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The Prophet	By : Tcharlatan Category: > Kyo/Kaoru Views: 1201 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction. I do not personally know any of the members of Dir en grey, and do not profit from this work.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
February 8^th - 9:00 am
Kyo pulled weakly at the shackles on his wrists and ankles. His skin was pale and grey, covered in goosebumps, and he was shivering uncontrollably. The water he was submerged in was bone cold, and his body’s futile attempts to keep warm were draining his energy quickly. His interrogator was kicked back comfortably in a chair next to the tub, a pile of heavy thermal blankets stacked neatly on his other side.
“Techies say there’s probably some kind of key that opens your computer, like a flash drive or some shit with the codes to get past all the encryptions. We’ve got people tearing your apartment apart looking for it, but so far all we can find are CDs and notebooks full of queer-ass poetry. Tell me where the key is, and I’ll let you out of the tub. Maybe even give you a blanket,” the peroxide blonde offered congenially. He was in a disgustingly good mood today.
“G-go f-f-fuc-ck your-rself-f-f,” Kyo murmured through chattering teeth. He was too far gone, mentally and physically, to even bother with his lies.
One large hand reached out almost casually and pushed his head under the water. He thrashed in absolute panic, jerking wildly at his chains and trying to find some purchase against the slick steel of the tub walls. Bubbles exploded out of him and only when they ran thin was he allowed to resurface, coughing and gasping for air. Hideki shook the water off his hand lazily and sat back in his chair again.
“All you’ve got to do is give me the key, and you can go back to spreading for the boss. Won’t ever have to see me again. Bet you’d be the most well-kept whore in all of Japan.”
“G-g-go f-f-fuc-”
Before he could finish his sentence, he was pushed under again. Even as he fought to get back to the surface, part of him hoped that Hideki would keep him under just a little too long. He could just drown, taking all of his shame and misery with him. Shinya’s secrets would be safe, and his own suffering would end. But again, he was released before he could pass that final threshold, and a damnable survival instinct had him gasping down air before he could stop himself. If he didn’t fall unconscious at some point, it was going to be a very long day.
February 9^th - 10:00 am
Kyo stood quietly between his escorts, arms limp in their grips. His clothes, after his extended soak, were clean of all signs of Hideki’s forceful violation the morning before, but he still walked with a wobbly limp and his eyes were shadowed. A dull, nearly apathetic sort of confusion struck him as he was walked past the familiar wooden door to his only place of reprieve and taken down a different hallway to large double-doors. They were opened simultaneously, and he was let loose into the most lavish office space he’d ever seen.
The entire rear wall was windows, tinted on the outside and undoubtedly bullet-proof. In front of them was a massive solid wood desk, a magnificent state-of-the-art computer half buried under stacks of papers held in place by hematite and obsidian paperweights. A high-backed chair for the owner of the office rested behind the desk, while two shorter, cushioned chairs sat in front of it. Well-stocked bookshelves lined one wall while a large, plush couch and a massive entertainment system took up the other.
He recognized Kaoru in the high-backed chair behind the desk, digging irately through paperwork, but the impossibly tall man with a shock of cherry red hair draped over the couch was a mystery to him. The man wore black sunglasses preventing Kyo from seeing all of his face, but the nose and mouth seemed very vaguely familiar. He jumped slightly, startled, as the office doors were closed behind him and he was left alone with the two men.
Several long moments of silence strained at Kyo’s already frayed nerves, and he was almost grateful when the redhead stretched languidly and stood up from the couch. “Hey, Kao.”
“Hmm?” Kaoru looked up, blinking. “Oh, come on in, Mr. Nishimura, have a seat.” He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk.
Kyo hesitated, but a large hand on his back guided him forward and into one of the chairs. The blonde caught the subtle hints of multiple pistols hidden on the tall man’s person and understood why the man looked so familiar. “You’re… an Andou? What happened to Shigeru?”
A brilliant grin flashed under those dark glasses. “Father retired with Kaoru’s uncle. You don’t guard a man every day of your life just to give up on it when he quits his job. They’re up north somewhere fishing, getting drunk, and bitching about their wives.”
Kyo’s stare was blank as he sank into the chair.
“My name is Daisuke. Call me Die.”
“…Kyo,” the blonde replied softly.
“Mr. Nishimura, one of my people found something and I was wondering if you might know what it is.” Kaoru stood and came around to the front of the desk, holding out a small card.
Kyo took one look at the card and his eyes widened, his face going a sickly grey. One shuddering hand came up to his mouth. He convulsed once and hunched over, throwing up water and bile violently, thankful to Die for the trashbin he very quickly supplied. Over his head, Kaoru raised a curious eyebrow and Die shrugged. The card was strange, for sure, but it seemed innocent enough. Just thick, laminated paper with a hole punched through the middle, the same image of a blue butterfly on both sides.
“Wh-where did you get that?” Kyo choked, reaching up to take the card with a shuddering hand. He tore a thin strip of laminate plastic off the top of the card and pulled out a small picture from between the two butterflies.
“A mole. What does it mean?”
“It’s… it’s a hit. Shinya… put a hit out on me.” Wide eyes filled with hurt looked down at the tiny image of himself from the waist up, a hole punched straight through his chest.
Kaoru frowned at the tiny envelope. “Why put your picture inside? Surely there are more subtle ways of getting the word out.”
One hand ran self-consciously over the butterfly tattooed on his right shoulder. “The butterfly… it’s me, it’s the avatar I use when I contact people. Only a couple people in the family know who I am so… so he sent out a picture… oh gods… he… he’s given up on me! If everyone knows who I am… I can never come back… I can never work… oh gods…”
Small hands tangled into blonde hair as Kyo curled in on himself, gasping desperately for air. He felt like his lungs were being crushed by the weight of the sudden panic filling his chest, the hope he hadn’t realized he’d still clung to abruptly cut out of him. What was he going to do now? Even if he somehow escaped, he couldn’t go back, everyone would know who he was, he’d be killed on sight. How could Shinya do this to him, after everything he’d gone through to protect the man?! He’d been beaten, whipped, burned, half-drowned, frozen, electrocuted, raped, and now he was being cut loose? This life was the only one he knew, he had nothing else!
“Come on, kid, breathe now, breathe.” Die reached out a hand to pat the smaller man's back.
Kyo shrieked and flung himself at the tall redhead, catching the man buy surprise and knocking him to the ground, landing squarely on his chest. He beat the man hysterically with both fists, ignoring the screaming pain in his left wrist. “DON’T TOUCH ME YOU BASTARD! THIS IS YOUR FAULT, YOU RUINED EVERYTHING! I HAVE NOTHING NOW, YOU SON OF A BITCH!”
“Shit!”
Die took a couple blows to the face, sunglasses skittering across the floor, before he could catch the younger man’s flailing limbs in his larger hands. The small blonde bucked against the hold briefly until he got a look at the man’s face. He could see the need for sunglasses; Die had unwaveringly kind eyes that robbed him of all the intimidation his height suggested. The sympathy in those eyes sapped away the flare of Kyo's anger, leaving only his deep-seated grief and exhaustion, and he stilled his struggles, head hung and body wracked with sobs. He allowed Kaoru to pull him off Die’s chest and guide him out into the hall, the bodyguard climbing to his feet to follow close behind.
“What am I going to do?” he wondered, eyes heavy with tears, as they passed into the familiar bedroom. “I have… nothing left.”
“Hush now. Go get yourself cleaned up, I’ll be in in a minute to fix your wrist.” Kaoru watched the little blonde disappear into the bathroom, then turned to face Die. “…Well.”
“Yeah. What are you going to do with him, Kao?” Die wasn’t usually one to sympathize with an enemy, but he knew enough about Kyo’s relationship with Shinya Terachi that he couldn’t help but wonder how he’d feel if his own lifelong friend put a hit out on him, and he shuddered at the thought. He’d been at Kaoru’s side his entire life; he couldn’t imagine suddenly being without the man. “I mean... do you think this will change anything?”
Kaoru frowned thoughtfully. “We’ll keep him here for now. Ironically enough, this is probably the only place he’ll be safe. I’m… not sure if all of this will make him more or less willing to talk… it might be just what we needed to get him to open up. Either way, I think I’m tired of waiting around while Terachi eats away at my borders, and I still have something he wants. Daisuke, I want a messenger sent into Terachi territory to initiate negotiations.”
Die bowed his head and left the room, slipping his cell phone out of his suit pocket as the door shut behind him. Kaoru dug out another roll of bandages and went to join his captive in the restroom.
He found the blonde standing half naked, shirt clutched loosely in his right hand at his side, still and silent as he stared at himself in the mirror. Over the course of a single, short week his already-lean frame had become sadly skinny, all bone and whipcord muscle. One eye was blackened, both were sunken and framed with shadows, burnt gold battered to a dull brown. Smooth skin, once a healthy tan with vibrantly clear tattoos, was now deeply bruised, welted, burnt, bloodied, and raw. Kyo looked slowly from the mirror to small, crumpled photograph in his swollen left hand. He could hardly recognize the face grinning wickedly up from the little paper, the strong body wearing a clean, pressed suit.
Kaoru came up and took the photo away gently, setting it on the bathroom sink before unwrapping the blonde’s wrist carefully. “If you need to hit Die, you really should stick to just your right hand.”
Kyo examined the new image in the mirror, with Kaoru close by him. It was a strange one, and it gave him an uneasy feeling. The older man was only a little taller than him – maybe half a head – but his presence filled the room. Power and entitlement rolled off the man; he was used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted, no questions asked. And yet, all Kyo had seen of the man was the patient ministrations of thin hands on his various wounds. A faint whisper in the back of his mind tried to make him understand why he had only seen this side of the notorious Kaoru Niikura – tried to reveal to him the game being played, because it was one he should know and be paying attention to – but he simply couldn't focus anymore over the pain, hunger, fatigue, loss, and nicotine withdrawal.
Strong, skilled hands rewrapped a swollen wrist that radiated heat. “You’re limping today.”
Dull eyes sank miserably at the reminder. “…Yeah. Probably will be for a couple days.”
Dark chocolate eyes stared intently at the blonde’s reflection. “What happened? Nothing on the report I was given included anything that should have damaged your legs.”
A bitter laugh. “Hideki collected his wages.”
Kaoru bristled, eyes widening for a fraction of a second, and Kyo imagined the hackles of a dog rising. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It was… what did he say… ‘non-monetary compensation.’ Hazard pay for what I did to his ear.”
There was a long pause before Kaoru’s hand came around to grip Kyo’s chin gently, turning him around to look up into near-black eyes. Dark gold flared briefly with anger, then wavered and faded tiredly into miserable honey-brown as full lips quivered dangerously. He had already cried in front of this man once today, his already-damaged pride balked at the thought of it happening again. The older man’s gaze lowered slowly to catch on eight circular bruises, four on each side, marring the blonde’s narrow waist just where it flared into his hips. Perfect fingerprints. The hand not holding his chin drifted over the marks, almost imperceptibly light.
“I see.”
- 6
- 7
- 8
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The Prophet