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Don't leave me Godless

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First punch got him in the face, with an audible and highly unpleasant crunch, doubtlessly of his own cheekbone rather than the attackers fist. The next ones hit lower, making him bend almost in half as he fell to his knees, wincing at the gravel scratching at his skin even through the jeans. Shopping bag got kicked aside, its contents spilling on the pavement creating a colourful mosaic.

Tokito won't be happy, thought Kubota blurrily seconds before passing out cold.


Kubota didn't so much wake up as suddenly was thrown into a state of full consciousness, shocking and painful. Head spinning and nausea creeping in the back of his mind, he coughed and heaved, pushing away the thoughts of drowning. Tokito did not allow him to die just yet.

However, whereas surely it was a fool proof way to wake Kubota up, it did nothing to guarantee his cooperation with whoever decided it was a good idea to randomly assault and kidnap him in the middle of the day. That is, if it still was the same day.

“Finally awake.” A scruffy looking man sat in a plastic, folded out chair in front of Kubota. “I was slowly getting bored of waiting,” he commented and scratched at his knee, clearly avoiding looking directly at his prisoner, but for what reason it was unclear to Kubota. “I'm not a very patient man, you see. Mr. Kubota.”

Tilting his head to the side, Kubota squinted as the man, trying to read something, anything from his appearance that would ring a bell in his head. From the look of he was somewhere in his late twenties to early thirties, average, shortly cropped hair. No visible scarring or disfigurement, unless hidden under the hideous tux that did not fit him quite well, possibly borrowed.

But all in all? There was absolutely nothing in particular that would make him stand out from the countless people Kubota and Tokito passed by daily on the street.


They knew his name, either from one of the bank cards in his wallet, or - -


Was he alright? Had he eaten? Did he wonder where Kubota got to and sat sulking, watching yet another mindless drama that he'd such a fondness for? Kubota smiled softly, hearing in his head the note of indignation in the younger man's voice whenever he'd be in the mood and tease him about it, and then immediately remembered the younger man scared, and curling into himself, squeezing his furry palm tightly, hiding it. Hiding it from the world and from Kubota. Hurting.

Kubota felt it in the core of his soul when Tokito hurt.

“Who are you?” He asked, voice growing cold as he regarded the man in front of him with open distaste. As if he was the one beaten and tied to a chair, not the other way around.

The man stopped babbling and turned his head to look him in the eye, smiling lazily.

Ah, thought Kubota and felt a dreadful shiver going down his spine at the man's eyes.

Empty, detached. Kubota saw his own reflection there. Distorted and worse for the wear, but very much recognizable. It made him a bit sick in the stomach.

“You don't really want to know my name, do you?” The man smiled wider, and leaned back nonchalantly, his body language open, unafraid. Kubota felt overwhelmed by the urge to kill this man with his bare hands. If only his hands weren't bound, it would be so easy to reach and choke the life out of him.

He still smiled, kindly. Like a responsible adult would smile at a lost child.


I know your name already.

“Thought so.” The man stood up abruptly, the screech of the pushed back chair loud, almost deafening in the confined, dark space of the cellar they were in. “I'd like to have a few words with a - ” he stopped and laced his fingers together, propping them under his chin and looking unseeingly at the dirty ceiling. “- our mutual acquittance, but he seems to be a bit hard to get all alone. That's a bit problematic.”

“I'm so sorry,” Kubota commented airily, not feeling sorry in the slightest.

“No, no you're not,” the man giggled, and started patting himself down in a search of something. “But you will be, yes you will be, ah-ha!” He exclaimed loudly, pulling out an elegant, old-style syringe. It was well maintained, but visibly used before. “Yes, yes,” his kidnapper kept on mumbling to himself, pulling out a vial of a milky white liquid from his other pocket. “This will do nicely.”

All Kubota could do was to brace himself.


… sixty six to forty three, getting lower...

…. won't make it -

… bo – chan!

… what is this?! ….

… losing him, bring the -






His head hurt and his body felt heavy, limp. His eyes wouldn't listen to him, wouldn't open, but his ears worked just fine. Slowly, oh so very slowly, he managed to distinguish the more important information from the white noise. Music, words spoken in a hushed but intent tone, a regular beeping from his left side.


Tokito's voice. Worried, exhausted. Kubota could tell and it made his heart and insides clench, making it difficult to breathe.

He wanted to turn, to lean into this voice, to say it's alright.

To kneel at Tokito's feet and apologize, but he knew that it would only earn him a scuff and an earful of a few not really hurting expletives. But the need was still there, and even if it was something neither of them talked about, it was still there. A strong presence in-between, making them both going.

Obviously it was making Tokito a bit squeamish in more ways than one, especially at the beginning of their friendship (relationship?), but it changed. Subtly. Kubota would have missed it, but with time he started noticing the looks Tokito was giving him. They were different from the happy, boyish smiles or bashful little grins that he'd often grace the world, but mostly Kubota, with. Darker.

Giving Tokito's face an edge of something different, less human. It was a cross between a look of a hunter stalking its pray and a look of pure ownership. It was hard to tell where it was coming from or what was the cause of it.

Whatever it was, Kubota welcomed it. Enjoyed it.

“- I forgive you,” Tokito's voice got stronger, more insistent and through the still present fogginess of his brain, Kubota could feel a touch of cold leather against his right wrist. The glove, broken in and warm, shielding Tokito's furry palm from the outside world. Kubota loved and hated it at the same time.

He didn't want Tokito to hide it. Not from him.

“If you die, I will hunt you down and kill you.” Fingers on his wrist tightened. It bordered on being uncomfortable, but Kubota didn't mind.

Tokito, he wanted to say, but his tongue wasn't cooperating with him, so what came out instead was more of a weird gurgling noise that sounded even more ridiculous in his own ears, but at least he was heard.


A shadow fell over his silhouette and Kubota felt a warm breath, smelling of mints and awful hospital coffee, on his face.



I'm alive, he thought.