A/N: PLEASE NOTE! I've changed the POV since the pilot chapter. I've converted it to 1st person because FFN doesn't think 2nd person can be "noninteractive" and apparently it's against TOS. You may consider rereading the first chapter! This story is complete, but it will take time to post due to editing. Thank you.

Wounds
Part Two

I find myself by his door again. Leaning forward, my arms are resting over my bent knees and I've leaned forward just enough to make it appear like I'm hugging my legs close to me. Truthfully, I am doing just that; but it's not really registering in my mind that well, because I'm too focused on the things I really don't want to hear. I'm not here because I want to listen to this person being used again. My skin actually crawls every time I hear a moan slip off that man's tongue.

There's something dark and unsettling with every noise that echoes from the room—muffled by the door I've closed. I don't bring myself to invade his privacy again, but yet I know I still am to some extent. There's something about this that's making me itch. My fingers twitch and ache to reach out and pull the stranger from him and then maybe even slap him around until he realizes that what he's doing isn't going to make it better. He's not going to heal any wounds and I fear all that will happen is he will leave himself with scars that won't ever go away.

Maybe there's a part of me too delusional to see that he's already damaged and peppered with wounds from the offset of the grenade in his own hands. He's pulled the pin and I'm probably too late to shield the blast. But that hasn't made me leave yet. I'm still sitting here, waiting for his user to toss him aside like the last person.

I had no idea.

No idea at all…

…That this was such a frequent thing. The marks on his body always vanish within the hour, so of course the evidence is gone by the time he presents himself before others. His demeanor never changes. Kanda is always Kanda and the only time I've ever seen his harsh shell crack was that one time that I'd openly expressed concern, where I'm sure no one else had. If only he would actually take what I'd said to heart.

He obviously hasn't, however, because he's under some man's body being smacked into the headboard like his wellbeing doesn't matter.

To Kanda, it really doesn't.

But it matters to me. It matters enough to keep me here until the banging of the headboard dies and it sounds like the guest is finishing up with his toy—because that's all I think of Kanda when I see him go into his room with some random Finder that may not live to see the next day anyway. It's like I'm watching Kanda being wound up and used until the gears stop and no longer provide any enjoyment to the person turning the pin. It's cruel.

I wish I could make him stop doing this to himself, but I can only sit by the door and hope that maybe he'll listen to me one of these times.

It's been a few instances since I discovered that he's been doing this—three at least—and every time, it leaves guilty feelings throughout my body; guilty because I'm idly sitting by and letting it happen. But what can I really do that would be justified? I wonder about it more than I should. I have no place in his business and that makes the feeling settle even worse—until I'm feeling ill just sitting by the closed door.

Eventually the door opens, creaky at its hinges, and a pair black boots pass by me. I never look higher than that. I don't want to see the face of the person leaving temporary bruises in Kanda's skin and blood in his bed. The person just escapes my vision and I allow it; and as always, the other occupant of the room emerges—clothing barely put back on his body.

"You're here again, I see. You're not doing much to convince me that you don't have some sort of sick fetish for listening to me getting fucked."

I cringe at the way he practically slaps me in the face with it. "…I wish you wouldn't say it that way." It stings for reasons I can't quite explain. All I can think about is that one moment where his mask dropped and I saw the truth behind this. He has to know I'm staying because of that—but it doesn't slip again, and I doubt he'll let it reveal again so easily.

"What? Say it the most truthful way?" Kanda leans closer to me until I can actually see his face and it startles me a bit. There's hollowness in his face that isn't apparent during the day—but here, here it's very strong. The shadows on his face make him look like he's haunted and I want to reach out to him and yet, I know I can't. "I don't know what you're here for, beansprout, or why you insist on hovering around my personal business; but you have two choices: you can fucking leave or you can at least not sit outside of my door and make it obvious."

"What…Are you telling me to actually sit in your room while someone mops up their needs with you?" My voice is laced with alarm, because that's exactly what he's saying to me. That uncomfortable shiver makes me nearly shift my position.

"Those are your options," he repeats, the words clattering in my brain like they were designed to not make a lick of sense. "You say it like it's some kind of shock to you, but I'd wager that I'll find you in my room, in that chair in the corner, at this time tomorrow."

My eyes cast down and gloss over with frustration, evident in the way my teeth gnash enough to make my head hurt. It's giving me grief because this is a bet that I can't win and gambling was always that one thing that I was best at.

The door closes and I remain right where I am. I know he's already on the other side of the door and for some reason, I can feel the unsettled distress in him. He's not okay with this anymore than I'm okay with watching it.

But then, I wonder if he's ever been okay to begin with.

To Be Continued...