Chapter Text
There’s blood dripping down Khun’s temple.
It only adds to the pulsing headache he has, something that’s lingered for two days straight. As a part of Jahad’s army, they were ordered to defend the Nest and Maria was all too enthusiastic to participate, considering her eagerness to meet members from FUG face to face. She was always unconventional in that sense: it’s in her nature to seek the core of a person, one they show when they fight to survive.
That slayer nominee would be no exception, as someone who caught her interest a few years prior.
Khun didn’t want to meet him. Didn’t even want to get close, because distance is the best strategy with someone that powerful. Irregulars are unpredictable and the stakes are too high. Not that he doubts Maria’s abilities as a princess, but there are too many factors that can’t be picked apart or calculated.
And Khun getting captured was one of them. From the looks of this place, he must be locked in a cell somewhere on one of FUG’s ships. The slayer candidate had cut his way through the walls of the Nest without as much difficulty as he should have had. While he had a team of gifted positions to suit him, no one—especially not Khun—could possibly deny that monstrous level of talent.
It’s not just concerning.
It’s disturbing.
Khun made sure that Maria escaped relatively unharmed. He said he would be right behind her but it was a lie, possibly the most sincere he’s ever told. But he knew that there wasn’t enough time for him to leave with her, which ultimately led to his capture. Now he’s on the same ship as that slayer candidate and it makes his skin crawl.
Jyu Viole Grace, unknown age, and a well-known Irregular at this point. A wave controller who can use shinsu in ways that are vaguely reminiscent of Enryu himself. He can supposedly copy techniques as soon as he’s exposed to them, something dangerous and unheard of. However, there was nothing Khun could find regarding his history or motives. Too many rumors and nothing entirely tangible.
Maybe he can use this to his advantage, somehow. Normally he would assume that FUG would kill him without much thought, but they must have captured him for a reason. Or they want to make a real example out of him, a message to the Ten Great Families or even Maria herself. If that’s the case, then his death will probably be more brutal and torturous.
But right then, a door to his cell opens. The sound makes him jump, as he hadn’t heard anyone approach. When he looks up, however, he notices there’s actually two people before him: a red-haired woman with an eyepatch who he feels is familiar, and…
Khun’s heart drops straight to the floor.
As a strategist, he never got too close to the heat of the battle. That’s a fisherman’s job, though he did catch a glimpse of the slayer nominee through his lighthouse before shinsu sliced it in half. The same person who stands before him now, with features so unmistakable that Khun would recognize them anywhere.
Even when tied, his hair is so long that it reaches all the way down his back. It’s difficult to see his eyes through the bangs, as unkempt as they are, but Khun still catches a glint of gold watching him closely. He still dons the same black slayer robes he wore when he fought at the Nest, with gray sewn along the collar and around the waist. Khun vaguely remembers the outfit from photos attached to the nominee’s file, a bit infamous from when he won the Workshop Battle years prior.
This is really him.
Jyu Viole Grace.
Khun’s shoulders ache from how tightly his wrists are bound behind him, and if he wasn’t entirely aware of just how trapped he was, he’s definitely conscious of it now. There’s an energy to Viole, something heavy and present that unnerves him.
“You’re from the Khun family.” The red-haired woman carries a pleasant smile as she speaks, slight enough to appear as fake as he knows it is. “Khun Aguero Agnis, isn’t it?”
Lying isn’t an option—the question is borderline rhetorical, as the slayer nominee himself wouldn’t be here if they didn’t know who he was—but he doesn’t allow his eyes to leave Viole. It would be stupid to let them stray from the most dangerous person in the room.
“That’s right,” Khun says slowly, carefully. “What’s this about?”
“You work as the strategist for a princess of Jahad who killed someone very important to FUG,” she explains, keeping her tone cool and even. “Someone who we attacked the Nest for, yet we found him dead.”
That… isn’t possible. FUG was here to rescue one of their high rankers, Ha Jinsung. Maschenny initially held Jinsung hostage, but she attempted to retrieve reinforcements and had left Maria in charge. Maria wouldn’t kill Jinsung though, she had no reason to. Did Maschenny sabotage her in some way to make this look like it was Maria’s fault, so FUG’s crosshairs would be trained on a different princess of Jahad?
Khun glances up to meet Viole’s eyes, even for only a moment. They’re a washed-out color of gold that makes his skin crawl. It’s the lighting that makes them look so full and so empty, a frozen state of nothingness. There’s a lethal cruelty to them, calm but deathly sharp.
That sort of quiet focus is unrelenting, unyielding.
“You should really just kill me,” Khun finally says, a bit softer than intended. He’s faltering under the heaviness of Viole’s gaze, or maybe it’s just the weight of his shinsu. “I won’t betray Maria and FUG should know that. I’ll never tell you where she is.”
There’s a long pause after that, and for some reason, that woman’s expression hasn’t changed at all. Maybe she already knew what he would say, but there’s something about her that feels omnipotent. All-knowing, all-consuming. But Viole only tilts his head slightly at Khun’s answer, even if the look in his eyes is just as cold. Just as attentive, except he seems more… curious.
Before Khun can think of why, Viole is reaching forward to grip a tight fistful of his hair. Khun bites back a hiss of pain as he’s dragged up to his knees, his headache throbbing much worse than before. The sudden movement makes his vision blur with scattered dark spots.
He hadn’t moved around much the last few days, so it was easy to forget that he hadn’t eaten once since his capture. But now that he’s upright, it feels like Viole’s hand in his hair is the only thing keeping him from collapsing.
“I think you’re mistaken.”
It’s the first time Khun has heard Viole’s voice, dark like liquor as it curls around the syllables. But it’s also soft, a sort of gentle danger to him. As if he means no harm while inflicting all of it.
“I’m going to find her with or without you,” Viole continues, with so much certainty that it makes Khun’s guts twist. “If I use you, then I’ll find her sooner. If I get nothing from you, then I’ll find her later. Either way, I will get what I want.”
“That doesn’t mean you’ll win,” Khun says, but it comes out thin.
“But I will,” Viole replies simply. “And when I do, I’ll kill her.”
Khun narrows his eyes. Viole isn’t vain: he’s blunt but confident, and never wastes his time. No extra words to pad his tone, no false sincerity. There’s a sort of purity to him, like he doesn’t belong here. It makes sense for him being an Irregular, but…
“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” Khun scoffs, a bit disgusted. Viole twists his grip in Khun’s hair, forcing him to wince as the wound on his temple reopens. Blood dribbles down the side of his face once more while Viole draws closer, only inches away from his lips. Khun gives a dry swallow but he can’t pull back at all.
“Or a lot of spine,” Viole says with a quiet edge to his voice. “Not that you would know much about that.”
Those words make Khun’s stomach roll, but he doesn’t let it show. He only keeps Viole’s harsh gaze as he bites back the blurring corners of his vision, more intent than ever to show no weakness.
“Then do your worst,” Khun spits, resentful. Whether it was stupid or not to say, it doesn’t really matter. There isn’t anything he can do at this point and he wants to establish very clearly where his loyalties lie.
But Viole doesn’t respond to that. He only releases him and Khun crumples at his feet. It’s so sudden that Khun barely lands on his shoulder with a groan, though his head pounds worse from the impact. Viole is already turning away from him, leaving him there as the red-haired woman follows close behind.
When the cell door slams, Khun is alone once again. He’s breathing more heavily than before as he tries to lean back up against the wall. Blood smears against it, dripping red from his jaw but he tries to ignore it as best he can.
He definitely looks as awful as he feels, but that isn’t his greatest concern. Just remembering the sound of Viole’s voice makes his skin crawl, a kind of fear he’s never felt before in his life. That presence, that energy… it’s nauseating. It’s how a monster feels, except holy: all eyes, wings, and teeth hidden behind those eyes. A fallen angel born to kill, whose reputation boasts feats beyond anything Khun could ever be capable of.
Beyond anything he could probably ever withstand.
When Maria first became a princess of Jahad, she forbade him from ever hurting himself for her sake. It’s as if she knew of the pills he’d researched, the kinds he could take to end his own life in case he ever got captured like this. Now he regrets buying into that idealism, because now, he doesn’t know what he’ll do.
Khun won’t break, at least not easily. But Viole is an Irregular, something unpredictable and impossible to read. There are so many risks, too much he doesn’t quite know. He has nothing to fall back on and it’s dangerous.
For the first time in his life, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do.
It makes him feel so powerless.
Khun thought he was aware of how FUG operates.
The knowledge was textbook though, mostly abstract since he’s never actually spoken to anyone in the organization. Anyone they didn’t end up killing, at least. But considering the number of members FUG has, Khun initially assumed that any interrogation practices would be done by someone whose job is to obtain information from prisoners or hostages.
And perhaps that would usually be the case, but it seems FUG might have changed since Viole’s arrival. It’s rumored that slayers converse with him as if he is just as powerful as they are, if not more. They give him more authority and autonomy than what would typically be granted to a slayer nominee, even if his training hadn’t started too long ago.
Is it because he’s an Irregular?
Is it because they believe Viole will lead them to new heights and reputation?
Either way, it seems they allowed Viole to take the situation with Khun into his own hands. The very next morning—or maybe it’s afternoon, evening, or night, he wouldn’t know anymore—Viole visits him again, this time without the red-haired woman. Khun had expected someone else to check in on him, but it only looks like his luck is getting worse and worse.
“How are you feeling today?” Viole asks, and Khun’s skin prickles with irritation. It’s a pointless question since it’s obvious that he’s hungry, thirsty, and cold. He can hardly swallow at this point and he feels too weak to move without feeling lightheaded.
“Fine,” he replies bitterly, and it’s the only thing he says. But the hoarseness of his throat is a bit of a giveaway. “What are you here for? To torture me?”
“I’m going to be taking you to another room,” Viole tells him. “Someone is going to be cleaning the rest of the prisoners from these cells, so you’ll be moved.”
It’s just a nicer way of saying these people are going to die, probably. Not that Khun cares much but he has a feeling Maria would lament their loss. Even if it was a sort of distant, detached grief, she would still care.
Viole draws closer and Khun shrinks back slightly, mostly on reflex, coupled with a poisonous glare that Viole overlooks. But as he stands above him, he drags a thick strip of cloth from an inner pocket within his slayer robes. Khun already knows what he’s going to do with it before he says it.
“I’ll be blindfolding you now,” Viole explains out of politeness alone, and when he reaches forward to press the surface against his eyes, the world goes black around him. Khun stiffens but doesn’t bother struggling, since the attempt would be meaningless. Not even a moment after, he feels an arm hooked around his waist to pull him off the floor, though he wishes his wrists could be untied just for a moment in case he falls.
He doesn’t like this. Not even a bit, since his legs are so shaky they could give out at any time. Even if he knows the ground is within reach, the blindfold makes him feel like he’s teetering at the edge of a cliff at all times. But Viole’s touch is surprisingly gentle rather than harsh, which fits the way he speaks.
Strange.
The two of them are silent as Viole leads him out of the cell, presumably into the hallway. He can’t see at all and he knows why Viole took such a precaution: as a strategist, Khun relies on the information around him. Limiting that is a decent tactic, especially since Khun won’t know what any part of the ship looks like except the cell he was in and the room he’s being brought to.
However, Viole can’t stop him from tracing their steps. These corridors, as much as they twist and turn, ultimately force them in paths that he can burn into his brain. And with the air as cold as it is, whenever he feels a colder wisp hit his face, he knows he’s passed a vent.
If he ever escapes, maybe there’s a way to track the routes. Or he could use them for another purpose, but he’d have to think on it. The way his stomach aches with hunger is distracting enough, not to mention it’s already difficult to memorize the path they’re taking when he’s as fatigued.
Each step he takes feels like it will be the one his knees buckle beneath him. But despite how lean Viole looks, he’s strong enough to support him as upright as possible. It’s only a matter of time until Viole stops for a moment, and Khun hears the familiar whoosh of a door opening before them.
Again, Viole leads him forward a bit further. Once they pass through what Khun assumed to be the doorway, there’s a clicking sound as it shuts behind them both. Before Khun knows it, Viole is lowering him down and he feels the backs of his legs hit something solid. Like the bottom of a bed frame as he’s seated on a firm mattress.
Viole hooks his thumb in the blindfold to tug it down, and Khun grimaces a bit as his eyes adjust to the newfound brightness. Just like the cell, the color scheme is sterile: the sheets of this bed are white, the pillows are white, the walls and floors and even the fluorescent lighting is white. But unlike the cell, he actually has a bed now, which is surprising. There’s also a single bathroom tucked away behind a door in the corner, though judging from the knob, there isn’t a lock on it.
“The water won’t run,” Viole says, and Khun blinks once he realizes he’s staring. “So you won’t drown yourself, but also so you can’t drink.”
It’s exactly what Khun would do if the tables were turned, but it still irritates him when he’s on the receiving end of this treatment. He’s so thirsty that he’s beginning to wonder if the air is cold or if he’s just getting chills. However, his eyes drop to the floor and he spots a water bottle and granola bar tucked by the entrance of the room. His stomach twists at the sight and his throat suddenly feels twice as dry.
He’s never been so deprived of obvious necessities, but he’d rather die than ask for them.
Viole doesn’t have to follow his line of sight to know what he’s looking at, even as Khun drags his gaze away from the food. He’s probably going to pass out at this rate, since he already feels exhausted just from the short walk here. But Viole is already reaching down to pick them off the floor, approaching Khun’s bedside again as he sets the granola bar beside him. Khun can’t help the way his eyes are pulled back towards the water. Instincts are disgusting.
He fully expects Viole to strike him a deal for it, one he absolutely wouldn’t take. However, he watches Viole open the cap with ease, followed by a soft hissing noise from the released pressure.
It isn’t drugged, probably. Not if it was sealed like that.
Viole reaches forward and Khun instinctively shrinks back again, but he can’t avoid the return of Viole’s tight grip in his hair. It’s less rough this time, though it’s still firm as Viole pulls Khun off the bed to push him back to his knees. It drags a groan of discomfort from Khun’s throat as a hint of darkness flares at the corners of his vision.
Despite how unnecessary it is to put him in this position, Viole carefully presses the edge of the bottle to Khun’s lips. It’s the driest they’ve ever been, chapped and raw from biting. But cool water passes through them with ease, tasting like heaven. Somehow it makes his throat ache worse but it feels so relieving, he can’t possibly pay it any mind.
Viole cradles the back of his head, holding him in place by his hair as he drinks. Even when Khun leans forward a bit, a passive effort to take more, Viole tips the water bottle at a slightly higher angle. A bit of water dribbles down his chin but he gulps most of it down. It’s only a matter of time until the bottle is empty, and when Viole pulls away, Khun finds himself panting softly as he licks the final drops from his lips.
It doesn’t feel like enough. He wants more, three bottles more after being so dehydrated for this long. His fingers, which once buzzed with numbness, are now regaining sensation. His vision is a bit more clear too, thankfully. However, he’s still weak and his stomach hurts even more now, though it’s probably from the sudden intake after being empty for so long. It makes him nauseous.
Viole tosses the bottle onto the mattress and takes the granola bar this time. With one of his hands still holding Khun by the hair, he tears the wrapper with his teeth instead. Just looking at it makes him ache with hunger.
But he’s suspicious. It doesn’t make sense for Viole to offer him these things and the water bottle being sealed isn’t any proof that there wasn’t something in it. Even when Viole holds the bar out to him, Khun only gives it a wary glance before his eyes slide upwards.
There’s no change in Viole’s expression, entirely impossible to read. It gets under Khun’s skin in a way nothing ever has before. Maybe it’s pointless to try but it’s only natural to want to figure him out.
It would be beneficial, too.
“Why are you doing this?” Khun mutters, keeping Viole’s heavy gaze. “You could just starve me, if you wanted to.”
“If I wanted to,” he echoes, speaking so quietly that it’s difficult to hear. “But I don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because Maria Jahad means more to you than even food or water, no matter how long you’re deprived of them. It would be disrespectful to assume you would cave over something like that.”
The answer is… unexpected. And perceptive, but Khun doesn’t know why Viole would bring up disrespect. After all, he must know it’s humiliating to quite literally bring Khun to his knees and feed him by hand. Still, he can’t help the way his eyes drop back down to the granola bar held out in front of him.
He’s so hungry, it’s painful. Like his body is consuming itself just to stay alive, leaving a part of him to wonder if Maria would find this beautiful. That would be ironic but fitting of her.
“I don’t want anything from you,” Khun finally says, and his stomach twists at his answer. If it had a mind of its own, it would hiss in protest. “I’m not even hungry right now.”
Viole tilts his head just slightly, as if he’s skeptical. “You might be so hungry that you’ve lost your appetite.”
“I can go a long time without eating.” A complete and utter lie: he’s never gone even a day without it, much less three. But he thinks he can hold out longer than this and he doesn’t want to accept food from a slayer nominee of all people. Not unless he absolutely has to.
There is a pause as Viole watches him evenly enough. The grip on Khun’s hair loosens but slides down to the back of his neck, holding it firmly enough to keep him in place. Viole’s thumb rubs in smooth, slow circles along Khun’s quickening pulse. It’s… gentle, technically, but the gesture makes his breath catch.
“I really do think you should eat, Mr. Khun.” Viole’s tone is much softer than before, but it’s razor thin. The darkest it’s ever been and Khun’s skin crawls.
It isn’t a suggestion.
It’s a threat.
A polite threat, but a threat regardless and Khun isn’t sure he wants to challenge it this time. It would also probably be a mistake to prod a slayer candidate, not to mention the fact that Viole is an Irregular. But whatever Viole would do next can’t be worse than anything else he’s planning to do later.
When Khun doesn’t reply, Viole only tilts his head further. He seems more patient rather than annoyed, which is surprising. Or maybe it isn’t depending on the kind of person he is.
“Mr. Khun,” Viole begins again, this time pressing his thumb directly against Khun’s beating pulse. It’s exposing, almost making him feel a bit lightheaded. “If you don’t eat this, I’m going to have to force you. For your own good.”
“You can’t force me to eat,” Khun mutters, glaring up at him.
“I can, but it would be uncomfortable and neither of us would like it very much.”
Uncomfortable? It’s not like Viole can jam the food in his mouth and make him chew it. But a different realization dawns on him, one that fits how Viole phrased his words, and it makes his blood run cold.
“What, like a feeding tube?” Khun hisses, though Viole doesn’t seem disturbed by the thought.
“We wouldn’t have to if you ate by mouth.”
He would be forcibly drugged and sedated for something like that, and while he might be stubborn, he’s not stubborn enough to outright volunteer for the sake of it. Not to mention it’s disgusting to think about and if he can avoid it, then he would much rather eat normally.
Khun finally relents, leaning forward to take a reluctant bite out of the granola bar. It’s dry but he can’t mind the taste, not when he’s as hungry as he is. Viole must be pleased by the development, his thumb noticeably shifting right beneath the Adam’s apple this time. To make sure Khun is swallowing, probably, and that light pressure on his throat keeps him aware of his position.
When Khun finishes eating, he actually feels a bit sick. He’s still too weak to move by himself, so Viole has to lift Khun back to seat him on the bed. His stomach feels too full compared to how empty it was the last few days, even if he’s barely consumed anything at all. But he wants more, something warm with weight. A proper meal that he knows he won’t have anytime soon.
“Turn away from me,” Viole says, which makes Khun feel a bit apprehensive. He doesn’t want to pull his eyes away from Viole, so while he obeys, he keeps his head turned to watch. While he can’t see well, he hears a clicking sound behind him as the pressure around his wrists lifts.
Oh.
Khun tentatively pulls away, rolling the joint with a wince. The freedom is nice, at least for a bit. Viole doesn’t stop him, though he does approach him from the front again.
“I’m going to alternate between tying them behind you and in front of you,” Viole continues, and Khun presses his lips into a thin, firm line. He expected it would be temporary, so he allows Viole to place the cuffs back on his wrists with a snap.
However, there’s no key. Is it unfastened with shinsu? A certain concentration, or a specific kind? Maybe they’re restraints that FUG invented themselves, outside of the Workshop. He doubts he could get them off even if he tried.
“Thank you for being cooperative,” Viole tells him. Khun could scoff at that.
“You sure are polite for a slayer nominee,” he says. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you weren’t a complete monster.”
The words are just as harsh as he means them to be. But to his surprise, the corner of Viole’s mouth turns up into a faint smile of all things. Khun almost doesn’t catch it, but it’s there regardless and it’s the first tangible expression he’s seen on Viole.
“It’s good that you do know better, then.”
Those are the only words he says. Khun isn’t sure what he was expecting, but maybe he should learn to disregard expectations when trying to gauge Viole’s reactions. Still, he almost seems amused by what Khun said. Or maybe… pleased? Satisfied?
It’s so difficult to read him and Khun doesn’t know why.
Only hours later, Viole pushes him to the point where he can’t scream anymore.
It feels like there’s hands in his guts, squeezing his insides with vice-like pressure. Khun’s throat is too hoarse to cry out, and all he can do is writhe against the floor as Viole digs even deeper. Crushing him beneath the weight of shinsu, putting him in so much pain that his vision blurs and darkens.
Over, and over, and over, and over again.
This is the limit of what he can take and Viole teeters on the brink of it, not worsening or lessening the pain. It’s as if he knows Khun’s threshold and wants to push it just enough to keep him on the brink of passing out entirely.
“Where do you think Maria Jahad is right now?” Viole asks coolly, for what feels like the millionth time. The shinsu releases momentarily and Khun gasps for breath, tasting stale air.
“Screw off,” he whispers hoarsely, as it’s all he can manage to say. Viole’s expression doesn’t shift, doesn’t change, but a jarring pain suddenly bears down on Khun as it drags a sharp cry from him. This time it pushes harder and deeper, like needles sinking through every nerve in his body.
His stomach rolls with shock, and before he can stop himself, he vomits. It burns his throat, the sick taste of bile in his teeth as it dribbles from his mouth. He tries to bite back another dry heave but Viole’s shinsu only dials further: it’s in his head now, heat pooling inside as it tightens, tightens until it aches and pulses. He can’t breathe, he can’t even cry as his vision blackens entirely. But he’s still conscious, still awake and alive somehow as every fiber of his being throbs with the most pain he’s ever felt.
And Viole keeps that limit, holds it to that extent. It doesn’t push and pull, it stays chronic and agonizing as Khun chokes and spasms against the weight of shinsu. There’s tears rolling down his cheeks but he doesn’t think he’s crying, no, he thinks they were forced from exertion. Viole must be killing him slowly while keeping him as conscious as possible throughout it all.
But finally, after several minutes, it subsides completely. It leaves Khun panting against the floor, shaking so hard that he thinks he’s in shock. His blood is ice cold in his veins, sweating with chills that make him tremble. It takes a bit for his vision to properly return but he’s vaguely aware of the sour taste in his mouth. His throat doesn’t ache, it burns and Khun doesn’t know if he’ll even be able to speak.
Viole seems to know that too, because the shinsu doesn’t return. Still, he crouches down next to Khun and rolls him on his back. Khun can’t see him too well, only a dark blur above him.
“It looks like you kept the solids down,” Viole notes, wiping a bit off Khun’s cheek with his thumb. “I’m glad I waited a bit after you ate, then.”
Khun wants to say something but he doesn’t think he can. He somehow feels weaker than he did when he was starving, so when Viole lifts him off the floor, he can’t even protest. It’s a bit of an awkward position to be held bridal style by a slayer nominee—an arm under the backs of his knees, with Khun’s head resting against Viole’s shoulder—but it’s not like he has a choice.
Too close for comfort, but comfort doesn’t matter much right now.
He assumes that Viole was going to lay him back down on the bed, but it looks like he’s carrying him to… the bathroom? Khun narrows his eyes as Viole lowers him down to seat him on the edge of the sink. This place is just as white as the living area, but there’s only a toilet and a shower with no curtain.
Khun feels like shit. Worse than shit, he barely feels alive right now. He doesn’t bother struggling as his bound wrists are slid over Viole’s head for support, locking behind his neck to keep him from falling.
This is disgusting.
Depending on someone like Viole makes him sick.
“I don’t need to piss,” he murmurs, so hoarse that each word makes his throat ache.
“I know,” Viole replies. “I’m going to be bathing you.”
Khun’s heart drops straight to his gut, seething at the thought. Forcing him to drink, feeding him by hand, helping him walk and move around… those were already irritating. But this?
“Don’t touch me,” he spits, but Viole keeps his composure with ease.
“I’m not asking. I’m telling you.”
“Don’t you dare .”
“Or what? Will you fight me?”
Khun couldn’t even if he was in better shape. Just speaking the few words that he did feels like sandpaper grinding against his throat. He’s so weak and exhausted, he just wants to be left alone.
But regardless, Viole pulls him off the sink and back onto his feet. It nearly makes Khun collapse on the spot if not for his wrists around Viole’s neck, as well as a hand on his waist keeping him upright. Khun gives a disgusted noise, flinching away from Viole’s touch. He wants to say something but his throat is so rough, he can’t protest properly.
Viole reaches forward to turn the shower on, letting the water run as it heats up. The sound of it makes Khun’s heart twist, and while he tries to sink his weight back to pull away, Viole only grips him tighter.
“It won’t take long,” Viole assures him, but Khun glares daggers.
“Get your hands off me,” he rasps. It comes out worse than before and he hates himself for it, hates Viole more for making him weak enough to force this on him.
“I won’t look if you’re self conscious,” Viole offers. “I don’t mind it.”
Khun’s cheeks burn and he wishes he had the energy to spit in his face. But Viole is already undoing Khun’s shirt one button at a time, carefully slicing the sleeves with shinsu concentrated at the tip of his finger. Khun has never seen that sort of mastery before, and he would rather witness it in any situation but this one.
And when Viole hooks his thumbs in Khun’s pants to yank them down, Khun tries to squirm away again. It’s a waste of effort but he despises this more than anything, even if Viole doesn’t seem perturbed. Khun can’t bear to look as the remnants of his clothes pool at his ankles, alongside his boxers.
What’s worse is that Viole’s hands are holding his waist now, bare skin with nothing lying between them. Khun loathes being touched, but being this exposed on top of that makes his stomach roll with nausea. Never in his life did he think he was going to be stripped by a FUG member, much less a slayer nominee.
Khun can’t even look at him, at least not at first. But once Viole slides his slayer robes off his shoulders, Khun takes a glance out of the corner of his eye: it’s a tracksuit, primarily white but with a red line up the arms and around the collar. His pants are black, fit, and made of what looks like the same material. Viole probably doesn’t want to get his robes wet, which is why he’s tossing it elsewhere.
And when Viole rolls his sleeves up his arms, Khun warily notes the number of scars etched into his flesh. Maria always thought they were beautiful, at least the paler ones, but these are gruesome. They were carved with purpose, raw and disfigured and grotesque.
“I think it’s better if you sit,” Viole tells him, breaking Khun’s thoughts. “So you won’t slip, and it will be easier to wash you.”
Ah.
Khun’s lips deepen into a frown as Viole lifts his restrained wrists over his head, carefully lowering Khun to the shower floor. Viole takes the nozzle in hand and proceeds to kneel behind him, rinsing warm water over Khun’s head and shoulders. In this position, Khun curls in on himself a bit, pulling his knees to his chest as his bound arms loosely hold them close.
Even when he closes his eyes, he hates that he can’t stop himself from thinking about it. Viole’s calloused hands rub soap along his back, lathering shampoo in his hair as fingers work through the tangled locks. Some are stuck together with sweat, dirt, and grime. Others with blood from the wound on his temple. Viole cleanses the gash itself shortly afterwards, even if it stings a bit.
“Does that hurt?” Viole asks him, and Khun gives a slight shake to his head. “If it ever gets worse, tell me before it gets infected.”
It’s only a matter of time until Viole’s hands reach around from behind, scrubbing Khun’s underarms, his chest, and his abdomen. As promised, it’s mostly quick and Viole only goes over the area a few times. But there are moments when his touch lingers a little too long—where his neck meets his shoulder, where his waist meets his hips—and Khun finds himself stiffening when Viole’s touch draws closer between his legs. He presses his knees together, guarded.
“Not there,” he mutters, soft and hoarse.
Viole pauses. “I won’t look.”
“That’s not the point.”
For a moment, Khun thinks he might actually listen. But Viole’s chest presses against his back and he forces his hands between Khun’s thighs, gripping his cock. It makes Khun jump, pulling a choked noise from his lips.
“What the hell—”
“It will only take a moment,” Viole murmurs against his ear, and Khun trembles with rage and embarrassment. Especially as Viole palms his cock, giving it a few blatantly unnecessary strokes. Rolling the tip between his fingers before running his thumb along the underside of the shaft.
It makes Khun feel sick.
And even when Viole pulls away, his hand slides along Khun’s inner thigh, rolling his thumb in slow, smooth circles into his flesh. Khun glances down to see those scarred arms on either side of his waist, wet and slick with soap suds as Viole continues to clean his legs. Breath tickles the shell of Khun’s ear, lips hovering just above it.
For a wave controller, the pads of his hands are much rougher than expected. Khun’s are smooth and soft, typical of a lightbearer and someone of his background. But Khun never expected to be touched by a slayer nominee of all people. Not like this, and he thinks if anyone ever found out, he would be estranged by his family.
The same rumors about him and Maria would probably be made about him and this bastard slayer candidate. It’s the last thing he needs after fighting tooth and nail to build himself up again.
Finally, Viole rinses him off. He runs his fingers through Khun’s hair to clean any extra filth and wash away the last of the shampoo, leaving the remaining soap to slide down the drain. Viole then stands to turn the water off, pulling a towel off the rack before he crouches in front of Khun again and begins to dry him off.
Khun allows his eyes to fall shut as Viole wipes his face, behind his ears, and around his neck. His hair is still sopping wet but Viole does his best to towel-dry it before moving lower around his chest and waist. Arms, then legs, then between as much as Khun dislikes it. But it ends rather quickly, and when it’s finally over, Viole wraps the towel around Khun’s shoulders to catch any water that drips from his hair.
Khun doesn’t even want to look at him. That feeling of Viole’s hand on his cock is burned into his head. It’s sickening to remember, and somehow even worse to think about Viole’s touch on his thighs.
God dammit.
He keeps his eyes elsewhere as his wrists are lowered over Viole’s head again, pulled behind his neck. Somehow this feels even closer than before. Uncomfortably close, and when Viole places a hand on Khun’s lower back, he stiffens on instinct and straightens his posture.
“I’m going to start weighing you regularly,” Viole mentions, and Khun feels exasperated by the thought.
“Why?”
“To make sure you aren’t throwing up the food I’m giving you. I don’t want you to lose more weight than you already have.”
That might be the truth, but not the complete truth. At this point, it feels like Viole is trying to micromanage every aspect of his life. And once the realization dawns on him, Khun’s eyes narrow as his gaze slides back towards Viole.
He’s being controlling on purpose.
Lightbearers like giving orders, not taking them. Khun hates them even more when he’s subjected to such a disgusting position beneath such an irritating person. But putting him on his knees, forcing him to rely on someone else for even the most basic of tasks… there’s a point to it all. The pain Viole puts him through with shinsu control is only a single method out of the many he’s attempting to use.
If Viole is smart, which he is, he’ll keep feeding Khun just enough to keep him from dying but just too little to keep him thinking straight. The same will probably go for water, because he knows that Khun’s mind is his greatest strength. As long as Viole can add factors to bog down that ability, he’s keeping strategy in mind.
This is probably only the beginning, too. Khun can’t read him at all so he can’t go on the offensive either. He has to remain defensive and it’s too difficult to disguise certain reactions, not to mention he wonders if he should even bother if they could be obviously deduced. Nearly anyone would be embarrassed being forced to bathe in front of someone else, but there’s certain cards he needs to hold close to his chest.
Ones he can’t let slip.
“You’re such a bastard,” Khun mutters, keeping his voice soft. “Like a snake, but I guess that’s expected.”
“I’m not trying to be,” Viole replies, and Khun scoffs at that.
“It must be talent, then.”
Just like before, Viole’s lips curl into a ghost of a smile. So faded that Khun probably wouldn’t have caught it if he hadn’t seen it the first time. But it’s a bit more defined this time and Khun can feel just how cold and empty it is.
“What is it?” Khun asks, as deadpan as he can. Really, he’s curious and tentative but he won’t let it show.
“It just feels nice,” Viole says wistfully.
“What does?”
“Knowing that you see me the same way I see myself. We both know I’m a disgusting, horrible person.”
He says it so blatantly, but it still doesn’t make much sense. Not enough for Khun to fully grasp why Viole would find it so validating but he’d probably need more context. Maybe once he gains that, he’ll be able to use it in some way.
“I suppose I’ll become familiar with just how awful you are,” Khun says with contempt. “Not that I’m looking forward to it.”
Viole doesn’t respond, but there’s a look in his eyes Khun thinks he can finally read. In that very moment, he almost sees Viole’s mask slip: that civility, that politeness, as superficial as it is. Whatever it is he does to compensate, to be soft and gentle to shroud that darkness… something uglier lurks beneath. Something between angel and animal, a monster tamed under FUG.
What in the world is he?
Khun needs to know. Not just for his own curiosity, but because it might be the only way he’ll be able to escape from here. Viole is the one who stands between him and Maria, in the same way Khun is the one who stands between Maria and Viole.
Whoever gets past the other will win this, and Khun has never lost a game in his life.