on the table, and hung his arms on the couch's backrest.
The taller dark-skinned man, at the other's beck and call, grabbed the man by his collar. "We tipped you off, but you didn't heed our warning," he said as he disappointedly shook his head, also completely not amused by the situation. As he was about to send one final blow on the man's face, a sullen voice interrupted him.
"Stop it. You're creating a scene," someone said, annoyance evident in the tone of the person's voice, followed by the click of a tongue.
The golden-haired man raised his head, and looked intently at the gray-haired man standing in front of him. "Why, if it isn't my little trained seal. How have you been?" He asked with a grin.
The light gray-haired man answered, completely undisturbed by the way he had just been referred to. "You know best than to attract attention," he said as he took the two guests by their arms. He forced them to his feet, the act surprising the two as they wondered how the man was able to pull them up like they were nothing. He shoved the two toward a burly man with a short beard and a hair that has two stripes on both sides of his head.
The tall, muscular man, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, disappeared in a similar manner with the two guests in tow.
"You should've informed us, before going here," the gray-haired man said, unyielding.
The golden-haired man narrowed his eyes. "I can do whatever I want. You may be working for me, but you're a monkey all the same."
"Just a different breed, more or less," the man with the buzz cut, who was now sitting on the golden-haired man's left, wittingly added. The golden-haired man squinted at him, causing him to advertently shut up and avert his gaze. He was now looking at the bloody mess staining the glass table, but he didn't appear to be fazed by it.
"I just think it's better to be cautious, especially with Silver's recent actions," the gray-haired man argued, without looking at the one he was conversing with.
"All I know is that you should be thankful that I'm letting you talk back to me like this. If I didn't, you wouldn't be breathing the same air as us. You would long be a decaying corpse already," the golden-haired man replied.
The gray-haired man stood stiffly, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. This was one of the reasons he hated meeting their boss. He was too conceited and self-important. He reminded him of someone.
The fact that his boss' name was even taken from the most precious metal in history, especially in its purest form– Gold– was something he couldn't understand, nor accept. After all, this gold in front of him was corrupted. The gold in front of him was the very definition of malevolence
"Where's* Silver?" Gold asked, brushing off the gray-haired man's disrespectful attitude.
"He has ascended the Third Sphere* as you have directed," the gray-haired man answered. "Hara Kazuya** had played his part," he added. Everything has been staged by the evil in front of him.
"You do know that useless monkeys need to be immediately disposed of, don't you?"
"That had already been taken care of, also, to your instructions."
"Good." Gold moved his eyes to the person standing behind the gray-haired man. "And, what about you? What brings you here?"
The gray-haired man moved to his side, letting the other to step out of the dark and grace their leader with his unimportant– compared to the ones before him– presence. After all, he had just joined them a few weeks ago, and he still wasn't exactly sure how it happened. What mattered most was that he was now close to them, and he could watch their every move. Everything he would do from that day onward would be for their downfall… for their demise. He wouldn't forgive them for killing him… for killing his only family. It would be the sweetest revenge for him–for them– to die by his hands... without them even knowing.
"Won't you have a seat with us?" Gold offered, gesturing his hand on the empty space of the semi-circular couch.
Still and all, the other knew better than to accept it.
"Don't worry, we'll save you."
He was trapped. The four corners of the room were suffocating him. An uneven breath escaped his lips. He was trembling, his body embraced by the cold, dank floor. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to contain the remaining warmth in his body.
He hated the darkness. He hated being alone. He hated being abandoned.
"The darkness is fearsome… but it will always be a part of us." He chanted like a mantra inside his head.
His voice resounded inside his head. "The darkness is fearsome. We all have it inside of us, but it is our choice if we're going to accept it… or if we're going to let it consume us."
He was afraid. So, very, afraid that he couldn't even lift a finger.
His parents were hailed celebrities in the field of Medical Science. It was because of them why he was in his current situation.
He has been kidnapped. He thought it only occurred in books and in movies, but the reality punched him straight to his face.
It happened on his way home from the university, while he had just gotten out of the bookstore. Everything happened so fast, that he had no time to react. The fact that his kidnappers noticed him was something he couldn't even comprehend.
How was it even possible? He wondered. After all, he always made sure to take the safest paths.
"Don't worry. We'll save you." He could hear him promise through the end of the line, when his kidnappers contacted his family. "I'll save you."
It had been two days, since then.
He hadn't eaten anything, nor had he drunk any fluids. His throat felt dry and scratchy. The constant rumbling of his stomach had been the only sign that he was still alive. He was too out of it to listen to his own breath or to feel the pounding of his own heart.
He felt weak.
He was the last person he saw that day, before everything turned black. That unfortunate moment was the second time they got to look at each other's eyes. To him, it was as if everything around him stopped in an instant. It felt as if the two of them were the only persons in the world.
True to his words, he did save him.
He came.
He found him.
The very moment the steel doors opened, as the comforting rays shone on his savior like a gentle embrace, he realized.
Loud thumping sounds filled his chest.
He felt alive.
It hurt.
It hurt.
It hurt, but he liked how full he felt.
He had just read about something similar to his condition a few weeks ago. A misattributed feeling when one experiences the effects of fear of a physical danger while meeting someone, mistakenly believing that the feeling was caused by that person.
But, he knew– he believed– it wasn't like that. What he felt wasn't that.
He has been looking at him, since the very first time he laid his eyes upon him… since the very first time he had known him.
He has been in love with him, since the very beginning.
And this incident just made him fall for him even more.
.
.
.
.
.
"Don't worry. I'll save you."
He lied. He lied to him. How many times did that broken promise make? Ten? Twenty? He had already lost count.
"Don't worry. I'll save you."
He could still remember his promise from that time.
"I'll save you."
Where was he now? Nowhere. He doesn't even know.
Where did everything go wrong?
How did this happen?
Was it his fault?
Or was it his?
He was too perfect to make a mistake, so he knew– he believed– he was the cause.
He had lied to him over and over… and over… But, how come, he couldn't help but still love him?
He was gone.
It had been years, since he left… since he left him broken… since he left him devastated.
He was a wreck in all those years he wasn't by his side.
And, now, he was the reason why many people felt the same way as he did… as he still does.
It was his fault.
It was all his fault.
He had caused this. He had caused this madness.
Everything.
He was tired.
So, very, tired.
He just wanted everything to end.
He wanted no more of this cruel world.
He couldn't do any of this anymore.
Living. Breathing.
He pressed the sharp edge of a knife just below his throat.
A brutal death for someone as evil as him…
Truly, a fitting end, indeed.
Author's note:
*Just some Paradiso reference. *cough* If you're curious what it meant, just look up the 9 Spheres of Heaven.
**If you guys still remember, he was the one from chapter 9.
Okay, so I found out about the names of the other members of Team Jabberwock (Zack, Nick, and Allen) in KnB's wikia page, but I'm not sure who's who, so I just based their appearance on the character descriptions, that's why it's very… repetitive. Lol
I'm very sorry that I have to cut the AkaKuro suspense from the last chapter… to increase the suspense even more.
And OH MY GOD I just saw a post about the AkaKuro movie date on the KnB game Cross Colors. FUCKING CANON LOVEBIRDS AAAAHHHHHH–
PS. I don't hate monkeys.