LEGAL DRUG (GOHOU DRUG) FANFIC

Title: Sanguine

Written By: RinoaDestiny (Ann Koo)

Author's Note: Warning – this is a hard 'M.' Squick factor involved.

CHAPTER 15

It started with a memory, with someone falling, with him reaching out – perhaps foolishly – to catch and hold. It started with Rikuo's bed being empty, sheets thrown aside, and Kazahaya awakening to that absence. To the alarm and ache that it caused, because he knew the reason for Rikuo's disappearance. He'd flung himself out of his own bed; comforter rumpled and rose, walking silently out of their room. Remembered the swaying curtain behind him, marking his passage; remembered the silent tread of his steps; finally, remembered the ashen skin, dark hair, and the sleepless gaze of the younger man, staring at him as he entered the hallway.

It all started with that.

A knife in his chest, cutting deep. His breath, ragged and thin, gasping in response. Blood on his skin – an open wound. Steel beneath his knees and in him, twisting. Choked on the pain, writhing, only to be held from falling by merciless fingers in his hair, knuckling into his scalp. A dull throbbing, an ache beginning where the blade stopped in mid-turn. His hands rising to grasp it, cutting his palms and fingers, scoring lines of red.

A different game, this. Different rules. He'd learned that early.

"Who do you belong to, boy?"

Rage in that voice, brooking no argument. He'd seen a man slain in front of him, for attempting to wrest leadership and him – he shuddered – from Toshiya. Had never had to say whom he belonged to. Didn't want to start now. Didn't want to give the other man the satisfaction of breaking him further.

Kept silent.

The blade turned. He cried out. The fingers tightened in his hair. "Answer me."

"Rikuo?"

"Kazahaya?" His name catching in the other's throat. "You don't have to."

"Was it another nightmare?" Getting to the heart of it all; the truth that lay beneath the surface of this matter and their relationship. It had been a difficult week. "I didn't hear you scream. I didn't know."

"You don't have to." A bitter, corrosive smile. "I woke myself up."

No one there to stop him. No one there to hold back Toshiya's hand. The knife cut elsewhere, directly beneath his nipple. He gasped; his breathing shallow. Heat and ice, his blood flowing steadily down his ribs. His neck ached, strained as it was in the position the other man held him to. Silence in the room, frightening and only the dull scrapes of Toshiya's shoes against the floor made any noise.

"Answer me."

The injuries would be enough to bleed him, to hurt him – not to kill. Never would. He wanted to die but not in the way Toshiya intended for him. Not to be mutilated, raped, and butchered and dumped in the open for all to see. Not like that. Not like…

He screamed; his shoulder filleting open, pouring red.

"Answer me!"

Sobbing for breath, wracked with pain, he couldn't resist as his head was wrenched back so that he looked Toshiya full in the face. Was sickened by the hatred, malice, and lust there. No older than him and doing this…doing everything…why? Steel entered his arm, tracing the lines of his tattoo and his throat ripped to shreds with his shrieks as the cutting began.

"Rikuo, don't do this to yourself."

"I have no choice," the other boy stated bluntly, shuddering. "I can't sleep."

"Rikuo…" The nightmares, Kazahaya recalled, had worsened ever since both of them got sick. He'd recovered faster, thanks to Kakei-san's medicine and Saiga-san's homemade meals but it wasn't the same for Rikuo. His roommate had sunk into delirium, quickly losing sense of reality and the panicked wordless screams became routine. It reminded him of earlier times, of the same sort of cries, and that, too, brought back horrible memories. Rikuo would take longer to heal, to recover, to regain full strength and to start making a new beginning.

Looking at him now, he wasn't sure if that was possible.

"Rikuo," and it was his turn to ask. "What are you going to do now?"

A flash of pain across the other's face.

"Because of this?" The sling had come off a couple days ago, along with the splints. There were scars all over Rikuo's arms, across his fingers, and as the younger man turned his hand, Kazahaya glimpsed a faded line on his palm. "I don't know."

"Answer me, bitch!"

He clung to his shoulder; blood slippery on his fingers, leaking into the wounds already scored there. He could sob but the intermittent agony wouldn't go away. His skinned shoulder was a mass of pain, a clot of red, and there was nothing he could do about it. He curled in on himself and felt his arm go numb. His fingers were frozen and drops of blood dripped from them, spattering the floor. It didn't matter much, considering he knew how this was going to end.

He closed his eyes, nauseous.

Felt his cheek flattened against the floor, ice to the fire burning across his chest and searing waves over his arm. Knew what was going to happen. Could do nothing to stop it, like all the other times. Tears in his eyes. A rustling behind him. Clenched his teeth so that he wouldn't scream.

Nearly did as the pain severed him, like all the other times.

He tried to be gentle. "You're not back there, anymore, Rikuo."

Shadows in the other's eyes, smudging green. Rikuo's hands went down, as if in unconditional surrender. "No, I'm not." Something left unsaid but the older psychic could sense the wrongness of it.

"Rikuo?"

"It…it doesn't matter."

"Answer…" Thrust. "…me…" Thrust. "…you…" Thrust. "…shit!"

He wasn't really conscious of things, anymore. The numbness in his arm had disappeared when his vision began to blur. Time had slowed down for him and he experienced everything in a haze. The other man still swearing, still grunting, still on top of him and hurting him. He'd barely healed before the altercation began. It left Shinjiri dead, throat slit right in front of him. It left Toshiya in a fury, which quickly turned on him. It left him lying here, blood on his chest and arm – going unconscious – with a man between his thighs and the slow leak of blood that was bleeding him cold.

He trembled, as if by an afterthought and stopped thinking.

Only felt – after what seemed like an unconscionable amount of time – Toshiya finishing and pulling out, leaving him naked and shivering. A finger tracing his jaw; he flinched at the touch and even the sudden pressure couldn't open his eyes. Dampness on his legs and the brutal knife-edge of agony in between that paralyzed him where he lay. A hand on his shoulder, crushing hard into serrated skin, reopening the clotting wounds.

He almost blacked out.

"Answer me." A disembodied voice, echoing in the dark. "Answer me, Rikuo."

He took a tentative step forward, saw Rikuo cringe and stopped. Hesitated right where he was, stunned. "Rikuo?" Only a week ago, he'd been holding his hand, sheltering him from the snow. Were they back to the beginning now? Did they have to start all over again because of some terrible nightmare that recalled memories? As for Rikuo's words…something wasn't right. It…it doesn't matter. A common catchphrase of his, now.

Something did matter; he had to find out what.

"You can go back to working in the store with me….like we used to."

"I…go back to sleep, Kazahaya."

"Rikuo, don't."

"You're asking for the impossible." The words were caustic, biting. Rikuo's expression hardened. "I can't return to 'before.' You know that."

"It doesn't have to be that way. You can try. I'll help."

"Help with what? Kazahaya, do you know what I've become?"

Rikuo. His name. A pair of pale green eyes. Rikuo – his name on Toshiya's tongue, twisted into something ugly. It wasn't intimacy; it was rape. It was cruelty. Rikuo…his name…shouldn't be said…not by him…not by him…

"Answer me, boy."

His voice was almost gone…almost without words. He couldn't open his eyes; felt the grip on his jaw intensify, dragging him up. Could feel Toshiya's foul breath in his face, smelling not of smoke and alcohol but sourness. His stomach turned.

"Answer me, Rikuo."

Tsukiko. A name…his own, said by her. Years ago before this happened. Someone yelling his name…green eyes…his name, a mockery. No longer a name to be proud of…something that he hated. He gasped, sharply, as he was broken into again. Blood on the other man's fingers, buried inside of him.

"Your answer, whore."

The conversation sounded familiar. Sickeningly so, as a matter-of-fact. "You're not theirs, Rikuo. You're not his. Just stop it."

"Ah, so you do know why I can't go back with you and resume my life." A trace of the old sarcasm but used for a different purpose and the comment stung. "Go back to bed. There's nothing you can do to bring things back the way they were."

"Why not?"

"Do you hear yourself?"

"No," Kazahaya snapped back, advancing. "Do you hear yourself? You're giving up without a fight. You're letting Toshiya run you into the ground even when he's not here. You're letting your nightmares tell you what you are and you aren't fighting back! Have you ever been like this, Rikuo? Have you ever given up without a fight?"

It was quiet after that.

He wanted to die, to black out, to…anything but this. His lip was bitten bloody and as another finger rammed inside him, choking out the last of his cries, he wondered why he still lived. Should've been dead a long time ago. Dying in his own blood, torn apart by the frenzy of men who could care less about his life, and thrown into the street for anyone – or anything else – who still wanted him. A life now useless for Tsukiko…pale green eyes…trash, not worth mourning for.

"Your answer."

He was going to faint. Had lost too much blood…still losing some…something ripped inside him and he finally, mercifully, felt the sensation of everything slamming down. Felt the dwindling pain of something wrenching free from him, of the cool floor rising up to meet him, and the click of the door. Thought he heard a name being called…not his...

"Goddamn it to fucking hell, Toshiya! What did you do to him?"

Never heard the answer.

"You didn't just say that." Rikuo stared at him, stricken. "You didn't mean that."

"What?"

Rikuo backed away from him, hitting the wall. He hadn't moved a single step in his direction since his outburst. Did so now and Rikuo's scream stopped him as if he'd been slapped. "Don't touch me!" The taller male flinched, trembling. "Just…don't."

He wanted to cry. "What did they do to you?"

"Go away, Kazahaya."

"Rikuo…"

"Go away!"

Kazahaya bit his lip. A headache was forming; he was standing out here in his pajamas and Rikuo's behavior harkened back to the beginning. To December. To panic and skittishness – to unspoken anguish and the barriers hiding them. They'd been making progress; Rikuo had been eating and rebounding and tonight, he saw it all fall apart.

It wasn't fair.

"Rikuo…" He'd been about to make another assay to mend their situation when suddenly, Rikuo winced. Grimaced and raised a hand to his forehead and being so close, Kazahaya noticed the distress contorting his features. Pain in his eyes and sweat beading his face. Damp hair hanging, shielding his expression but not before Rikuo winced again, keen and gasping. A hand flying out to flatten against the wall, fingers splayed, barely holding on for support.

"Rikuo!"

"No…don't." Rikuo's voice was thin, as if scraped bare. "Go."

"But –"

He never got further than that, for Rikuo collapsed at that moment, as if snapped in two at the knees. He wasn't thinking, either, and so when Rikuo fell, he reached out and grabbed him. Wrapped his arms around him, caught him, and then he, too, knew no more.

It was dawn by the time Rikuo came to; it'd still been dark when Kazahaya awoke, tasting bad breath in his mouth with the sensation of his arms around the other boy. He'd detached himself, blinked and upon realization of what he'd seen, promptly removed himself from the hall. It took a dry heaving or two and a good fifteen minutes or so of rapid waterworks before he'd stopped sniffling, rubbing at his red-rimmed eyes. His head hurt like a goddamn pulse beating at his skull and his heart cracked and bled.

Oh, he'd made so many mistakes!

Rikuo not fighting back? Rikuo giving in without resistance? He'd accused him of that; had reopened a wound that had come back to haunt him in dreams. Was that the source of last night's nightmare – that…that hideous atrocity? That torture? Rikuo hadn't given in – hadn't – and Toshiya had nearly killed him for it. Had done anything and everything possible and Rikuo…Rikuo hadn't said a word, despite being mangled and raped for his silence.

And he'd told Rikuo to his face that he was a coward.

Gods, he could kill himself for his stupidity!

No wonder Rikuo was in the hallway, pale and raw-eyed, thinking in the dead of night. He couldn't sleep, he'd told him. Well, no wonder he couldn't – he wouldn't be able to, either, if he had that kind of memory encroaching on his mind! Kazahaya nursed his mug of hot water, using it to warm his chilly hands. Rikuo had thought of Tsukiko…had thought of him…when all of that violence and bloodshed had taken place. Rikuo had forgotten his name – forgotten many things – but there was no mistaking those pale green eyes for his own.

His head pounded. He could care less about the aspirin for now.

Toshiya…that feckless bully…that bloody butcher had…had carved Rikuo open…had skinned him – Kazahaya shuddered, remembering the scarred imprint of the tattoo – and had violated Rikuo, all for the sake of a name. A man already murdered, already dead. The transgression paid for in blood; the culprit punished, so why did Rikuo pay the price from his own skin simply because of Toshiya's insecurities?

He felt sickened; could be physically ill.

He decided against throwing up his guts. A headache was bad enough.

A man killed – Shinjiri, an upstart who wanted to claim the title of boss and the boss's pet slave and had his throat cut for it. Rewind. Nineteen men, originally. A man down. Eighteen men, now? His head reeled and the insistent throbbing hammered into the middle of his skull. Great. He still didn't know what happened to Tsukiko and the only memories he got catalogued consisted of vivid remembrances of torture. Of rape. Of the taste of fear and the iron stench of blood and the coarse smells of sex and words as lethal as knives.

He nearly upset the mug, shooting to his feet.

One of the photographs showed a faceless man with a knife dangling off his belt. Toshiya. The one who injured Rikuo and left him exposed for a pornographic shot and the rest of his men, besides. Two identifying marks: a scar on one hand and a knife in his possession. A young man, too, no older than Rikuo. Eighteen or nineteen, perhaps? Eyes dark and cold, cunning and shifty like a wild nocturnal animal. A man who knew how to exact fear as a weapon. A man who knew how to think and plan down to the last detail.

A frightening and formidable opponent.

Toshiya had already killed one of his own. It wouldn't be a stretch for him to kill anyone else if Rikuo was concerned. Including them. Including him, Kakei-san, and Saiga-san. Would probably get pleasure from it, too – the bastard. And then take Rikuo back as a prize and ruin him until there was nothing left. Until Rikuo was nothing more than blood and skin and bits of bone, dying a horrendous death, dumped and forgotten. Until the only memories left of the young man who once was handsome, intelligent, and sarcastic belonged in dirty hands and filthy minds as images on photographs.

He wouldn't let it get to that point. Wouldn't, even if he had to die.

His heart thudded.

Kazahaya turned, hearing the soft whispering of blankets behind him. Looked up and at Rikuo, who was white around the mouth. There were dark circles beneath his eyes. He looked at him and Rikuo was the first to glance away, stiffening.

"Did…did you see anything?"

An echoing of the beginning. Many steps backward. A nightmare. A dream.

He met Rikuo's intense gaze, saw the terror and shame, and saw instead a knife in his chest, fingers in his hair, and blood on his shirt. Saw those, blinked, and wiped his mind clean of those; hoping, too, that his face remained expressionless. He refocused on Rikuo and the silence was expectant. Awaiting his answer. Awaiting many things.

"No," he said, watching color return to the other's face. "I didn't."

Rikuo didn't say anything in reply, simply left him standing there. There was a slump across the shriveled shoulders, heartbreaking to behold, and it wasn't until he heard the curtain close that he sat down, knees weak. He could cry; should, for they've reached an impasse here and he'd failed. He'd failed and Rikuo was failing, too because of him.

Kazahaya stared emptily at the wall.

It was the only thing he could do.

It had all started with an empty bed, a discussion in the hall that quickly evolved into an argument, and a foolish, desperate grab as the younger man fell unexpectedly, shattering their shared hopes into pieces.

It had all started with that.

It ended, regrettably, with a lie.