Title: A Optimistic Coward
Theme: #6: The Space Between Dream and Reality

Warning: PG-13 : Signs of violence, forceful kissing, and depressing matters

He was, in all truth, afraid to make a choice between the two. At times, he would awake in the night, thick sweat clinging to his skin and suffocating him, pulling his clothes tight to his body until it felt like the world was closing around him. Those were the times when he would choose reality — the times that nightmares plagued his mind, and demons engulfed his soul, nibbling and chewing away at it until there was nothing but what seemed to be a butchered piece of meat left. And other times, when his eyes were cast upon blood, or tears, or a scream that would induce another to follow in echoes of cries, he wished for the sweet lies of his dreams.

Yet, he could admit, that there was a fine line of which he would rather not choose. Instead, he tried to stay in the middle, often leaning to one side, and back to the other when reflex told him. Of course, he did not know what to accept one night, on a heist that went from bad, to worse, to incredibly horrible...

Last Night

Satoshi stood silently leaning against a cold wall, awaiting the arrival of one Daisuke Niwa, who had not yet arrived. Three times, he checked his watch, until eventually the thought struck him.

'Oh. He was sick today.' Without meaning to, the young Hikari sighed, slumping on the wall. Was it...disappointment? Sadness? Before he could further explore these thoughts, the demon inside pried and poked away at them, weeding his way through the cracks and coming to surface. Quickly, Satoshi straightened his posture, his face returning to immortal ice.

'Ah, Satoshi-sama,' the voice whispered, suddenly appearing beside the boy to run a ghost hand through the locks of blue, 'You truly care about that boy, ne? Maybe we should kill him tonight.'

"No," the other answered aloud, teeth clenched together. "You won't hurt him. Niwa has done nothing to—"

A soft laughter, only heard by him, 'Oh, but you are wrong. He has stolen from the Hikari's.'

"No, that's Dark. Dark steals, not Niwa." That voice, again, with mock taunting, whispering in his ear, 'Wrong again, Satoshi-sama. For Niwa is Dark, and Dark is Niwa. Just as you and me are the same, hm?'

But this was left alone to the winds, as the next minute, a figure stumbled clumsily through the doors at the other end of the room. For a moment, Satoshi thought it was Dark, and his fingers clapsed around his handcuffs. Instead, with the light filtering through the window, he saw Niwa laying sprawled out on the floor. The barriers cracked, if not for a second. It was all Krad needed to force his way through, to take complete control of his tamer's body. Seconds later, Satoshi was screaming for release in the back of his own mind as the demon approached Daisuke.

Krad, still in Satoshi's body, gently reached forward and shook him, questioning, "Niwa, are you alright?" Daisuke looked up slowy, missing the soft nefarious smirk on the boy's lips. The redhead smiled weakly, pale face flushed, and breathing hastily, sweat running down his neck to vanish beneath the leather he wore. "Ne, Hiwatari-kun...It must be my fever." He offered another fake smile, forcing his eyes shut, his face still tinted a fresh pink, the breathing still strained.

Krad smirked once more, helping the boy to his feet, an arm wrapped around the other's waist, eyes casting over once more to look at him. 'This is how you see him in your dreams, ne, Satoshi-sama? Flustered and nervous as such, the perfect image of submission and innocence?'

'Shut up! Let me out, Krad! Don't you dare harm him, or I'll...' The words were lost, when Krad reached over to gently grasp Niwa's face, forcing the boy to look at him, murmuring, "Are you in pain?"

In pure Niwa style, Daisuke smiled once more and lied. "No, I'm fine, re—"

"Liar," he hissed. Suddenly, Dark was yelling in the back of Daisuke mind to run, but the other couldn't — Krad had seized his wrist, and was painfully twisting it, enticing several whimpers from the boy. "Now, Niwa," he spoke slowly, tauntingly, "Would you like to die fast, or slowly? You see, I'm giving you a choice. Isn't that polite?" When he received no answer, his hand snapped the boy's, causing him to suddenly gasp, and scream, his knees buckling.

Krad gazed down at him, hands running affectionatly through the boy's hair until he firmly grasped it, pulling him to his feet. "If you won't answer, I'll just choose myself." He enlocked his hands with Daisuke's, caressed each finger, before snapping them, listening to Daisuke's cries of pain each time.

Now, one might wonder why the entity inside Daisuke had not appeared. And one might wonder why Satoshi had not fought harder, and the answer is simple. Each had been locked away for specific reasons by the ones currently in control. Krad, to avoid the screams of his tamer. Daisuke, to face Krad on his own, knowing Dark would surely kill him (meaning he'd also kill Satoshi), if he let him out.

When each digit had been broken, Krad once more let Daisuke fall to the ground, before he completely collapsed, strewn across the museum floor. Krad leaned down, carefully sitting on his knees, and once more taking the boy's hair and forcing him up, pressed his firm mouth to the one below him. Daisuke, in shock, tried to jerk away, but the elegant fingers only crunched into his hair harder, and pressed their mouths into each other. He felt 'Satoshi' bite hard down on his lip, draw blood, and pull away.

Just as he licked the blood off his lips, Krad caressed the boy's face, quietly speaking to him. "He hasn't come for you yet. Satoshi-sama, that is. He doesn't care, you know."

Daisuke shook his head weakly, tears running down his face. The hand on his cheeks slid down, nails scraping the delicate skin. "Wrong, Niwa. He doesn't care, you see? You've always bothered him. Always pestered him. His only goal is to catch Dark. Don't you know? He's using you like a little tool."

His hand ran down the boy's neck. "He's always used you." Then tightened around the soft throat, and Daisuke didn't seem to mind, as his eyes were open with a strange haze, considering the words. "He's always hated you. Always lied." The fingers around his neck tightened. "Let me spare you the pain of facing him again, ne? Goodbye, Niwa Daisuke." It was several seconds after Krad had started to choke the boy that Satoshi broke through.

Niwa was laying, unconscious, beneath him, and he leaned over the boy. All he could think to do was whisper over and over again: "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm..."

This went on for a long time, before one hour later, Emiko was screaming at the sight of her bloodied son on her doorstep, and no one there to suggest what had happen.

Tonight

Yes, he really didn't know what to take preference to. In truth, he was scared to choose. Reality? Dream? Wasn't it just the same? He wasn't sure anymore. Yes, sometimes Daisuke Niwa had to admit he was a coward. But he knew, that even the most foul dreams would have been comfort to him now. Last night, he had arrived home in a bloody mess. Of course, he hadn't gone to school in such a condition. Of course, he would have noticed the absence of one classmate, Satoshi Hiwatari, if he attended. And maybe, just maybe, this could have been prevented.

He was laying on the couch, remote discarded on the floor, mouth agape in amazement. Behind him, his mother stood, opening her mouth to speak to him when she caught ear of the news. The plate she was holding crashed to the ground. On the television, a woman in a black suit stood, umbrella in hand to block from the onslaught of rain. She was adjusting her microphone. She was standing in front of Hiwatati's apartment.

"...The man who found the body, reported that he had been going to deliver something, when no one came to the door. He said he was worried, and entered, only to find the boy dead in his bathroom. Investigators say that Satoshi Hiwatari attempted to..."

Before it could continue, Emiko rushed forward and shut it off. It was too late, however. Her son was sobbing behind her, screaming out for his lost friend.

He hated it. He hated reality. And he knew he was a coward for that.