Hunted
The microphone hissed with feedback as his shaky hand pulled it too far toward the set-up. Sho cursed, shoving it back quickly with an apologetic wave at the crew.
First day on set, and he was running high on nerves and caffeine.
This city was supposed to be a place you could lose yourself. He felt lost alright, but also far too intimately known. Mocking tidbits carefully revealing the plundering of Sho's memories were whispered in his ear at a crowded street corner, written on his receipt at the coffeehouse, slid under his door with the mail.
He started to sing, the lyrics for Dreamer rolling mindlessly off his tongue.
It itched at him, this feeling of being followed. Where he lived, where he shopped, whether he took the straight path or a winding one- the whispers proved he knew.
He knew about Kyoko. When he'd hit her and shown them both just how selfish he could be. When he'd forced a kiss on her— twice— as the only way he could think to try and fix what was broken. It hadn't worked. Looking back he could see how his attempts to fix her had never moved past his own prideful defense mechanisms.
He knew about the hours of waiting, the humiliating apology, the thrown roses, the whisky, the music, the beach.
Sho missed one of the syncopated beats, his jaw held a little too tight for the pace demanded.
Only one thing he hadn't hinted at knowing yet. Maybe he'd buried it deep enough. Maybe trying to keep it a secret even from himself had locked it away from the vision prying its way into his mind like a rusty crowbar on rotted wood.
He couldn't let him touch him again.
He reached the end of the song almost without realizing it, the last note catching breathy and slightly too high. He shifted the papers in front of him, then looked up and caught Shoko's quizzical stare. Shit, had he been that off?
She leaned over and whispered in the producer's ear. The intercom buzzed a soft warning before her voice filled his ears. "Break time, Sho. We'll start again tomorrow." A click, and her voice was once again inaudible to him, her lips moving as she spoke hurriedly to the men around the sound table before waving to him.
She'd gotten here last night, dumping her bags comfortably by the end of his bed. He'd felt strangely relieved. Her presence would mean warmth, maybe even intimacy, a barrier against the strangeness of his unfolding dance with the ex-singer. But when his eyes sought hers, he saw not comfort but the baseless pity of a mother looking at a kid who just needs a nap. Sho balked, grabbing her suitcase and asking her to get her own room. She'd fought him briefly, protesting the expense, protesting his health - a first, for Sho - but had caved after only a few sentences.
As he'd thought she would. Shoko had never been able to see past his first few layers unless it smacked her in the face. It was why she hadn't been his call; why he honestly couldn't make himself care when or how she arrived in NY. She was convenient for negotiating contracts and a source of takeout menus. God forbid he ever found a more meddlesome manager. His mind drifted to Kyoko and he grimaced. She'd wanted to burrow her way into every single facet of his life, stagnating both of their futures with her desperate need to be his. Sho packed his guitar carefully, letting his mind wander over their current… whatever-it-was. Once-friendship.
He shoved the pick and his music sheets into the outer pocket of his case furiously. It was better. Distance. Honesty. Independence. It was better.
He patted the air at Shoko, letting her know she could take her time. She nodded, typing swiftly on her phone. His buzzed.
-Meet you at the hotel. Dinner at 7.
A nod. He left.
People jostled him on the sidewalk. A hand grazed the bare skin by his wrist, making Sho jump, but the vacant jolt still burned in his brain from Mission didn't surface. Just a passerby. He shifted the guitar case, walking marginally faster, trying to hide his own anxiety from himself.
He stopped for a slice of pizza from one of the open-air eateries dealing the New York classic beneath a weather-beaten and smoke stained awning. A reflection in the glass caught his eye, white hair over white skin, light purple-gray eyes looking directly at him. He whipped around to search the crowd, ignoring the proffered slice until the irritated cashier bumped the paper plate into his shoulder, smudging grease on his red leather jacket. Sho grimaced, taking the pizza but leaving no tip.
He was being paranoid. That bastard loved mind games— this was just a new version of Karuizawa. He'd let himself get pulled under by his tricks then. Not this time. This time he could be ready. He could find the fire again. Let the vampire-wannabe try and touch him. He'd smash his skull in.
If I can move. He shook his head to erase the treasonous thoughts. The greasy pizza sat heavy in his stomach as he slid his card to unlock the solid hotel room door, pushing it open with his shoulder. He jerked his elbow over to smack the hallway light, illuminating the entrance.
"Welcome home." Reino's voice punctuated the stillness of the twilight room. Sho froze, key card sliding out of his hand to the floor. He bent to grab it, every muscle in his body taut as he fought the instinct to turn and run. The heavy door clicked shut behind him, a wordless signal to stay.
He could fight. He'd done it before. He was no pussy to back down just because of a few weird notes and one bad trip at a bar.
"F* off," he cursed, hanging his guitar up on the back of the door. "Are you homeless or something? Why the hell are you in my room?"
Reino stood, slowly unwinding himself from the corner chair. He made no move to close the distance between them. "You're unexpectedly fun, Shotaro. I've been so bored lately."
"Go f* a pigeon then," Sho taunted. "Something as disease-ridden as you."
Reino's laugh was unsettlingly bright. "Quite the visual," he murmured. "I hope you take more care when you're writing lyrics."
Fists tight, Sho turned to fully face him. Reino's calm stance mocked Sho's tension, his hands loose by his sides, his head cocked slightly, obscuring one eye with silvery wisps of hair.
"Leave." The word dredged up a wall of memories he didn't want to face. Reino must've seen something flicker across his face because he started to cross the room, his fingers outstretched as if already anticipating the flow of energy at his touch. Sho didn't have much time.
He uncoiled with a growl, springing down the hallway. He batted away Reino's hand, raising his fist to strike at his jawline. The creep ducked last second, fist grazing the skin near his ear. A lithe hand snaked up fast as a punch, gripping Sho's arm below the elbow and twisting it down and away.
Each touch seared, black mist fogging the corners of his vision for a flash before clearing. It was difficult to react; he felt snared, his arms caught in sticky webs. Reino's smile grew, deepening until a final lunge closed the distance between them. He slammed his weight into Sho, pinning him against the wall, his fingers slithering along the length of Sho's neck to twist into his hair.
Sho jerked, trying to buck him off. His hands scrabbled uselessly off Reino's chest as the dark mist spread from his vision, filling the space, curling around his body.
"I've found ways to fill my time," Reino's voice whispered in his ear. "To strengthen what was lacking."
"As if, asshole—"
Reino's mouth slammed onto his, the movement an attack. Sho choked, trying to bring his knee up to slam into his groin, but he just shifted, shoving his legs between Sho's and pressing tight to trap him fully against the wall. He bit down, his hand scrabbling along the wall for something, anything to use as a weapon. Fingers found a lightswitch and jerked up under it, filling the room with sudden brightness.
It was so much worse than the soft darkness. Then he could pretend he was actually restrained; that the forces holding him down were solid, real, strong. Now his pulse raced wildly against his skin as he twisted, trying to get away from his reflection in the mirror across the small hallway. He had been certain there were ropes— chains— that somehow the creep had bound him too quickly for him to catch. The light showed it to be a total lie. A dark cloud twisted suffocatingly up him. He fought back rising bile.
He gasped, ripping his head to the side, breaking Reino's kiss. His mouth tasted metallic and cold. "What the f* is wrong with you?" He forced the words out, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth.
Reino's tongue curled out, flicking over his lips slowly. "You want it."
"Don't screw with me, I'm not a—"
Dark laughter rolled out of Reino like a wave crashing over Sho. His finger pressed against Sho's lip, drawing the same tortuous line as at Mission. Purple eyes flickered in the fluorescent light, studying Sho. "A what, Shotaro?" His voice mocked liltingly. "I'm in your head…" Whispers over his skin. "I know what you want."
Sho bit his lip, trying to twist away, pushing uselessly against Reino's chest. Why the hell was the bastard so strong?
Or are you just weak…
Sho felt lips wet on his neck, their heat making him chilled to his bone. Reino's tongue caressed his skin, leaving an icy trail. He shivered, his hands clutched in desperate fists. The dark cloud surrounded him still, holding him fast.
"I don't — care —" he forced out.
"Mmmm," Reino's voice purred. "Your body begs to differ." His long fingers drew Sho's shirt slowly up, nails digging in to etch red marks up his torso. Sho watched, transfixed, as his skin welted beneath the other man's touch. The mirror seemed to pulse as he drew his arms around Sho.
"I can show you what pain means, Shotaro." His teeth bit down on Sho's shoulder. Sho saw his own eyes tighten, his jaw taut as he struggled against the sensations. "Or… pleasure." Reino's tongue swirled over the bite mark, his mouth now warm. Too warm— hot. Sho cried out, trying to shift away but held like a drawn bowstring.
"My favorite," Reino drawled, his fingers crossing to caress Sho's chest, "is when the two intertwine." His eyes flew open and locked with Sho's as his hands and mouth etched themselves on Sho's skin, pulling forth pain and then soothing it away over and over.
Sho felt his body start to tremble, his knees giving way. He needed to find his strength. He needed to punch the bastard senseless. He grimaced.
What was the point?
His head fell forward, breathing ragged. At least he wasn't alone.
Reino laughed, his mouth too close to Sho's ear, the sound sharp and painful. "True— and so desperately sad." Sho sank forward against the other man as everything went black.
He woke up to skin itching beneath purple welts he refused to remember. Lower lip throbbed; a light touch revealed sticky blood. The air conditioning unit clicked on, goosebumps forming on his bare chest as the cool air wafted over him, clearing away some of the oppressive stale heat lingering on the sheets. The waistline of his pants pressed uncomfortably on a new bruise where the other man's knee had dug in, pinning him to the mattress.
It was so different. So alien to the thrill pulsing through his veins whenever he'd drawn near. Both men made his heart rush, doubling its efforts to pump life into Sho as his brain fought to stall the world. One, he wanted to freeze time so he could stop and be. Drown himself in the scent and touch and feel of the moment. The other so he could just plain drown. He'd been able to fight back before. The anger and pride in him had risen up and crashed over the ex-singer, mutilating him and pressing Sho forward to the top.
What had changed? He threw his arm over his face, trying to go back and summon the strength that was. Had Reino grown that much more powerful? Or was it-
Kyoko?
Last time, she'd been at the center of it. A white-hot need to prove himself to her, to not fall from his place in her mind, to force her to see everything she was missing by not throwing herself at his feet- and to repent. He'd hurt her and needed to fling that hurt onto someone else.
Sho's laugh escaped bitterly, ground between his teeth into ashes of humor. He finally understood. Palms ground into his eyes trying desperately to stop the escape of tears. This is what she felt. When he'd struck her - when he'd forced himself on her, stealing her first kiss for his own satisfaction. When she'd been caught, alone, slowly being undone by long white fingers tracing down her back and the one to show up hadn't been the one she wanted, but her first attacker.
He thought about calling her. What would he say? "I'm sorry," had worked so damn well last time.
The phone stayed on the nightstand. Sleep escaped him.
He punched a pillow, rolling over to fling it across the room at the hall mirror.
Sho knew now why he had kept that poster above his bed. In the dark of his hotel room, staring at the white-turned-gray ceiling, he could see him, his face framed by curls damp from a shower, that unruly one begging to be pushed back but slipping forward instead as he leaned closer to Sho.
He was there every sleepless night, waiting on him to dream while he was still awake. He'd crossed half the world running from it, seeking fresh space, free air - and still he waited. Why not cover the space with a poster and pretend he wasn't hallucinating? Pretend it was all actually a 2D image and not a longing so intense he swore he could reach up and feel the warmth of his lips. Pretend he wasn't alone.
Damn it, Koga.
Sho rolled over onto his side, hugging his arms around his chilly torso. Fingers grazed one of the marks, making him twitch at the contact. It hadn't happened. Nothing happened.
He gave up on sleep and padded over to the small desk, pulling out the hotel stationary to write.
