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tell me a story with a happy ending.
Subject: Togainu no Chi AU of the Arbitro ending.
It's been less than a month since he was able to finally quit Line, and even after all the hardship of the withdrawals, even after it almost killed him, he still hasn't really come back from it. He still thinks about it pretty much all the time. His hands shake when he holds his water bottle, his tongue nervously feeling the back of his teeth, tasting blood that isn't there. Motomi got him around, he got him sober, but he can't do anything about the night terrors, the shakes, the flashbacks, or the guilt. All the people he killed in those months. The things he did to Akira, even when he was screaming for it to stop. Screaming his name.
He feels like he's seen more stomach acid in the past two weeks than he's ever seen in his life — and more blood in the last two months than could fill an ocean. And now that he's awake, now that he understands Motomi's words when he says Akira has been missing almost as long as he had, he wonders if he's going to have to make himself see more of it. He's terrified, but he's furious, as well. At himself, at Line, at this place, at everything that tore their friendship to shreds. He has to do something about it.
After all, if he can't even apologise to Akira, what use is there in trying to live, any more?
It never occurred to him, not even for a second, that Akira might be dead, and he was right to stay so determined; he's been very lucky, hunting down his info, and the news is good, too. But standing in front of Arbitro's mansion, finally being led to that outlandish man, flourishing and speaking with syrupy, saccharine words, his stomach is tight and uneasy, unsure what to expect. Arbitro doesn't recognise him, and it's a relief; having a forgettable face has been a really good thing for him in Toshima. The tags he's carrying feel heavy, but it's no surprise that he's burdened with a lot of them, after all the killing he's done. There's more than enough there to impress Arbitro, and there's a disturbing light in his eyes as he leads him through the mansion, up staircases and down corridors, until they arrive at a room.
The tags jangle together like bells when he hands them over. "Take your time to pick carefully," Arbitro croons, as he swings the door open. Inside, it's an all-encompassing darkness, and Keisuke's heart flutters violently, his mouth dries. Akira, Akira... "I don't do returns if you aren't satisfied."
Keisuke doesn't say anything. He just steps inside, into that miserable blackness, and Arbitro follows him. The door swings shut, and there's silence, only the sound of his own heart pounding in his chest, flooding blood through his ears until they ache from it. He tries to keep his breathing steady, but his lungs feel fit to burst. Soon, he can pick out little points of light. A fine slit of blue starlight bleeds through a crack between the ornate, heavy curtains. Everything is a wall of drape and patterns and naked flesh, breathing softly, their scarred bodies rising up and down, and soon he can hear their breaths as well, a rustling. Empty, soulless eyes, or leather blindfolds that substitute for eyes, don't even turn towards the intruders, and none of them stand or seem to have the energy to stand. Some of them are tiny, frail, young. All boys, all young men, and Keisuke feels a violent hotness burning in his chest, feels the veins in his arms pop up against the skin. He could crush Arbitro into the wall, crush his throat like he's crushed a thousand others, if only he could move.
... But he can't, not outside of his fantasies, any more. If he does that, those bodyguards or the damn punishers would be in here like a shot, for discipline or fun. Keisuke doesn't imagine he's handsome enough to even suffer an end like these guys; they'd kill him straight off, and he doesn't have Line to rely on, any more. He'd die, for sure.
He can only wait, scanning the crowd with his eyes. Arbitro fills the silence inanely, cooing adoringly. "Beautiful, aren't they? Every one of them, trained and honed to perfection. This is my finest 'art'..." But Keisuke is hardly listening. He's looking for just one face he can recognise. One person he needs to see to go on, one person he needs to save.
Akira. His information was spotless. Akira needs to be here, somewhere, and he refuses to leave without him. If someone else has him, he'll hunt them down and kill them, rip him out of their hands.
He can't... he can't let that happen. He has to save (have) Akira.
It's been less than a month since he was able to finally quit Line, and even after all the hardship of the withdrawals, even after it almost killed him, he still hasn't really come back from it. He still thinks about it pretty much all the time. His hands shake when he holds his water bottle, his tongue nervously feeling the back of his teeth, tasting blood that isn't there. Motomi got him around, he got him sober, but he can't do anything about the night terrors, the shakes, the flashbacks, or the guilt. All the people he killed in those months. The things he did to Akira, even when he was screaming for it to stop. Screaming his name.
He feels like he's seen more stomach acid in the past two weeks than he's ever seen in his life — and more blood in the last two months than could fill an ocean. And now that he's awake, now that he understands Motomi's words when he says Akira has been missing almost as long as he had, he wonders if he's going to have to make himself see more of it. He's terrified, but he's furious, as well. At himself, at Line, at this place, at everything that tore their friendship to shreds. He has to do something about it.
After all, if he can't even apologise to Akira, what use is there in trying to live, any more?
It never occurred to him, not even for a second, that Akira might be dead, and he was right to stay so determined; he's been very lucky, hunting down his info, and the news is good, too. But standing in front of Arbitro's mansion, finally being led to that outlandish man, flourishing and speaking with syrupy, saccharine words, his stomach is tight and uneasy, unsure what to expect. Arbitro doesn't recognise him, and it's a relief; having a forgettable face has been a really good thing for him in Toshima. The tags he's carrying feel heavy, but it's no surprise that he's burdened with a lot of them, after all the killing he's done. There's more than enough there to impress Arbitro, and there's a disturbing light in his eyes as he leads him through the mansion, up staircases and down corridors, until they arrive at a room.
The tags jangle together like bells when he hands them over. "Take your time to pick carefully," Arbitro croons, as he swings the door open. Inside, it's an all-encompassing darkness, and Keisuke's heart flutters violently, his mouth dries. Akira, Akira... "I don't do returns if you aren't satisfied."
Keisuke doesn't say anything. He just steps inside, into that miserable blackness, and Arbitro follows him. The door swings shut, and there's silence, only the sound of his own heart pounding in his chest, flooding blood through his ears until they ache from it. He tries to keep his breathing steady, but his lungs feel fit to burst. Soon, he can pick out little points of light. A fine slit of blue starlight bleeds through a crack between the ornate, heavy curtains. Everything is a wall of drape and patterns and naked flesh, breathing softly, their scarred bodies rising up and down, and soon he can hear their breaths as well, a rustling. Empty, soulless eyes, or leather blindfolds that substitute for eyes, don't even turn towards the intruders, and none of them stand or seem to have the energy to stand. Some of them are tiny, frail, young. All boys, all young men, and Keisuke feels a violent hotness burning in his chest, feels the veins in his arms pop up against the skin. He could crush Arbitro into the wall, crush his throat like he's crushed a thousand others, if only he could move.
... But he can't, not outside of his fantasies, any more. If he does that, those bodyguards or the damn punishers would be in here like a shot, for discipline or fun. Keisuke doesn't imagine he's handsome enough to even suffer an end like these guys; they'd kill him straight off, and he doesn't have Line to rely on, any more. He'd die, for sure.
He can only wait, scanning the crowd with his eyes. Arbitro fills the silence inanely, cooing adoringly. "Beautiful, aren't they? Every one of them, trained and honed to perfection. This is my finest 'art'..." But Keisuke is hardly listening. He's looking for just one face he can recognise. One person he needs to see to go on, one person he needs to save.
Akira. His information was spotless. Akira needs to be here, somewhere, and he refuses to leave without him. If someone else has him, he'll hunt them down and kill them, rip him out of their hands.
He can't... he can't let that happen. He has to save (have) Akira.