Chapter 2. Holding Out For a Hero
The glass shattered within his shaking hold. How many has it been? The fourth the fifth? He didn't know but he knew that he really should stop breaking them for he was already on a low budget. A haggard breath escaped his chapped lips; they cracked and bled from the action, but he didn't mind. What he did mind though was the unconscious teen that was bounded tightly against the steel chair – courtesy of him, of course.
A yellow light bulb swung across the little room from its mighty, stringy frame. It was the only light source in the room and yet it filled the room with great length, only allowing some remote corners to be hugged by the shadows. That was where he stood- in a corner- as he clanked a severed shard of glass against the walls. The melody that produced from the shard and the wall somehow calmed his nerves and kept his mind occupied and, most importantly, it was consistent. He liked consistency and when his consistency was broken, he would go to great lengths to bring it back or destroy the source that broke it.
With each clank, the shard dug deeper into the skin of his thumb, but he paid it no heed. He was already soiled on the outside so it wouldn't matter if his insides were invaded by vile fiends either. Besides, the pain and the echoed drips of his blood hitting the pavement, kept his mind sharp, awake, and lucid.
"Wake up, dammit." He called hoarsely from the shades. There was no reply from the other occupant, not even a stir or a crease in brow. His mouth pressed into a thin line of annoyance and maybe a hint of worry. He didn't overdose him, did he? No, he couldn't have. He didn't need to squint to see the rise and fall of the teen's chest and he was, at least, a good eight feet away. So he didn't overdose him, but he still probably gave him a hefty amount if he was still knocked out after four hours.
He uncrossed his legs and placed the glass that he had been tapping with on a nearby desk. He needed something to dampen his nerves-something very strong and fast acting. He left up the stairs and came back not too later with a large flask of absinthe in his hand. Yes, he had class when it came to his liquor and he knew it. Out of all the products, this one had the most caveats in the liquor trade and that's how he liked it. He took his risk and didn't mind any of the consequences.
Thirty minutes had faded and so had one third of the bottle's content when he felt vertigo slightly hitting him and a piece of his lucid mind dissipated. That was fine though, he still had enough intact. "Are you awake yet, kid?"
Still no reply.
Gritting his teeth in annoyance, he flung the drink against another corner before quickly crossing toward his prisoner.
"Wake up! I'm tired of waiting!" Without much thought, he grabbed the teen's shoulders roughly and shook him with so much force that the chair screeched backward. Still nothing. "Dammit it all, what's wrong with you?"
The only sounds were Katsu's heavy breathing. He sighed, feeling depleted. His voice became soft as he gave a closer look at his prisoner. He was pale, his breathing was strained, and he felt quite cold. Katsu frowned as he raised wary fingers to his prisoner's forehead.
"Don't tell me you're sick…" He gently brushed a couple of strands away. His dreaded predicament was settled and confirmed. His prisoner was sick. "You're sick just like Michi."
Was.
The word echoed in his head like a taunt and he found himself pulling away from the teen roughly. He snarled at his own plagued conscious before taking a few successive steps back; he distanced himself and joined the shadows. For a while, he avoided eye contact with the prisoner but eventually he found his eyes and mind back on the boy.
"Why did you have to be fucking sick?" His voice became soft almost as if he was afraid of disturbing the teen's placed sleep. There was no malice in his words just a daunting question that was left unanswered.
There were a faint gasp for air and a slight convulsion from the strapped body before falling back to its labored breathing. Feeling sorry for the teen who was obviously suffering, he approached again.
"You weren't supposed to be sick."
He cursed slightly before undoing the ropes. The teen's body fell forward without the hold and he quickly caught him. He didn't know why he did the said action, he could have let him fall and hit the cold pavement but that would be so… heartless.
He picked the boy up and placed him on the bed that he hadn't used for years. He brushed the boy's bangs back gently and was slightly surprised at how soft it was. Soft just like Michi's. He sighed as he brought down a wet towel and placed it on the boy's brow. As he stared at him, he found himself slightly clouded with nostalgia.
Don't worry, I'll set things right.
"You weren't supposed to be sick."
Shigure crumpled another ball of paper up before throwing it in the corner with its other crumpled counterparts. Shigure just couldn't focus and, for once, it was not because his muse was being battered away by the loudness of the rat and cat's destructive and loud nature, no, it was being suffocated by a worried spirit.
Tohru had come home safely but she came home alone. There was no annoyed Kyo in her arm and none at her side. And then Yuki came home, and he hadn't dragged in an unconscious and weathered-tolled Kyo at the collar either. No, the only thing that he dragged in was his wet backpack full of class president paperwork.
Tohru had drowned herself in worry when she realized that Kyo was missing. By the looks of it, Tohru was not the only one who was slightly worried, if the tightening over Yuki's silver fork wasn't a sure sign of it. Tohru had suggested a search party but it was quickly shot down in the current weather. In the end, Shigure had ushered the two youngsters to bed and assured them, as best as he could, that Kyo would come home tomorrow.
''He's probably waiting out the rain in one of the stores." Was the final thing he told them when he steered a crying and sniffing Tohru and a distraught Yuki up the stairs.
That was four hours ago. It was already three in the morning. The rain had tired and dimmed into a small yawn of drizzles hours ago. Even the tea that he had brewed almost an hour ago wasn't dancing with a mist of heat on its surface; it was cold to the touch just like his being. And yet, still so sign of his fury cousin.
"Where are you, Kyo?" Shigure leaned back and rubbed his eyes. His vain attempt on starting a new manuscript early lay forgotten. He was tired.
"Shigure," Shigure looked up sharply, and was almost relieved as he thought the voice belonged to the source of all his worry. He was disappointed but was surprised when he saw Yuki standing at his door. When did he open the door?
"Yuki," Shigure pulled the frame of his glasses off and put them neatly on the side of desk. "What are you doing up?"
"Let's go search for the stupid cat." He angled his head toward the window. "It's not raining anymore."
In actuality, it was still drizzling, but Shigure didn't have the heart to correct him. He also had a feeling that Yuki already knew.
"Yuki, were you awake this whole time?" A small smile came to the novelist's mouth.
Yuki turned around, obviously ignoring the question. "I'll leave a note in the kitchen telling Ms. Honda that we went out."
As Shigure watched Yuki shrug on his jacket, he just hoped that the heavy rain did not wash away all of the traces of Kyo away.
"Ready?" Yuki turned to look at him, a determined look on his face.
"Of course, Yuki-chan!" Shigure sang happily. Yuki rolled his eyes as he pushed the door open and opened his umbrella.
They left together, in search of their cat.
He really shouldn't be doing this, after all, kidnappers were supposed to be threatening their prisoners, not caring for them like a doctor.
"This is your entire fault, you know." He changed the dry towel with another one. "You weren't supposed to be sick."
Maybe it was all that absinthe that was messing up his rationality. Maybe some more would turn him into a violent oppressor-that's what he should be. Just when he was about to stand up and grab the flask of absinthe that had laid on the floor forgotten, a grip on his coat jacket held him in place. He turned back and was surprised to see red eyes staring back at him; though glazed with fever, his eyes held strength and determination and an odd lack of fear.
Katsu didn't know why, but he didn't pull away from the weak hold. No, he let him hold onto him like a shaky lifeline.
He stayed silent. He would be considerate and let him speak first.
"Who are you?" His throat was scratchy from disuse. While still maintaining one hold on his capturer's coat, Kyo brought another to his throat and massaged it.
Katsu had thought briefly that he should probably give the boy some water but quickly dismissed it while reminding himself that he was his kidnapper not his caretaker.
"Your kidnapper."
Kyo blinked back at him. His hold on Katsu jacket loosened until his hand fell like dead weight back onto the dingy bed's surface. "My kidnapper?"
"Yes." Despite not having any threats from the boy, he took a step back. Then Katsu's brows arched in confusion when Kyo started laughing.
Once again, in a span of two hours, he took a step out of the shadows and toward the boy. The laugh sounded so alive.
He sounds like Michi.
When Kyo awoke, he already knew that he was not in his room; the bed was too hard to be his and whoever was touching him, had hands that were too calloused for any Sohma. And then there was that gruff and almost solemn sounding voice.
"You weren't supposed to be sick."
Kyo frowned. He wanted to tell him that it wasn't his fault that he got weak when it rained but didn't have the strength too. He felt his bed shift beneath him as he opened his eyes. He blinked back blurrily when a yellow light invaded his weak eyes.
His eyes traveled the degrees of the ceiling before it was distracted by a sight of a body sitting right next to him. Whoever was sitting next to him certainly was unaware of his current condition. Kyo tilted his head and was surprised when he felt a white towel slip down from his forehead.
He took care of me.
On impulse, Kyo caught the fleeting man by the hem of his jacket. He didn't know why he did that. If he was being smarter, he should have attacked the man and demanded why he took him off the streets and yet he didn't do anything that was short of logical. Maybe it was the way his hunched form sat in front of him that spelled misery or maybe it was his voice that sounded so regretful.
Kyo was surprised when he was met with the grayest pair of eyes he had ever seen- it was quite beautiful actually. The man stood slightly taller than Hatori. He was probably twenty-five with gold color hair that had lost its shine from disregard.
Kyo found himself shrinking slightly within himself. He knew that he was being observed and calculated just like the man was being by him. Even under those eyes, Kyo held strong and met his gaze.
"Who are you?" Kyo winced, his throat was stinging him.
"Your kidnapper."
"My kidnapper?" The word swung back and forth in his head like a pendulum. He was vaguely aware of his grip loosening on the jacket as Akito's taunting words came back to him.
Nobody would want a monster like you. You're nothing but a filthy, disgusting creature, but I will keep you, Kyo, because I am your god. So, be a good monster and wait for me when I take you back to my side forever.
At first, his breathing was slightly hurried but it didn't take long for it to escalate into something more vocal and harsh. It took him awhile to notice that he was laughing -laughing at how wrong Akito was. Evidently, somebody else had wanted him even if it was for their own inner motives. At the moment, he wasn't worried about his self being, no, all that occupied his mind was that he proved Akito wrong.
As his laughed dimmed, he turned to his kidnapper. He was smirking at his assailant and he was slightly surprised to have received a mocked look of something that was slightly shy of a smile from him.
Maybe they could use each other.
A/N: First off, I would like to thank those who reviewed, followed, and favorited. I have to say, I was slightly saddened that none of my followers reviewed for my story. Now, I know that some of my followers are authors too, so I know that you know that slightly irked and disappointed feeling when people follow/favorite but don't review. Of course, I'm not going to be dramatic and ask for you to review for every single chapter, but one review every now and then would be nice.
Don't get me wrong though! I am absolutely thrilled that you followed my story and I hope I didn't discourage anybody from following/favoriting my story by stating this. I'm not angry or anything just slightly saddened. But that, my friends, can be quickly amended with a small review – doesn't have to be grand and lengthy or anything just something small is fine.
Okay, so putting that little tragic monologue aside…
I hope you enjoyed this story! I'm sorry if the pace is slightly slow. I promise it will pick up.
Also, I have a tendency to vent in my writing. So, if you saw my writing was slightly turbulent in the beginning and started to calm more toward the end, well that's why. See? Writing is good! It helps me vent all me emotions. Now I am in a state of happy equilibrium.
I have to ask, does anybody actually read the A/N? I always do but I'm not sure about anybody else.
Please R&R. Reviews inspire me, make me happy, and make me update faster. No flames please. Critiques are always welcomed with open arms.
4/21/2013