Mrsklemzak: Haha, no, Mitsui and Maki aren't meant to be a pair, as you will find out in this chapter! Mitsui only has eyes for Kiminobu after all :P And I'm rather taken with my snake-eyed dangerous Jin lol. I think he fits the serial killer shoes rather well. Thanks for another review!
Anita: Hmm I think you are right. Overstated violence does lend a sort of unreality to the whole thing. Perhaps if I ever get round to re-editing this I'll need to be more subtle and suggestive about it, to make it more powerful. Thanks for pointing that out :D And as always thanks for your regular reviews! Much appreciated!
Addicted to SD: Thanks for another review! :D I'm doing my best to make things semi-realistic, I hope it's holding up. There's a new series on Discovery called "First Week In" about prison life which seems very interesting, although I haven't had a chance to check it out yet. I wonder if it will provide more inspiration :)
Tidbits: Hey! Long time! :D Hope you're doing well :) I'm not too sure about the long term or internal effects of electric shock torture... might be worth finding out. Also not sure about Sakuragi. I have quite a few complex characters in this fic – I'm now just trying to keep a lid on them all before they all explode in my face. I'm not sure Sakuragi is as pure/simple as that though. I sort of see him as being the other side of the fence, representing the majority of the inmates while, of course, the rest of the characters fit into a minority. Surprised you can describe Kogure's rape as being a lighter chapter lol! I tried to water the whole thing down a little bit or it would just be too much emo in one sitting.
Loveless Raine: This fic is sort of a delve into Sendoh's character for me (I typically use Rukawa as my main character) so I'm still feeling my way. I'm glad you like Nijo and Ugly too :) Kogure will get his moments in this fic, don't worry! As for Mitko... it would be unusual, but not unheard of, if inspiration strikes me!
Anatagasuki: LOL I wish I could believe your review and then I wouldn't have to spend SO much time drafting and redrafting and editing and re-editing and final-editing lol! Hope this chapter tides your craving over for a little while :)
Hitomi: Hello, and thanks for your review :)
Note!: The content of chapter 18 I've had to change because I made a story-related screw up. To save you reading the whole thing again, I'll just let you know that instead of forgetting the Tokyo Sect's address when Kogure asks him, Sendoh is able to remember it. That's all!
Thine Own Palace
Chapter 20
Sakuragi was awake at the first sign of noise. It was dark. Only the faintest glow from the corridor's night lighting shone around the edges of the cell door. But there was movement there, a quiet scratching, rustling, like a mouse.
Suddenly very much awake, Sakuragi rolled over onto his stomach, leaning upon his elbows and staring intently at the door. Nobody trying to break in at the dead of night would have good intentions.
He made no noise as he rolled off the upper bunk, his feet touching the cold floor silently, and stood poised and listening. He stared at the cell door only a stride away, although in the darkness he couldn't see more than a dim outline of anything. From down by his knees the sound of Sendoh's breathing came slow and regular from the lower bunk, still asleep.
They've come for him, Sakuragi realised with a chill. They've come back. And this time there's no one else around to take the fall.
The tiny metallic scratching continued.
There was nowhere to spring an ambush from, although Sakuragi positioned himself strategically beside the door, ready to grab anyone who entered. All the time he asked himself - what am I doing? Why am I doing this? How far am I prepared to go? Unable to answer his own doubts he tensed his muscles, ready to fight, and noticed that his arms were shivering. Perhaps it was the cold, or the adrenaline, or even his nerves. It was so unlike him to feel anything but the thrill of the fight. It seemed the prospect, the darkness, Sendoh, Kogure earlier in the day, everything, had conspired to unnerve him.
The quiet working noises continued, scratching and skittering metal on metal until finally, with a click, the lock released. Sakuragi crouched. The door swung silently open, the dim light of the corridor oozing into the cell like thick fog. And through that fog Sakuragi leapt like an enraged animal, swinging his fist into the place he hoped was the intruder's face. He missed his mark in his haste, and instead hit a glancing blow over someone's forehead.
The person gave an exclamation, more with surprise than with pain, and Sakuragi recovered himself immediately, drawing back his fist with more a ready aim, prepared to strike again.
Five long, ice cold fingers, reached out and wrapped themselves like spiders around his throat, squeezing hard. Surprised, Sakuragi tried to wrench himself away, but the grip followed him as if it were adhered to his skin. Frantically he lashed out towards this second intruder only to double forward with a gasp as a short, powerful blow to his kidneys knocked all coordination out of him. A knee in his stomach and then to his face had him reeling with surprise. He groped blindly with his hands, trying to make sense of the beating in the dark, hoping to hook his fingers on his assailant's clothes in order to orientate himself. But Sakuragi was dealing with someone who was far more at home in the dark than he.
Desperately he took a wild swing which connected with nothing, and then felt hands take firm and unrelenting hold of either side of his face, pulling him back against an unseen body, gripping his life firmly between two palms. There was not one ripple of hesitation in those actions. One snap of those hands and Sakuragi knew with absolutely surety that his neck would break. He froze.
No one spoke. There was complete stillness. The cell door had already swung closed again, returning the cell to its former blackness. The silent tension made all the hair on Sakuragi's arms bristle and quiver.
After a moment there came the sound of rustling as the other visitor picked himself up from the floor where he'd been knocked in the fighting.
"Fuck" he swore under his breath, giving a sniff as he wiped invisible hands over his face. "I can't see a fucking thing."
Sakuragi willed his throat to work. "Who the fuck are you?" he hissed. It wasn't Tetsuo. In fact, it wasn't anyone he recognised at all. Cold suspicion crept over him. "More fucking numbers? That shitty little rider isn't here. He's gone. Tetsuo took him off."
There was a brief silence.
"What rider?" the first boy, the one who had opened the door, echoed in bemusement.
Sakuragi grit his teeth in frustration. If they didn't know about Kogure, then that meant they had to be here because of Sendoh.
Involuntarily, his eyes skittered in the direction of Sendoh's bunk. If he fought any further than he already had, he would be putting himself in serious danger. Surely he didn't owe Sendoh that. He didn't owe Sendoh anything at all.
Suddenly, as if in response to Sakuragi's thoughts, Sendoh's voice cut through the darkness;
"Sakuragi?"
Three faces turned simultaneously towards the sound.
There was the urgent sound of movement as Sendoh became immediately aware of the strangers in the room. "Who's there?" He demanded, his voice low and aggressive.
That's right... Sakuragi reminded himself in relief. Sendoh was not like Kogure. Sendoh was capable of defending himself.
The dangerous fingers that held Sakuragi in place suddenly squeezed him more tightly but almost immediately relaxed again, so with a sudden force of effort, Sakuragi was able to pull himself free and put as many steps between him and the shadowy figure as possible. No one bothered to try and grab him again.
He heard Sendoh draw in his breath. "...Kaede?"
The air turned still.
Sakuragi balled his hands into fists, tensing his body, ready for another struggle to break out. He was, he cautioned himself severely, in a roomful of numbers. Dangerous ones. But Sendoh's voice had changed the air. As if it had been punctured and the earlier aggression were slowly draining out. Sakuragi tried to keep up his wariness, but when no one else moved he began to feel confused. There was so much here he just didn't understand.
The sound of rustling intensified as Sendoh moved. Struggling, it seemed, to push himself out of bed after his extended period of sedation.
"Kaede?" he asked again. And then the darkness wavered.
Sakuragi watched as it seemed to condense into a semi-solid shape, the blurred form of the person who stepped through it. Insubstantial. More spirit than flesh. Formed of little more than the shadows he moved towards Sendoh, stirring the dark and the chill in the swirl of his clothes as he went. It was as if the room breathed him. As if he were the air in that sorry, lonely place; gathering up the darkness in coils.
Rukawa Kaede.
Sakuragi's hands went up to his neck where the lingering chill of those fingers remained like an ink stain on his skin. It was unnerving. Like someone had walked over his grave. How death had, for a few moments, held him by the throat.
"No fucking way," he mouthed under his breath.
His instincts told him to leave. Get out of the room. This wasn't his realm. This was way beyond his experience. Rukawa Kaede wasn't someone you could combat with fists and scuffles. He was like a ghost. Paranormal. And like most strong men, Sakuragi's only true fear was of something he couldn't use brute force to subdue. But the cell door was closed, and he had nowhere to retreat to in the tiny space.
The only option was to rally his courage, speak out again, bark and demand and try to establish some sort of control over the situation. It was pivotal, in fact, that he did, or else he risked being steamed rolled into submission. He even opened his mouth to speak when he saw the foggy outline of Sendoh's arms reach out to the blackness, to brush against it, to engage it in his stare, to speak its name as if to shatter worlds.
And Sakuragi found himself struck dumb.
Confused, he dropped his fists to his sides and stared.
He saw, very clearly in that moment, that they were beyond him. In their own sphere which he could see, but couldn't comprehend. That the normal rules of prison life did not apply here. That he was looking at something exceptional.
And he had misjudged him - this Sendoh Akira. This unassuming, quiet, trouble-stirring fool of a cellmate who seemed at once so naive, and so sure. He'd underestimated him. Grossly. Because Sendoh... Sendoh was something else entirely. Something so very different. From him. From all of them.
He did not fear the darkness, the unknown. He welcomed it, understood it, even commanded it. He rose above, unlike he, unlike they, who were sinking, sinking below, too stupid to even lament their fate.
Sendoh, Sakuragi realised in that moment, was not... afraid.
As for Kaede Rukawa, well, Kaede Rukawa had long been the symbol of their oppression. Norio flaunted him in their faces at each opportunity. One did not even need to know the history of the numbers to realise that this was The Example. The Warning. Power - smashed. Spirit - broken. The strong laid low.
But seeing them now made Sakuragi wonder. If Sendoh could free even Kaede Rukawa from Norio's chains... then perhaps, just perhaps, he could free all of them.
Sakuragi knotted his hands in the fabric of his shirt and stood in the centre of that cell with his heart pounding, feeling as if the world had exploded.
He'd been wrong. He couldn't have been more wrong. He'd been naïve to assume that Sendoh was becoming a number. Being sucked into their system, their ways.
No.
This was bigger, so much bigger than that.
Sendoh was… changing things. Moving things. As if he were a conductor, and the scattered remnants and outcasts of the prison were pulling together to become his orchestra.
Yes.
It was the numbers who were turning to him.
Sakuragi felt a hand on his arm and looked at the shadowy face of the person beside him, still wide-eyed and pale with revelation.
"Come on" the other one said with a toss of his head. "Let's get out of here. I'm fucking hungry."
Sakuragi barely heard him. He was aware that he was standing on a threshold. A dangerous one. He blinked, momentarily blank. This boy was no doubt another number. One of those that he hated. Someone he couldn't trust, that he didn't want to be associated with. But a final glance at Sendoh told him that, at the very least, he had to leave. That he had, as far as Sendoh Akira and Rukawa Kaede were concerned, utterly ceased to exist. It wasn't as if he had any idea where to go in the middle of the night. This wasn't the sort of thing that ever happened to inmates like him. He frowned but knew he really had no choice but to let it all slide.
With equal parts suspicion and curiosity, he followed the unknown boy who unlocked the door with a gentle shift of his fingers as though the complex system of high security locks were the simplest thing in the world.
The corridor was brighter than the room, what with the night lights that ran in a faint, glowing line along the ceiling. Some had guttered and faded out, but there was enough light to see clearly. For the first time Sakuragi was able to take a real look at his unexpected companion. The boy was shorter than he was. He wore his hair long to his shoulders and was scraggly and thin. His eyes held fierceness, but also a bright sort of energy.
"Keep to the right" the boy instructed, bright animation warming his voice as he moved swiftly forward. The manner in which he looked about, scanning the ceiling, the floor, and each corridor they passed with an exact, intelligent attention put Sakuragi in mind of some swift, quick-minded animal. A wolf, perhaps. But a wolf made more dangerous by its ability to play the dog.
Sakuragi had to walk swiftly to keep up. He stepped as quietly as his unhoned skill would let him, watching the boy's unguarded back.
It would be easy, Sakuragi thought,to lash out at him now.
He balled his hands into fists as if to do just that, but he made no move except to follow obediently. Everything this evening seemed to have taken on a new, unusual glow in Sakuragi's eyes. He had seen these corridors, these walls, these cell doors a thousand times before. But the prison had never looked nor felt as it did now that he was following Kyota through the alien silence.
When they reached a large, official-looking steel door, locked and bolted with a bright red warning sign of no entry, Sakuragi forgot all his concerns in the face of this new curiosity.
"What's this place?" He whispered as Kyota set quickly to work on the locks that barred them from entering.
There was no immediate reply, but when the door swung open to reveal a huge room of polished metal surfaces, massive stoves scrubbed and clean, Sakuragi gaped in astonishment. He'd never seen anything like it before.
"The kitchen," Kyota grinned. "Hungry?"
If Sakuragi had had any intention of asking Kyota about Sendoh and his relationship with the numbers, the questions were knocked out of him now. He only followed Kyota inside, speechless, eyes and mind drinking in for the first time the magic the numbers were capable of performing.
It was a satisfying kind of warmth. Though things didn't really make sense - how odd it was to see him here, outside of his domain and inside Sendoh's - but he was prepared to overlook that. He'd be prepared to overlook anything.
He didn't notice Sakuragi and Kyota leaving. He didn't notice anything at all but Kaede. Kaede's thin wrists. Kaede's quiet breath. Kaede's eyes.
They had sat silently together for a long time. A little awkward. Aware, as before, of the distance between them now there were no bars to reinforce it. For a time they sat, only sat, and nothing more, until Sendoh became aware of the cold that was crawling up his calves chilled by the floor. He pulled his feet back into the warmth of the blankets, and it seemed natural that Kaede should do the same; entering his senses like a wave, breaking over him like warm surf.
Sensoh lay back on the bed and felt content, feeling Kaede near to him. It was... something. Not affection - there were high barriers between them still - but a strange kind of relief. It was not being alone. He closed his eyes and sighed.
It seemed strange that he should find a reprieve in a place like this. Just for a short while to feel safe. To feel private, enclosed, and unviolated. The warmth they shared was at such odds with the cold concrete walls and unforgiving metal bars. He didn't dare to touch him - that would seem like a transgression of some kind - but it was enough to feel the way the blanket stirred slightly with his breathing. The way the tips of his fingers tingled as if with static electricity.
And yet...
"You shouldn't be here" Sendoh mumbled.
Kaede turned his head and stared at him blankly. There was no pillow for the two of them to share. Sendoh didn't sleep with a pillow – but then again, Kaede already knew that.
"How did you get here?" Sendoh continued.
In answer to the question there appeared the quickest flash of something deep in Kaede's eyes. A brief, knowing glance. Just the merest glimpse of that old look he must have once had. It's my prison, those eyes told him. I own it. I rule it. I will go in it where I will.
Sendoh felt like he ought to argue. Ought to convince him somehow to return to his cell, not to tempt the wrath of Norio nor expose himself to any greater risk than he already had. But he also saw, in that moment, that he had no chance of achieving any such thing. That Kaede Rukawa's pride was not something to be taken lightly. That it, and perhaps it alone, had sustained him through horrors that would have long broken another.
So he sighed and let it pass.
No one, least of all he, had any right to tell Kaede Rukawa what to do. Instead he closed his eyes and tried to breathe him in. His imperfections, his misery, loneliness and mistakes. All of it. And it seemed so familiar.
As the moments crawled by, far from sinking into a doze, Sendoh found himself growing restless, continually alert. Aware of something troubling him, but not able to name it.
And Kaede. Kaede. It was nothing that he did, not as such, nothing Sendoh could point out. It was more an appeal to his instinct. He was aware of the air, and that was all. It caused his heart to beat faster. And every time he tried to look away, to break the spell that was creeping over him, he couldn't help the scent of him that pervaded him with every breath he took. How every single one of his senses appeared to be tuned to him. Hearing his steady, shallow breaths and the warmth that was filling the air around them through their closeness.
He felt himself drawn to him beyond his capacity to resist.
He is here, Sendoh thought to himself, more in optimism than logic, for what reason? For what other reason would he come here to my side in the middle of the night? It seemed so obvious. More so. With every moment they were close. With every passing second, the more reasonable and obvious it seemed.
To eliminate this distance. To bring it right down to zero.
He even managed to convince himself that his good intentions would make it all okay. After all, he didn't wish Kaede Rukawa any harm. And it was easy, so very easy to convince himself that it was what Kaede wanted. He was here, after all. And he wouldn't say no, after all.
So in spite of his lingering apprehensions, Sendoh found himself taking the first small steps forwards. First, lifting his hand to tentatively brush his hair. Next, softly pulling him closer, aware simultaneously of his frailty and his strength. Then, the pad of one thumb brushed over lips that did not shy away from his touch. And, Sendoh found, once this start had been made, it was not hard, not hard at all, to carry on.
It even seemed tender. Far more gentle than anything either of them had ever experienced. Sendoh did not dare to ask himself whether or not this made a difference. It was easier instead to close his mind to the options and simply press him against against the sheets and kiss him.
He tasted sharp and metallic. Ignoring the strange mixture of guilt and impulse to pull away, Sendoh found himself rewarded by a deep, sweet after-taste. Kaede was not soft or summery. He was not the bright scent of clipped grass or ripened berries in the hot sun. Nothing as alien or removed as that. He was the prison, just as the prison was him. But behind his sharp ferocity, Sendoh found a warmth and a gentleness that tasted somehow like home. He was not new, or different, or strange. He was familiar. He was old and lost memories. He was struggle. And survival. And just the faintest, faintest whisper of a world beyond these walls.
Kaede watched him through lowered lashes. Sendoh held his stare until Kaede's eyes fluttered closed, his lips parting slightly in invitation. Or surrender.
They grew hungrier. Gradually more fierce, more frantic. Sendoh fumbled with worn fabric and fibres, pushing them up until he could brush his palms over Kaede's cool skin. He could feel scars like uneven paths, uncertain patterns, criss-crossing his existence like a map. But he was not diminished by the marks. They suited him. His body had transformed only to more accurately reflect the monument of a soul that had always been inside him.
Besides, when Kaede moved, Sendoh's body reacted, as if they were connected by a string, oscillating with one another. Moving, like a pendulum, bound by physics. How could he escape this? Surely he couldn't stop it now. Surely his lingering misgivings were ill-founded.
Wasn't it natural? Logical? Obvious? Because Kaede moved, reacted, curled and arched and teased with complete willingness. Kaede allowed Sendoh to kiss him, even trailed his fingers over him, and moved for him without hesitation or reluctance. Entwined their tongues, held his gaze, did everything as if it were so, so right. And why not? Why should he stop? There was no need, no call, no reason for him to stop now.
In the end it was Kaede's ready consent that finally made Sendoh hesitate. It was too unreal, as if something wasn't quite right. Improbable that he should be so willing. So at odds with Sendoh's expectations.
This was Kaede, Sendoh reminded himself, so perhaps it would be impossible to ever really know what he felt. How he would react. How he understood what was happening, or whether violence and sex were even distinguishable in his mind.
Of course Sendoh wanted nothing more, in that moment, than to continue. To turn him over onto his hands and knees and take him. Just the thought of watching that beautiful, powerful tattoo, slippery with sweat, move and flash under his fingers, caused his stomach to pleasantly twist. He wanted nothing so much as the chance to push himself against the barrier of Kaede's soul.
But Sendoh had no wish to echo the things Norio had done to him. The things Liron had done to him. And although it seemed easy to do, somehow he knew it was only illusion. That to do it, to take advantage of someone who was so desperate and so trapped, would be a betrayal. Understanding, finally, that like this - like this - he could never be truly sure what Kaede wanted, and if he couldn't be sure what Kaede wanted, then it would be no better than rape.
And so, with more than an inkling of regret, Sendoh closed his eyes and tried to reign in his rapid breathing, to slow his furious heartbeats. Kaede's expression remained unreadable. No expectancy. No encouragement. Just the same quiet stare.
The prison authorities always turned a blind eye to the plight of riders – Sendoh knew that well enough. They considered it consensual because, more often than not, a rider walked into a cell knowing what would happen to him and did what was demanded of him without struggle or protest. Not because he wanted to, but because the alternatives left him no choice.
When Liron Kai had had control of Kaede, he had raped him. No matter what it may have looked like from the outside, that fact would not change. Perhaps Kaede had made no protest. Perhaps he appeared to have endured it all quite willingly. Because he had had to.
The same way, doubtless, he would endure Sendoh.
And that – just the thought of being endured – was enough to quieten his desires.
Outside these walls. Outside this oppressive nightmare. Only then could he know for sure. And until then, he would wait.
He closed his eyes.
"Kaede?" he queried softly after a moment.
As expected, there was no response.
"You know, when I was a kid, my mother used to talk about a place she'd been to. One of the onsen retreats around Tokyo. She used to say she'd take me there one day but... well... you know." He tilted his head and shrugged his shoulders slightly. "She said it was the most beautiful place she'd ever been. The way you could look out across the mountains, see the mist rising. She said it was magical. I've always wanted to go and see a place like that. It sounds amazing, don't you think? When we get out here... I want... I want to take you there. I want to see it, with you."
Sendoh turned hopefully to see Kaede's expression. The boy lay passive and quiet, staring up at the underside of Sakuragi's bed.
"We will get out of here," Sendoh found himself promising, frustration dropping his voice into a low, certain growl. "I swear we will."
When there was still no response, Sendoh turned his eyes in the same direction as Kaede's and sighed.
The silence ached. Ached so much he felt like crying.
Like Sakuragi, as soon as the door gave its first rattle, Maki Shinichi was awake. He was not in his usual cell but stuck down in solitary confinement, so the room was more secure and more difficult to find than usual. Nonetheless when he rolled out of bed he was greeted by the familiar face of Kyota Nobunaga, ghostly in the dark.
Maki resisted the urge to roll his eyes. There didn't seem to be much point in asking Kyota how on earth he had managed to find him. As far as twenty-sevens went, Kyota was exemplary. "What do you want?" he grumbled groggily instead.
"Brought you something" Kyota replied cryptically. Maki waited, but the boy made no further move.
Maki raised a brow. "What?" he demanded, and Kyota stepped quietly aside.
It had been several days. Not very long perhaps, but still long enough to make him hungry. He hadn't changed. No, perhaps he had, but only to become more self-assured, more wonderful, more deeply rooted in Maki's soul. This fragile, dangerous thing.
"Jin" he stammered, pulling himself up off the bed.
"You look shit."
Maki stood in confusion, looking at his former student. Jin's eyes, even in the darkness, were cold. Maki wondered whether Jin had always hated him. Whether it was the doom of any teacher to be hated by their student. He had taken so much from Jin, he knew that.
Well, they'd come full circle now, situations completely reversed.
Looking back, Maki had not had an easy time of it by any means. He had struggled hard and long to achieve what he had. He had risen through the ranks of the numbers the tried and tested way - by bloodying his hands until they were stained and stinking, and obeying the sexual demands of the man who'd been his teacher for more years then he cared to count – yet he'd somehow clawed his way to the top, survived the numbers fall, and then built up his own gang. Keeping himself afloat, somehow balancing everything – gang members, Norio, enemies, himself – now seemed like one impossible juggling act.
Yes, it had been a long and difficult road for him. And after all that struggle, all that sacrifice, to have fallen to this. Finding himself ostracised and dependant on the mercy of his own student. It made him wonder whether it had all been worth it. Whether forcing Jin to his knees had been worth boosting himself up.
If he hates me, he realised, it is only his right.
Outwardly he scowled. There was a pretence he had to maintain. "What the fuck do you want?"
Jin did not answer but only stared at him with those eyes that seemed to be able to read every one his internal conflicts. It had always been hard to hide anything from Jin.
With deliberate slowness, Jin stepped further inside the cell. He looked around its cramped walls and low ceiling disdainfully.
"What did you do to get put in solitary?" he queried in a low voice.
Maki lifted a hand to touch the bruises on his face. "Got into a bit of a fight" he said, as casually as he could manage. He didn't for a second want Jin to think he couldn't survive by himself. He couldn't bear the thought of looking weak. "I came out okay. Mitsui and Kogure both ended up in the ward though."
Jin looked at him sharply. "What about Sendoh?"
Maki blanked for a moment, and then had to suppress a bitter laugh. "You mean your new favourite? Aren't you keeping tabs on him? Haven't you fucked him yet?" His words came out like a spray of venom, but Jin didn't even blink.
Away by the door, Kyota shifted his weight awkwardly and it gave Maki a surge of maddened pleasure to discomfort Jin's most loyal lapdog. He wasn't stupid. He knew exactly what Kyota was thinking about whenever he looked at Jin with those eyes.
"So you haven't seen him" Jin clarified calmly, not rising to the bait.
Maki glowered but shook his head. "Not even a glimpse." It wasn't exactly a lie.
Jin pursed his lips slightly in annoyance.
"Listen" Maki said, becoming serious, "its obvious Norio has it in for that boy. The best he can do now is stay out of trouble, you know that."
"But he doesn't care about that, and he won't just lay low," Jin immediately countered, "You've met him. You know what I mean. He's determined. He... makes ripples... whatever he does. There's no way Norio will take his eyes off him for a second."
Maki shrugged, and Jin, finally letting his guard down for a moment, gave a sigh that filled the whole room. The sound of it was enough to bring Maki's well-hidden emotion into his eyes so that the stare he fixed Jin with was not the hostile look he intended, but one tempered by affection. He knew, after all, the troubles Jin was facing now. He knew what it meant, how much it cost, to lead.
"This... this thing..." Jin waved a hand in a broad sweep, indicating the cell, the prison, the world in general "...is getting bigger and bigger." He gave a troubled frown. "It's already beyond anyone's power to stop. Not you or I, not Sendoh, not Norio, not even Kaede Rukawa can stop this now."
"No one but Stanley."
"Ah yes, Stanley."
The crease of concern deepened across Jin's smooth brow. There were too many players in the game. Too many different aims, interests, things at stake. They were hurtling towards a conclusion, but who would gain, and who would lose, was anyone's guess. Maki knew it and didn't envy Jin's position at the head of the gang now. He didn't think he'd take it back for anything. Not with Stanley Q thrown into the equation.
"He's dangerous... isn't he?"
Maki sat himself back on the bunk and stretched his arms over his head, staring up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Well, I never met him, of course," he twisted his lips slightly as if tasting something foul, "but everyone knows he single-handedly built the Tokyo sect out of little or nothing. He's somehow managed to drag himself from nowhere to the very peak of the Tokyo underworld. So, dangerous?" he smiled grimly, "Yes, I would say he is dangerous. Very."
Jin stared at him, hard, before looking away. "This is coming, whether we like it or not."
"Yes it is."
With controlled motion, Jin sat himself on the bed next to Maki and stared at his hands. "It's annoying, all these... vested interests."
Maki looked at him from the corner of his eye. "What will you do, if things turn bad?"
Jin turned his head to meet Maki's eye straight on. There was no uncertainty in his stare. "I'll kill them," he replied, "I'll kill every single one of them."
Maki could not help the grin that cracked over his lips. With one smooth motion he reached out to seize Jin's neck and drag him forcefully against his mouth. This boy. This angel faced monster. He could taste him until he died and it would never be enough. Utterly sensational. Who else, Maki wondered, who the hell else would stare down ridiculous odds with a declaration of genocide? Dear god but he loved him, him and all his gorgeous violence, more than anything in the world.
Jin struggled and pushed him away, and Maki was reminded that he no longer had the right to him. This one who for so long had been his to possess so absolutely. No longer his to touch or to comfort, to adore or to pull apart piece by agonised piece.
He looked up into Jin's brightened eyes. Drew his gaze over languid, shimmering lips and knew he was not the only one who ached in the dissolution of their partnership. It gave him a powerful rush of satisfaction to see how much Jin still wanted him.
You want me, but you cannot give yourself to me. You cannot allow them to think you are weak. Because now you are the one who must rule, must dominate and over-power. How, then, can you satisfy your desires? How can you lead them, but surrender to me?
Jin's eyes lit up with sudden anticipation and he stared at Maki as if he'd just had an idea. It occurred to Maki that Jin suddenly resembled a cat eyeing a mouse.
"Suck me off" Jin commanded slowly, rolling the words as if testing them. He'd never uttered such a phrase in his life, least of all to Maki.
Kyota lifted his head in abrupt astonishment. Maki raised his eyebrows in cool scepticism.
As if to prove his seriousness, Jin reached down to opened his fly. "What?" he taunted, an mocking smile growing over his face. "Forgotten how to do it? I've sucked you off a thousand times, can't you return the favour?"
Maki tried hard to summon his outrage. Outrageous. It was outrageous. That Jin had the audacity to demand such a thing. From him. From Maki himself. It was utterly unthinkable. Why, he ought to... ought to...
He found himself licking his lips thirstily.
Pride.
Wasn't it meant to be a hard thing to overcome? Then why...? Why was it so easy? Maki had been a leader among the numbers when Jin was still nothing more than an acolyte. Maki was a fighter, a killer, a powerful and dangerous man. Yet he found himself rendered helpless under Jin's cold-fire stare.
So he puddled himself willingly on the cold, unforgiving floor between Jin's legs and realised how fragile pride could be. It was no defence. No defence at all against hot desire. Yes, he probably would have done this months ago, if Jin had ever asked him to.
So Maki closed his eyes and was forced to accept what he'd become. Required to acknowledge that this had probably been his fate since the first day he'd seen the elegant twenty three tattooed onto that thin wrist.
In any case, this. He could be satisfied... with this.
Away by the door, all but invisible, Kyota said in a mutter they didn't hear that he needed to go back and check on the guy he'd left in the kitchen. Then he vanished swiftly out of the cell.
It wasn't until nearly noon on the following day that Kogure became aware of the smell of antiseptic. The airborne tendrils of the aggressive cleaning solution comfortingly familiar to him.
He lay still and imagined that he was waking from a strange dream. Imagined that he had somehow fallen asleep on his shift at the hospital, and if he opened his eyes the familiar, surgically clean corridors of his past life might be revealed to him.
He savoured the illusion, clinging to it as if by the forced of his fierce wishing it might come true.
He opened his eyes.
He was laying in an uncomfortable bed, one of three that lined the wall of the small prison infirmary. He had no recollection of how he had got there.
He took a moment to lie and simply stare at the ceiling, aware of the dull aches and pains that seemed to cover his entire body. He tried to gently move his fingers, and thankfully met with success. Then he carefully attempted to sit up, only to discover that his right wrist was handcuffed to a bar at the side of the bed - standard procedure. He gingerly lifted his head to look down at himself, bruised but intact, and most definitely still alive. But why? How? He'd been so sure he was done for.
He let his head fall to the side.
A squeak of pain escaped him as hurt flashed like hot knives up his spine. He screwed his eyes closed in a wince, before slowly opening them again. Then something caught his attention and he froze.
Tears.
They blossomed like so many fragments of glass over his lashes, shattering his vision. He tried to blink them away, but they kept coming. Frustrated, he shook his head in an effort to clear his vision and he stretched out his arm as if to reach for the water on the side-table. The shape of his outstretched fingers blurred, distorted. He struggled to focus his eyes beyond them as the memories returned to him more and more clearly.
Mitsui, unconscious, beaten, motionless on the next bed.
So Mitsui had come. He had come back to find him. Kogure screwed his lips closed tight in pain.
Why? Why? The only helpless echo that ran through his mind. Why - only to turn out like this? How stupid he was. Stupid, stupid.
Kogure's lower lip trembled. He was angry. He was so, so angry. So, so sorry.
He tried to move closer, tugging at his wrist in frustration, but the handcuffs did not permit him to leave his bed. So he stretched his arm as far as it would go, wanting to touch him, to see if he was okay, but Mitsui was too far away to reach. So Kogure lay with his mind black, feeling sadness opening up inside him like a hole. And the tears. So many tears. He wiped at his eyes as if to swat them away, but still they came.
It was a long time before he could bring himself to try to make sense of his situation.
Eventually, still blinking away tears, he looked around him at the familiar ward. He'd been here several times before.
There was just one doctor's desk in the opposite corner. As always it was stacked high with paper and various objects that space restrictions did not permit their own storage. Behind the desk were several locked metal cabinets containing, Kogure knew, patient files and medication.
Away to Kogure's right he could see a glass door and window leading to a small secure room with a single bed. A room for infectious patients. Or dangerous ones.
The unpleasant, sickly smell of antiseptic was everywhere.
Once again Kogure tried to sit up in order to look about more clearly, but the movement caused pain to rise and echo all over his beaten frame like dust disturbed over the seabed. He only groaned and collapsed back against the pillow.
Then he noticed a motion over to his left, and moved his eyes to watch as the ward door opened. A man dressed in a doctor's white coat appeared, looking somewhat harassed and carrying a large pile of papers. He stumbled inside, cursed - loudly - and dumped the files onto the already crowded desk with a grunt of annoyance.
Kogure watched silently until the doctor turned and noticed his stare. His lips turned slightly into a half-smile, half-sneer, and he approached.
"Well, well, well," he began. "Kogure Kiminobu."
Kogure only blinked at him without recognition. The doctor's eyes flickered in a swift, unfriendly fashion over what Kogure knew must look like a broken male whore and his bloody beaten pimp. "Well, how are you feeling?"
Kogure glared up at him. "Where's Dr. Matsumono?" he demanded.
The doctor raised a brow. "Not here, obviously." His voice dripped with something unpleasant. Irony? Kogure was too hurt and bitter to worry about it. "Matsumono is on sick leave" the man went on to explain, "and I am usually posted... elsewhere."
Kogure could only glower suspiciously. He had no love for the prison staff - they had failed him too many times before - but this man appeared particularly unpleasant, even by their standards.
His eyes flickered regretfully down to the handcuff that bound him to the bed. It wouldn't do to provoke this person - not when he was this helpless.
He decided to let his eyes close and simply pretend to be sleeping.
The doctor did not move away from the bedside.
"You know, I always wondered what had happened to you. I didn't expect to find you like this, that's for sure."
Kogure's eyes snapped open again.
"You don't remember me, do you?" The doctor continued, that unpleasant smile lingering on his features, enjoying Kogure's confusion.
Kogure swiftly considered the man again, and this time, recognition hit him. A little older, he'd grown a moustache and shortened his hair style, but now Kogure looked closer, he realised he knew this man. He'd seen him before. Many times before.
He nearly gasped, so strong was the rush that started in his heart and thundered in his head. The sudden realisation that finally, finally, Norio had made a mistake. That the path forward had just been cracked open like a nut.
"Ishizuka" he croaked, his voice disbelieving. This was a stroke of luck beyond anything he could had hoped for. Who would have thought that such a crooked, immoral bastard would still be working in Fukushima three years after the numbers had fallen?
Ishizuka stared down at him, still with that unpleasant twist appearing at the edge of his lips. "Surprised to see me?"
Kogure was momentarily dumb, frantically trying to piece a plan together in his mind. Trying to work out how to make the most of this opportunity.
This man... he'd traded with him so frequently in the past. Ishizuka had been a new doctor back then, stuck in the prison as part of his internship. Kogure had helped him out a couple of times, given him some advice, earned his trust, and in return Ishizuka had been willing to run a link between Kogure and the outside world, as long as the price had been right. Messages, goods, information, protection, sex. That had been their currency back then.
Kogure looked at him now and knew he'd never get a chance this good again. All the twenty fives had had their own methods, but Kogure had specialised in corruption. It had been his business to bribe crooked personnel like Ishizuka. At one point he'd commanded perhaps a dozen different trade routes in and out of the prison. Since being transferred to block T, however, all his former contacts had been cut off. All those weeks and months spent building up relationships with guards, assessing their suitability, working out how to needle them, with bribes, with blackmail, or with threats, the network he'd spent years painstakingly building had all been wiped away. And yet here stood perhaps the one remaining link in the chain, seeming like a dream and yet as real as the metal hoop around Kogure's wrist.
Was it too good to be true?
"Why..." Kogure stammered in surprise, "...haven't I seen you... here before?"
Ishizuka drew himself up, almost with pride. "I don't normally waste my time in the medical room," he sniffed with disdain, "I work directly for Norio doing... his stuff."
"His stuff...?" Kogure repeated in confusion, only to stop. It was suddenly obvious to him. Ishizuka was so corrupt, surely Norio would only keep him around if he actually needed Ishizuka's particular brand of silence, and what else could Norio possibly need to deal under the table with a doctor for except... well... perhaps it was a long shot. But it wasn't that unlikely. Not really. Rather, Kogure realised, the more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. In fact, it was a distinct possibility.
His eyes slid to Ishizuka's expression and he knew he had no choice but to gamble on this. The only question remaining was how much Ishizuka already knew about the boy in the dark.
He took a deep breath.
"Ishizuka..." he began, "...I have a... trade... that might interest you."
The doctor looked momentarily surprised, but then smirked contemptuously, as if it were a bad joke.
"You've got to be kidding" he retorted. "What the hell could I possibly need from you? You have nothing at all that I would want."
Kogure lifted his eyes. "I have information" he replied coolly.
Ishizuka folded his arms and looked unconvinced.
Kogure took a breath to steady his resolve. He needed to play this just right. Flash all your cards. He advised himself severely. You've got so little to play with - better make a show of it.
"Listen," he began confidently, hardening his voice into complete surety. "To speed this up, I'll make some things clear for you. You know that boy - the one Norio is fucking with - Rukawa Kaede? Well, he's one of ours. We know exactly what Norio's doing, and we're going to make him pay for every fucking second of it."
Ishizuka's look of disdain slowly froze over at Kogure's words. So much for secrecy. He was torn between attempting to deny the whole thing outright, or acknowledging that Kogure obviously knew it all already.
After a moment of internal conflict he seemed to reach a decision. "How the fuck do you know about that?" He demanded weakly.
"Norio is buying your silence, isn't he?" Kogure continued, bulldozing tactically onwards, hoping against hope he had read the situation right. The continued pale pallor of Ishizuka's face seemed to confirm his theory. Heartened, Kogure continued, "how much is he paying you?"
"I don't think you-"
"It's not enough" Kogure interrupted almost as soon as Ishizuka opened his mouth. "Whatever it is, it's not enough."
"What are you talking about?" Ishizuka demanded, finally rising to the bait.
Kogure smiled knowingly, pleased that the doctor was already looking slightly discomposed, that control was flowing steadily back to his side.
He tried to keep the flush of smug victory out of his voice. "Well you see..." he began, trailing off suggestively and looking away to the side, as if in deep deliberation about something. He could almost feel Ishizuka's impatience radiating in waves. Just a little more...
It felt good, Kogure realised, to be playing the old games. He felt as if he could choose. As if he had the power to affect his own life. Like he was a number again. He held back his emotions as he feigned a change of heart and shook his head remorsefully. "...no, it's probably not worth it."
"Don't play your games with me" Ishizuka warned with a scowl.
"I don't want to end up Norio's next little... project," Kogure countered. "Besides, you've got nothing to offer me."
"What do you want?"
"Nothing."
"Fags? Cannabis?"
Kogure waved a hand. "That's kid's stuff."
"You tell me then."
Kogure feigned a long look of indecision, staring uncertainly off into space for longer than strictly necessary. "Well... we always need more pins..." he began doubtfully. Ishizuka nodded encouragingly. Pins were a staple with the numbers - they were cheap, easy to smuggle and exceedingly useful. But if Ishizuka thought that would be the only request, he was disappointed when Kogure continued "...plus... let's see... maybe... three lighters? Six two-litre bottles of coca-cola. About a hundred metres of tin foil. Oh, and two bottles of Clorox bleach."
Ishizuka stared at him. "You're making bombs," he accused immediately.
Kogure smiled vaguely back, as if he didn't understand the comment.
"I can't do that." Ishizuka protested.
"Yes, you can. Leave them in your office. I'll send someone to pick them up."
Ishizuka ground his teeth. "I don't even know what your information is worth."
"I'll be giving you Norio's neck on a chopping block. As for what that's worth... well... you can work it out yourself."
"Fine. Fine." Ishizuka ran a hand through his hair irritably, "Let's hear it then."
His heart beating rapidly, Kogure managed to fix his face into earnest seriousness. "So. Rukawa Kaede - the twenty-three Norio likes playing with..." he dropped his voice conspiratorially, and Ishizuka leaned closer to hear. "He isn't a normal prisoner. He's one of the leaders of the numbers from way back."
"And?"
Kogure rolled his eyes. "You don't get it? One of the leaders. You know, the six?"
Ishizuka furrowed his eyebrows, "you mean..."
Kogure nodded. "Yeah. I mean he was executed. Four years ago. According to the official records, that is."
Ishizuka's face rapidly changed from pale to flushed as his eyes widened. "You can't be serious. Norio... Norio's too smart to do something that dumb... I mean, why the risk? There's plenty of others he can play with, if that's what gets him off. I mean... it's easy to explain away torture, but it's another thing entirely to account for someone being alive who's supposed to be dead."
"He's got backing..." Kogure revealed cryptically, "...from someone major. Compared to him, Norio is just small fry. If it's money you want..." here he whistled suggestively, "...you might say I got the keys to the bank vault right here."
"Who is it?" Ishizuka demanded earnestly, leaning forward in eagerness, eyes alight with greed.
"If you want to know..." Kogure said with a small smile, "...talk to me again, once you've got those supplies I asked for."
Ishizuka's expression crumbled slightly as he straightened himself up. He looked like he wanted to argue, but in the end didn't bother. He'd traded with Kogure enough to know that Kogure was not easily tricked.
"Oh!" Kogure lifted his eyes suddenly. "One more thing I forgot..."
Ishizuka scowled. "You can't go changing the price now..."
"It's nothing much," Kogure reassured him, "just a letter I want to send."
"A letter?"
"That's right."
"To your wife?"
"Who else?"
Kogure smiled innocently while Ishizuka watched him with suspicion. "Bullshit" he said finally. "What the hell are you really planning?"
"Ishizuka..." Kogure sighed, "...you can trust me. Hasn't my information always been valuable before? Haven't I protected you from the gang? Working with me has never brought you any problems, has it? You're my only link to the outside world. You're valuable to me. Why would I waste it by cheating you over something so small?"
"Because now you're desperate" Ishizuka pointed out suspiciously.
"And that's why I am giving you the best information I have for such a small price. A letter, Ishizuka. You've posted dozens for me before. Just one letter. That's all."
Ishizuka chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, before sighing. "Fine. But whatever you fuckers have got in store for Norio, I want you to keep me out of it."
"Guaranteed."
"Where is it then? This letter of yours?"
Kogure smothered his grin. "Bring me some paper and a pen, and I'll write it out for you."
Ishizuka huffed and moved away to find some writing implements on the messy desk across the room.
In quiet relief, Kogure let his head fall to the side where he met Mitsui's half-lidded eyes gazing directly back at him.
"Well done" Mitsui mouthed silently.
Kogure felt a warm and pleasant flush fill him up. Perhaps this was what happiness felt like. He turned his eyes to the ceiling and sighed, suddenly entirely unaware of those hurts and pains his body still endured. Feeling lighter, knowing that he had at least in part repaid his debt to Sendoh Akira. Feeling almost hopeful, trusting blindly that everything would work out as they hoped. Revelling in the blissful ignorance of those who cannot know what the future holds.
~tbc
Ans: I heading off to Canada on holiday tomorrow for three weeks! Thank goodness, because I need a break from work. Things are very stressful at the moment, and I haven't much time for writing. Hopefully things will improve from now on, and I shall be able to get this story to its conclusion sooner rather than later. In the meantime, thank you so much for sticking with me patiently! I really appreciate everyone's support! ;D