distopea:

Before they could walk back to the room, Sullivan had decided to speak up his mind. And once again, Kaizen didn’t have the patience to hear another tantrum. He just didn’t get that man at all; he wanted things but he wouldn’t work to have it at all; he had no guts, he just waited for things to happen magically. There was no rule in the Amazon Club forcing the escorts to have sex, yet, Sullivan was hoping to be rescued and protected more than anyone else. Kaizen knew that it was probably due to his prior environment, but frankly, it wasn’t his problem. Sullivan was quite hard to read; entitled enough to express what he wanted and yet too cowardly to do anything about it. Kaizen dropped the man on the floor and turned around. 

“What courage?” He asked with an inquisitive tone, daring Sullivan to ever say that word ever again. Sullivan was way too comfortable voicing his opinion right now, as he had somehow pushed Kaizen to act violently just because he couldn’t protect himself. He was useless to the eyes of the commander, and he clearly didn’t wish to hear his whining. He faced him fully, barely able to hide the fact he was pissed off. “What fucking courage? Where is it?!” He said again before he moved closer. “You don’t want to fuck? That’s your problem. Not mine. Act for it. Either you say no, either you fight for real, either you fuck them, but this,” He wiggled his arm, the man growling on the ground. “This is what I don’t want in my club. Fucking growing balls. It’s your first night. You got a job. You don’t want to do other stuff. Don’t wait for someone to rescue your sorry ass.” 

He began to move again, before he stopped once more. He felt spiteful, and quite already done with Sullivan’s attitude. He was talking way too much for someone who had only proved to be a burden. First he had lied, then there were the medical bills and now this? “Don’t ever dare to talk back to me. You owe us. Be grateful and close your shitty mouth. Of course you get to work. Fucking idiot.” He opened the door leading to the VIP area and pushed both the man and Sullivan inside. 

“Maintenance issues.” Kaizen explained while he sat back next to Gambit and stared at Sullivan. Oh, that kid better have good intel before the end of the night; Kaizen felt the urge to play soccer with his head right now. At the end of the meeting, he went back next to Sullivan and told him to head to his office. 

tximidity:

Sullivan had very few words planned. He wasn’t sure why he’d spoken up in the first place, honestly. Just as Kaizen had said, there was no courage. His words were uninspiring and were lost the second his new master’s anger evolved. Lips were tightly pursed, shoulders jumping at every raised intonation and splash of spit that hit him in Kaizen’s rage. When he was done, there was a small moment of silence before a weak voice came, somehow almost drowned out by the distant chatter.

“Yes sir…”

He was a coward.

He’d been willing to handle it on his own. But it wouldn’t have been anything noble. It would have been letting the man have his way. It should have been that, Sullivan seeing the downfall of his reluctance had gotten him. That small sliver of hope he had when Kaizen had told him he wouldn’t have to have sex seemed utterly foolish. Yet he had the audacity still to cling to it. He had to chastise himself for it. He needed to remind himself that the most important were food and shelter. That was something Kaizen could provide. So long as he behaved.

The two returned to the event. The man who’d been beaten sitting far away from him now. Though clumsily at first, Sullivan fell back into the conversations of the guests, listening as he served them drinks and flirted. Each time he found Kaizen’s gaze on him, he stiffened, casting his own look elsewhere with extra intentness.

He knew it’d come, but he grueled when he was commanded to go back to the office. He snuck to the bathroom again to write down his final notes and to procure the other, hidden ones from the water tank, stuffing them into the chest of his top. He’d already broken his wrist for his earlier antics. He was admittedly waiting for a similar punishment for tonight–perhaps another if his work wasn’t satisfactory. He prayed to any god of diety that would listen that they’d please Kaizen.

The office door shut. Sullivan withdrew the notes, offering them with a shaking hand. They were chicken scratch, but thankfully mostly numbers to make it legible. His throat felt so dry. Encouraging him not to speak, but he pushed through.

“They–um–they were sharing a lot of coordinates. Not always with context…” He started. He wanted to point but didn’t dare place any of his extremities near Kaizen’s grasp after the handoff. “A few they noted as warehouses. Um. The last they didn’t specify. Only noting that they hoped to have funding from you guys.” Sullivan squirmed. Again, hoping that he’d given something worthwhile. Every number. Every address. Every hush-hush matter he could hear was written down, scribbled on the four pages. And with them being numbers, he was confident he was right. However, if the clients gave useless information, it only served to make him useless. So he couldn’t help the painful swallow.

“H-hopefully they are relevant to you?”

quotemadness:

“Nobody can teach me who I am. You can describe parts of me, but who I am - and what I need - is something I have to find out myself.”

— Chinua Achebe

nezumivc103221:

No blanket needed—or so Sullivan's head shake claimed.

Nezumi took it for what it was and turned around, towards the sink, where he finally rinsed the blood off his hands and face. The memory of what he had done replied over and over in his mind, and even as the metal taste was out of his mouth and tongue, he could still taste the aftermath of blood and feel the pull of flesh and skin on his jaw and teeth.

His actions were unforgivable—an unforgivable act of violence against an unforgivable man. Nezumi didn't see himself as worthy of Sullivan's gratitude, despite accepting it without deflecting for Sullivan's sake, he didn't think that what he had done was more than a simple and straightforward act of revenge. Kenji was a heinous man, and Nezumi wouldn't have been beneath breaking his jaw to a point he could never utter a single word against Sullivan—or anyone else for that matter.

A world where a man like him couldn't speak without great difficulty or pain was a world where fewer people suffered, and Nezumi felt no shame in achieving that through entirely selfish and crude methods. Knowing the outcome, he would have done the same again and again, always trying to do more damage than the time before.

Sullivan spoke again, and Nezumi's gaze shifted from the trickles of water mixing with the blood that streamed down the white drain. He turned the tap and cleaned his hands, still bleeding lightly, into a towel, then wrapped the towel around his knuckles. There was no salvation for it, anyway. The blood had stained it the second it touched Nezumi's skin.

"Ah?" Nezumi raised a brow, feeling the tug on his shirt when he was aiming to bring out the first aid kit that Safu supplied him with. "You think I would have cleaned the wound lazily?" he laughed but motioned to the sofa anyway. "Sit down then, doctor Walsh. I can be your patient today, but don't think I'll heed any of your advice—I haven't listened to a medic as I've lived and breathed, and I'm not looking to start now, not even for your pretty eyes, okay?" he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Sullivan was dreadfully pale, and Nezumi had noticed that he was prickling at his skin again. It might have been better to give him something to do and distract him with a task than to let his thoughts and anxiety swallow him.

As they sat down, Sullivan began to work, and Nezumi mainly let him do whatever he thought necessary and focused on Sullivan's expression instead. He leaned closer and tilted his head, trying to catch Sullivan's eyes.

"—Now for real, how're you feeling?" Nezumi asked, serious but gentle.

tximidity:

“–w-well no–” He stumbled over his words, having put his foot in his mouth and accusing Nezumi of being lazy about sanitizing. It was ruder than anticipated or wanted; he hadn’t meant to be insulting.

Sullivan was more worried about Kenji being the cause of an infection in his friend. Nezumi didn’t deserve to be contaminated. He felt his own skin burn and itch. It felt disgusting just from Kenji grabbing his wrist. Old hand prints covered his body. In the corner of his gaze, where his brain was free to deceive, he could see them overtop his clothes, wandering up his legs. They reached towards his inner thighs and ached at his hips. He didn’t wish that for his friend.

There was the urge to yell. To tell Nezumi that he needed to immediately take a shower. Go to the hospital to get it cleaned. He wanted steps to keep him from being contaminated. But he knew that it was nonsensical too. It was a compulsion. He needed to try and ignore it. It felt easier to ignore if he could clean the wound well enough to not worry about infection.

Nezumi didn’t seem offended though, making him relax. It kept him from having to clumsily try again to explain himself or from Nezumi leaving when he really didn’t want to be alone. He sat beside him with his first aid kit. There was a weak smile to Nezumi’s jokes, shoulders trying to force themselves to ease.

Some of the bites were deep. Not to the bone or muscle, but still enough that it made Sullivan hesitant. He applied pressure, keeping Nezumi’s hand in his lap for a minute or so as he did, digging through his first aid box with the free one. A vial of saline was used to rinse it, and a clean part of the rag was used to pat it dry. A butterfly wound closure was placed on areas where the skin was loose enough to allow it, forcing the skin together to seal spots.

He was thinking hard about what else he wanted to do. Human bites usually needed oral antibiotics right? Just to be safe? Nezumi would rather die than go to a hospital though. But maybe he’d be willing to see Nakagawa? Or Sullivan could just lie and have them prescribed for himself? A student biting him seemed reasonable enough to need antibiotics so–

‘how’re you feeling’ Being spoken to made him raise his head. His gaze caught Nezumi’s. He maintained it for a couple seconds until he realized he might cry if he tried to speak while they looked at one another. So he returned to cleaning the wound, putting on an anti-microbial ointment before gauze and wrapping bandages. How he was feeling seemed like a cruel question–an inappropriate one when he wasn’t the one hurt.

“Dirty.” He answered, however. Fingers gently guided Nezumi’s fingers apart to allow for bandages in between, trying to make sure that he could still move them while they were covered. “I feel disgusting. L-like a need to shower. And I want to make you shower too. Because he touched you.” His chin dimpled as he thought over it more.

“But it feels like we can’t leave either. What if he’s out there? W-what if he’s at my house? If he found me here, then he might know where I live.” Politely, he let go of Nezumi’s hand once finally finished. “And I know it’s my fault. If I just told Nakagawa who it was when I was younger. O-or called the police. Or told someone. Then maybe I wouldn’t have to deal with this. But the thought of doing it makes me want to throw up. No one believed me. The last thing I wanted was to sit in court with people scoffing or laughing at me. Telling me a guy doesn’t get–o-or that what I endured wasn’t that. There was the risk they’d say it didn’t happen. Or he’d get the lowest sentence and have a reason to hate me. He’d be out anyways if I had said anything. The minimum is only a few years.”

“So I feel gross and trapped. And guilty that my not speaking ended up with you injured. There are too many emotions. It’s overwhelming.” A frustrated breath left him. He looked to Nezumi. “I don’t know what to do.”