Another short one, pretty much just playing with writing at this point, sorry for the teasers haha. Thanks for all the feedback, would love to get more :)
Just some lyrics I thought were fitting by Nancy Sinatra, 1966. My Baby Shot Me Down.
He wore black and I wore white
He would always win the fight
Bang bang, he shot me down
Bang bang, I hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, my baby shot me down.
Kirishima waited, he waited for the violent outburst to come surging forth from the quick-tempered blonde's mouth, he waited for insults and flying objects, but they never came.
Takaba Akihito stood half dressed in the office as the smoke cleared from that fateful barrel.
The lights were on, but no one was home.
It felt wrong, so wrong. Kirishima thought the worst explosion would come first, but the bomb was a dud. It wasn't the blast that would get them, it would be the effects of radiation, impossible to see at first, but as time went on you could see the mutations it would inevitably cause in your heart and soul, infecting you with its filthy cancer until you could no longer recognize yourself.
The secretary remained silent for once, pushing the line between subordinate and friend in the hopes that one of them would break the silence. His hope was short lived as Asami set the nuclear reactor to self-destruct.
"Don't make me repeat myself Kirishima."
"Where should I take him, Asami sama?"
"I'll leave it up to you, anywhere but here will do."
Kirishima had never been more reluctant to follow his boss's orders then what he was right now, he would kill for Asami, die for him, serve a life sentence for him, but now he found himself wanting to shout defiance.
To shout out the obvious words that the picture spoke of, words that had never been said, but now more then ever, needed voicing. Everyone knew already, so what was so wrong with saying them now?
Kirishima knew that that was what this situation needed. A cure all, capable of treating the encroaching cancer.
"Now, Kirishima."
It was no use.
Instead, Kirishima found himself leading a lifeless Tabaka around the penthouse by the cold skin of his wrist, still red with cuff marks, evidence of a luscious endeavor with his boss. The truth was marked on those wrists.
He had to clean and dress the boy, who seemed to be stuck in a state of catatonia.
Wherever he led him, bathroom, bedroom or lounge, he would follow with silent footsteps and just stand there. Deaf and blind to the world as the secretary packed a bag for him. He knew the damage had already been done, the tell tale sounds of the boys phone going off without pause told him so.
He supposed that this was what a funeral wake felt like, standing vigil for the dead as it was readied for its final departure.
After the longest 20 minutes of Kirishima's life, he led the shell of Akihito passed the office door, and down the hall, to the penthouse door.
He wished the hall way was longer, long enough to give either of them a chance to change their mind, but all to soon the front door was upon them, and they exited the penthouse, the door closing shut with a decisive click, like a judges hammer at a sentencing.
Asami waited until he heard the tell tale click of his front door shutting before he let out the longest held breath of his life.
He always had possessed a sensible heart, he had to make the cut quickly, sharp and clean. It would be easier to heal, leaving less chance of permanent damage and infection.
Too many words would only cause his knife to lose its edge, to dull the blade until it was only capable of rough hacks that left an untidy, festering wound, an ugly scar that would be present for life.
He had swung that blade without mercy, executing the motion flawlessly. A sensible heart indeed.
The more he sat in that chair though, staring down at that damn paper, was that he didn't know who he had actually cut, Takaba, or himself.
Kirishima was meaning to take Akihito to his old apartment, which Asami owned. Having the boys stuff moved back there wouldn't be too hard, one look at the building,and the street however, told him it wasn't a good idea.
In fact, it was probably the worst idea.
The street was lined with vultures, the hungry carrion eaters all squabbling amongst themselves to get the best shot of the limo as it slowed in front of the apartment complex. They knew who it belonged to alright, and they knew who was inside.
The tinted windows hid the car's occupant, the reporters would do anything for a morsel of flesh however, their beaks flashing, filling up the stomach of film with scandalous shots of the limo that carried the traitorous reporter.
There was no way Akihito could go back there. He would be eaten alive.
"Takaba."
Silence.
"…Takaba."
More silence.
"Akihito."
He watched the haze clear from those eyes momentarily in the rear view mirror.
"Huh?"
"Is there anywhere I can take you? Your friends place? Parents?"
Kirishima watched as Akihito threw his head back against the leather seat with his eyes shut. He looked peaceful, as if asleep, but the lonely tear that that paved a road of sorrow down his cheek said otherwise.
"No…. There isn't." came the unfeeling answer, followed by another long silence.
"…..There's no helping it then, you will have to stay with me for the time being."
Just because his boss had seemingly abandoned the boy, which Kirishima still refused to believe, didn't mean he would, and he knew Suoh would feel the same.