“Your father sold you to me, Nathaniel,” Ichirou said, as if discussing the weather. Nathaniel felt his entire body start to shake after the initial shock wore off, and the hands on him tightened. “So, you’re not in the position to be making demands, are you?”
Nathaniel couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.
And worst of all, he didn’t know if he wanted to.
“If we’re being completely honest, I bought you from Nathan years ago. I wasn’t planning on enacting this now, but it seems Riko has forced my hand.” Nathaniel kept his mouth shut. “We’ve been relatively pleased with Nathan’s work. There’s no need to replace him, and if we do, that role will be filled by Lola Malcom—whom, I’m sure, you are very familiar with.” Ichirou paused to take a sip from his glass. “In short, your father wanted to kill you. I offered to take you off his hands for a sum of money. He agreed with no issue.”
Sick, didn’t even begin to describe how Nathaniel felt.
“There is one thing you can give me, Nathaniel: compliance.” Nathaniel wanted to detach from himself. If only he could. Nathaniel was at his core, though. “You put up a good argument; very persuasive. Better than one your father could have put forward, that is for sure.” Nathaniel didn’t miss the underlying threat in those words.
For once in his life, Nathaniel had nothing to say.
“Moreau’s contract has already been transferred to USC. We are waiting on logistics. Moreau is a long-term investment—one that you inadvertently saved from being short-term. I know that Moreau planned to take himself out of the picture after graduation. You solved that problem for me.” Nathaniel did his best to hide any shock from his face, but he was barely breathing as it was. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, but Nathaniel knew Jean planned to kill himself after graduation. He just didn’t know it was so set-in-stone that Ichirou knew about it.
“Thank you, My Lord,” Nathaniel said, barely getting them past his tight throat.
“Lucky for you, I am not Riko. I can think logically. I have no issue killing Moreau. He is a means to an end. I will be out a couple hundred million, but there are other ways to make money.” Nathaniel waited to see if Ichirou would continue. When he simply stared at Nathaniel on his knees, Nathaniel knew what to do.
“You said ‘compliance,’ My Lord?” Nathaniel asked. Ichirou raised a single eyebrow.
“Loyalty, Nathaniel. Loyalty to me. I don’t like to buy my partners. True loyalty cannot be bought,” Ichirou said. “We can have a mutual relationship. You will find, Nathaniel, that I’m a fair person.” Nathaniel didn’t want to hear what Ichirou was saying. He’d been in the mafia world for too long to not know what losing his free-will looked like. He couldn’t feel it though. Not yet. “You are mine, Nathaniel. I want you willingly. I will even help Day, in addition to Moreau.”
“You– really, My Lord?” Nathaniel asked, his breaths suddenly coming in short bursts.
“I know why you care about him. I know about your previous relationship. I know that you had an argument in mind for him, as well. Am I correct in that?” Ichirou tilted his head in a way that meant he already knew the answers. Nathaniel felt naked. It was becoming apparent that he couldn’t hide from Ichirou.
“Yes, My Lord,” he said. Ichirou just looked at him expectantly. This, if nothing else, was something Nathaniel knew how to talk about. “Lord, if I may, I would be eternally grateful if you released Kevin. He can become the best striker in the world—he will stop training for nothing. Kevin Day will get there. He will not get there if he is brought back to the Nest.” Nathaniel paused for a split second. “Riko doesn’t deserve him. Riko broke him in the first place.” Ichirou looked at him with almost a sad expression.
“You truly care about him.” It wasn’t a question, so Nathaniel didn’t answer. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes,” Nathaniel said. He almost wished he had enough self-preservation to at least hesitate. He didn’t.
“I can give you more, Nathaniel. I can give you more than any of them. I will free Kevin of his Raven contract, forever. He and Moreau will be under no obligation to the Moriyama’s until graduation.” Ichirou paused, seeming to debate something. “We might as well keep you out of Riko’s hands while we are at it. You’re no use to me broken, either.” Nathaniel felt the hands on him loosen and slip away.
He didn’t get up and run.
He didn’t have anyone to run to.
He didn’t have anywhere to run.
And he couldn’t find it in himself to care.
Part of him wondered why he felt so sick after getting exactly what he wanted. More than what he wanted. He couldn’t picture a world without Ri–
“Don’t worry about logistics. Riko and my uncle are petty, but harmless. Stupid, but powerless,” Ichirou said.
Nathaniel wanted to hide, and found that he couldn’t. It didn’t scare him like usual. He absentmindedly wondered how out of it he truly was.
“And what will you give me, Nathaniel?” he asked. He felt the hands fully leave his body.
“Loyalty. Compliance. Partnership–”
“We do not have a partnership, Wesninski. Partnerships are bought.” Nathaniel looked into the onyx eyes and almost felt free. He wanted to be free. He wasn’t—far from it—but he didn’t have the willpower to tell himself to keep fighting.
“Relationship,” Nathaniel said. Ichriou motioned for him to stand.
He knew he answered correctly.
Nathaniel got up, and took a few unsteady steps towards his Lord. He was shocked when none of his bodyguards went to interfere. Nathaniel stopped just outside of his space. Ichirou put his glass on the table next to him and brought his hands towards Nathaniel.
He flinched, involuntarily, and immediately tensed, bracing for the blow. Ichirou just stood there, waiting for Nathaniel to calm down. He didn’t fault him for it. Ichirou eventually brought his hands to rest lightly on his neck, almost feeling out the new dynamic.
Nathaniel didn’t move. He was so far out of his depths. It was weird to be near someone only a few years older than him, but infinitely more powerful. Ichirou raised his chin slightly and Nathaniel did his best not to panic. It was taking all of his effort to focus his attention on Ichirou’s near-indecipherable mask.
When nothing happened, Nathaniel swore he saw disappointment flash across Ichriou’s face. Going on instinct, Nathaniel brought one of his hands up. He felt all six bodyguards in the room tense, but Ichriou signaled them off by lightly motioning with two of his fingers.
Honestly, Nathaniel was shocked by the trust Ichirou was putting in him. He was probably stupid to think that—his mother would’ve killed him.
Nathaniel kept moving his hand, bringing it up to barely rest over Ichirou’s on his neck. When Ichirou’s mouth moved the slightest, Nathaniel pressed a little harder on his hand. The whole ordeal took at least three minutes, but Ichirou seemed pleased.
“Call me Ichirou, when it’s just us,” he said. Nathaniel knew it would take a bit before he stopped fucking shaking. “Can I call you Nate?” Nathaniel did a full-body flinch, making some of the bodyguards reach for their guns. He shook his head. Nathaniel could’ve sworn that Ichirou almost looked angry.
“I– I mean yes, My L–” Nathaniel cut himself off and took a breath. “If you’d like, Ichirou.” The name felt weird on his tongue, but Nathaniel didn’t think it would be that way for long.
Nathaniel was exhausted. Mentally, physically. His brain was trying to take in everything new, and he didn’t know what he was doing. Nathaniel had no idea. He knew, in the back of his mind, the difference between a partnership and a relationship, but he refused to see it right then. He didn’t trust himself.
Ichirou is helping, Nathaniel told himself. Over and over. He is. He is. He is. Again and again.
“Nathaniel, then,” Ichirou said. Then, without taking his eyes off Nathaniel, “Leave us.” Within a minute, the bodyguards cleared all of the tables and returned the chairs to their rightful places before leaving. Only Katsu and Ichirou remained in the room with Nathaniel.
Ichirou then stepped out of his space, and filled two whiskey glasses at the bar. Nathaniel clocked his every movement.
“I’m sure you’re confused, at the moment, but I’m told you adapt quite quickly,” Ichirou said. He sat on the couch and motioned for Nathaniel to join him. Nathaniel was overwhelmingly aware of the fact that he didn’t have a choice. Ichirou didn’t seem mad at him, though. Why not give him the benefit of the doubt?
Who in their fucking right mind would ever give the heir to the yakuza the ‘benefit of the doubt’?
Nathaniel sat down, and took the glass offered. One side glance from Ichirou had him taking his first sip relatively quickly.
“Riko,” Ichirou started, frowning slightly as if his brother's name was mere filth in his mouth, “has already caused some permanent damage to you.” Ichirou reached out, slow enough for Nathaniel to follow, and placed two fingers on his chin. He turned his head right and left, but not aggressively. Nathaniel’s brain had a hard time associating Lord Moriyama with ‘delicate,’ but that was the best word he could come up with. Ichirou looked at him like he expected a response.
“Yes,” Nathaniel said. What the fuck was he supposed to say? Oh, no, Riko just slipped and landed on my dick, occasionally with a knife. Ichirou raised an eyebrow.
God, Nathaniel didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. This was next to the last situation he thought he’d find himself in after he bartered Jean’s life, and that included a zombie apocalypse.
“Don’t censor yourself around me, Nathaniel,” Ichirou said. It was a threat, through and through. That, Nathaniel was sure of.
“Riko gets off on cutting into me, yes.” Ichirou exhaled quickly through his nose, and it took Nathaniel longer than he was willing to admit to realize it was a laugh.
What the fuck was happening.
“Clearly. Though your chest was already a lost cause from Nathan.” Ichirou sighed. “It’s a shame some people can’t recognize something beautiful. And why they would damage it is beyond me.” Nathaniel could tell he was starting to come back to himself. Anger crawled up his legs and laced across his chest. He took a stuttering breath to try, raging a losing battle against his genetics to keep his anger in.
Ichirou raised his chin a tad. He could tell, but he didn’t call him on it.
“Yes, what a shame,” Nathaniel said.
“Ease off the sarcasm, Nathaniel.”
“Yes, sir,” he said. Ichirou almost… smirked, and a look passed over his eyes that made Nathaniel feel nauseous.
“Both Riko and your father have faults, but marking you was not one of them. They simply never marked you properly,” Ichirou said. He began pulling up his sleeves and Nathaniel stopped breathing. “You’re not going to enjoy this, Nathaniel, but it needs to be done.”
Ichirou looked at him like he wanted to apologize, but knew he wasn’t in a position to. The heir to the Moriyamas didn’t apologize. Part of Nathaniel wanted to hold onto the fact that Ichirou wanted to, but he couldn’t. His mind would do anything, right then, to not be alone.
This wasn’t the company Nathaniel wanted, but it was what he expected.
“I am giving you more courtesy than I would anyone else in this situation. I am explaining so you know what is going to happen,” Ichirou said. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Nathaniel.”
Nathaniel didn’t know what the Hell he was supposed to do. His mind was beautifully, sinfully blank.
“Katsu,” Ichirou called, never taking his eyes off Nathaniel. It felt like he was inspecting a new package he got, examining it and memorizing its features. “Tie Nathaniel up.”
A dam broke in his head.
All of the emotions, all of the disgusting anger, all of the fear; it came rushing back. His mind, flying high on blood loss and adrenaline, came crashing down.
Nathaniel knew the last thing he deserved was peace.
What’s worst? Nathaniel didn’t know what Ichirou was going to do. If he just told Nathaniel what he wanted, he could figure this out. He didn’t know. He didn’t know.
“Please, Ich–” Katsu was in front of him—Nathaniel didn’t know when that happened—motioning for him to stand. Nathaniel’s instincts were lit ablaze, but his need to please won out in the end. If he did what they wanted, it would hurt less. If he didn’t move when guests were over, his father wouldn’t cut him. If he didn’t show when he was in pain, his mother wouldn’t hit him.
It never changed.
Ichirou talked while Katsu grabbed his elbow and pulled him off the couch, leading him towards a door at the end of the hall. When Nathaniel started to thrash, he felt terrified for an entirely different reason. Nathaniel knew that listening to Ichirou was his only option. He didn’t want to be resisting, but he couldn’t help his natural reaction.
“I’m sorry, Ichi–”
If you apologize, Nate, I might forgive you for disobeying.
“I know,” Ichirou said. He fought like a feral cat, but for Ichirou’s personal bodyguard, it didn’t matter. Nathaniel didn’t want Ichirou to think that he was scared of him—in some fucked up way, that was really what he didn’t want. Ichirou gave him more than he asked for. Sure, he sold his free-will, but apparently, his father and Ichirou made that trade a long time ago. He didn’t want to fight.
“Ichirou, I don’t mean to–”
“I know,” he said.
“I don’t want to fight. I don’t–”
“It’s okay, Nathaniel.”
God, was this a fucked up string of emotions.
Katsu had both of Nathaniel’s arms behind his back and shouldered the door open. Nathaniel whipped his head around, trying to understand where he was. There was a bed. A bed.
Then everything went to Hell.
“No, no. No, please don’t,” Nathaniel said. He felt tears sting at the corners of his eyes and wanted to hit himself. Ichirou stopped whatever he had been talking about (something to Katsu, likely knowing Nathaniel wasn’t coherent enough to process anything).
He looked at Nathaniel, assessing. His eyes narrowed the slightest. Nathaniel didn't need a mirror to know despair was written so plainly on his face—he could see it reflected in Ichirou’s near-black eyes.
Ichirou stared at him, motioning for Katsu to continue.
Panic enveloped Nathaniel’s mind, blocking out anything but someone forcing him towards a bed.
“Come on, Nate. You don’t want us to go back to Jean, do you? Johnson was a little more aggressive tonight than he intended to be,” Baustin purred, hands lightly running up and down the sides of Nathaniel’s arms like they were affectionate lovers. Nathaniel didn’t move.
His eyes snapped up towards the bed Jean was on (under a cliché poster of a half-naked chick on a motorcycle) and Nathaniel wondered how freeing it would be to not have anyone to care for. To not have anyone care for him. To not have to feel the nauseating anger and disgust and sorrow each time this happened.
Baustin walked closer, backing Nathaniel up until his back hit the wall.
His eyes never left Jean. It felt violating to see him like this, after what happened. Jean was sixteen and they shattered him. Nathaniel’s beautiful, brainy, bastard of a partner… they broke him. After almost eight years in the Nest, Riko found what broke him.
“Will you be good for me tonight?” Baustin asked, his mouth brushing against his ear. Nathaniel’s eyes never left Jean. “I know you will. For your precious fucking partner, if nothing else.” Nathaniel didn’t know where he was; if his legs were still attached to his body.
What he would give to not care. What he would give to not have anyone care for him.
Baustin reached down and grabbed Nathaniel’s thighs. Nathaniel took the hint and wrapped his legs around his waist. His eyes never left Jean.
“Where’s that voice of yours, Nate?” Baustin whispered.
“You’re a twisted motherfucker,” Nathaniel said, deadly quiet. “Shame your whore of a mother gave more love to strangers in bars and back-alleys than she did to you.” Baustin froze, and Nathaniel smiled as he tore his eyes away from Jean’s limp, naked body.
Baustin slammed Nathaniel’s back against the wall, his fingers digging into his hair and pulling. He grabbed Nathaniel’s arms with one hand and pinned them above his head.
Nathaniel smiled. There was at least one benefit to the paranoia he inhereted from his mother—he knew almost everything about everyone who fucked with him.
“Keep my mother out of your goddamn mouth, Wesninski,” Baustin said. Nathaniel’s smile stretched more. His father smiled when he inflicted pain, but not Nathaniel. That backfired, because Nathaniel? He smiled when pain was being inflicted on him.
Baustin opened his mouth, but a yell tore through the hallway.
“What did you do?” Nathaniel’s world tilted on its axis. He heard a crash, a choked sound. “I swear to fucking God, Riko,” Kevin said. In his entire life, Nathaniel had only heard Kevin sound like that a few times. “Now you tell me where. He. Is.”
Oh. Nathaniel suddenly understood why they weren’t in his and Jean’s room. Riko was sick of Kevin interfering.
After practice, Tetsuji asked for Jean. Riko must’ve known that was going to happen (or had asked his pathetic uncle to do it) and told Johnson and Bautsin to grab him. It didn’t take long for Nathaniel to figure out something was off—not having Jean around for over five minutes, for one.
He knew what happened to Jean would’ve happened no matter what. He had gotten over his guilt about trying to ‘stop’ the pain years ago. Even if he couldn’t prevent it… Nathaniel could still make it worse, and that was what killed his fight the most.
Another crash came from within the hallway, rattling the door to Johnson and Baustin’s room in its lock.
“That was very stupid, brother,” Riko said, his voice barely above a whisper. Nathaniel knew that voice, that tone. He unconsciously jerked, trying to move out of Baustin’s grip. His arms tightened around Nathaniel, handprints bruising their way into his wrists.
“Feisty, aren’t we,” Baustin taunted. They heard flesh connect with flesh outside the door. “Your boyfriend is here to save you. Do you want Day to join? Would it help if you could look at him while I fuck you?” Nathaniel stilled. “Or would it be better if I fucked him while you watched?”
A near growl-like sound tore out of Nathaniel's throat and he pulled on Baustin’s grip, stretching the ligaments in his wrists. Baustin wouldn’t get permission to put his hands on Kevin—Riko was far too possessive—but Nathaniel wouldn’t put it past him to try. And sometimes, Nathaniel knew, just the ‘trying’ would be enough to fuck him up forever.
There was a yell of pain outside, and Nathaniel clenched his teeth. He knew Kevin could hold his own in a fight, but Riko never played fair.
“I don’t know who the Hell you think you are, Kevin, fighting against me.” Two more hits. “You are second.”
“I kn—“ Kevin's voice cut off as a loud slap echoed through the hallway. Oh, what Nathaniel would give to kill Riko.
There were a few moments of silence.
“I know,” Kevin gritted out. Nathaniel didn’t know what position he and Riko were in, but he could guess.
“You will never be better than me,” Riko spat.
“I know.” Kevin knew how to handle Riko’s possessiveness by then, but Nathaniel wondered how blurry the line was between what he said to keep Riko placated and the truth Kevin held for himself.
“So forget about your fuck-toy. Don’t ruin your career with this. I own them, Kevin.” Another hit, another grunt of pain. “They are mine. And where are you?” Nathaniel felt disgusted.
“Below you,” Kevin said. Another slap.
“Say it again.” Nathaniel wanted to make Lola so fucking proud that people wondered if they were related.
“Below you.” Slap. Nathaniel was going to be sick.
“I know you, Kevin. Put a little more effort in and say it like you mean it.” Nathaniel heard someone spit on the ground. He assumed it was Kevin’s blood.
“I’m below you.” Kevin’s voice was starting to slur.
“That’s fucking right. See what happens when you tell the truth? You should be glad Kayleigh died, because then I got you. You were nothing without me.” Nathaniel’s heart was breaking. “You’ll never find him. And if I catch you looking for them, I’ll make sure you remember where you belong.” Riko paused. Baustin seemed satisfied to listen to Riko and Kevin’s argument for the moment, but his hold on Nathaniel never relented. “That tattoo would look nice on other parts of your body too, wouldn’t it?”
Nathaniel saw red. He ripped one hand from Baustin’s grip and swung for his face. It hit home and Baustin let him slip to the ground.
“I suggest you keep quiet,” Baustin said, getting both hands around his neck before he could reach the door. “Unless you want your fucking boyfriend to find his way in here.”
Nathaniel knew he was right. He would’ve fought harder. He was Nathan Wesninski’s son—he could’ve found his way out of Baustin’s grip, if he wanted it. If it would’ve done anything but cause damage.
Some part of him needed to fight, though. He needed to remember that his entire soul hadn’t died. Nathaniel looked at Jean as he heard Kevin try to stifle sounds of pain… and he put his hands up.
His heart kept breaking and breaking; and the only person who knew how to put it back together was doubled over in the hallway, feeling the exact same way.
What he would give to not care. What he would give to not have anyone care for him.
“That’s my boy,” Baustin said. He grabbed Nathaniel’s hand and led them towards the bed. His panic was strong, but he was running out of fight, and he had to save some for Kevin and Jean.
“Front or back?” Nathaniel asked. Baustin gestured and Nathaniel got on his back.
This, Nathaniel thought. This is what I’d give. And I’d do it over and over.
Again and again.
Nathaniel snapped back to the present once Katsu started moving towards the bed again.
“Please,” Nathaniel said “Please don’t do this to me. Please. Not– no. Please.”
You’re so stupid, Nate. You never learn.
Ichirou’s gaze stripped him bare. His head tilted a fraction to the side, studying him. His eyes tracked towards the bed Katsu was dragging them towards, and then back to Nathaniel.
Ichirou seemed to realize something. The surprise was short-lived and quickly replaced by a look of disdain, but it was there.
“Katsu,” Ichirou called him to a stop. Nathaniel almost sobbed in relief. Ichirou walked forward to stand in front of him and placed his hands on the sides of his neck. “Tsk. It seems Riko fucked you in more ways than I thought.”
He looked at Nathaniel, almost disgusted, but it took a moment for Nathaniel to realize the disgust was towards Riko, and not him.
“My brother is an idiot,” Ichirou said. He didn’t say it to Nathaniel; just a simple fact. “The couch, Katsu.”
Ichirou released Nathaniel, and he slumped against Katsu. They had a much easier time moving towards the grey couch in a small seating area next to the bed.
Nathaniel wasn’t stupid enough to think they couldn’t do the same amount of damage on a couch, but he had no fight left. If only Jean were here to finally see it.
“Marking and branding are two very different things,” Ichirou said. Katsu had Nathaniel kneel on the couch. “My family’s kamon is well-known. There is, however, a small circle in the main branch that wears our kamon. There’s less than ten of us.”
And this, of course, only applies to the mafia, Nathaniel thought. Only the fucking mafia.
Nathaniel looked at Ichirou, watching the situation unfold from somewhere above himself.
“Nathan certainly doesn’t. Katsu does,” Ichirou said. Nathaniel wanted to laugh. He was above Nathan. “It’s sacred.”
He understood what was happening.
Katsu pushed Nathaniel down so he was face-first on the couch. He didn’t struggle. Katsu grabbed Nathaniel’s hands and pulled them above his head, tying them together before looping the rope through a ring embedded in the ground. Convenient, Nathaniel thought.
Ichirou knelt beside Nathaniel’s head, who turned to look at him.
“This has to be done. Afterwards, it will be very clear who you belong to. Who you are with. People will think twice before touching you,” Ichirou said. Honestly, the thought hadn’t crossed Nathaniel’s mind. He knew Ichirou wasn’t protecting him… but Nathaniel was so, so tired.
He was so tired.
“Do you want your legs tied as well?” Ichirou asked. It didn’t sound like a threat or an insult—it sounded genuine. Nathaniel shook his head. Ichirou stood. “Luckily, Tetsuji did the bare minimum and kept your neck and shoulders relatively unscathed. Your face, too.”
Ichirou sighed and walked away. Nathaniel heard him mumble something to Katsu, before a drawer opened and closed.
“Nathaniel, bite down,” Ichirou said, putting a leather strip in front of his face. Nathaniel didn’t want to think about how he had that ‘on-hand.’
Nathaniel bit down.
“Turn,” Ichirou said. Nathaniel placed his forehead against the fabric of the couch. Ichirou pressed a hand to the back of his head to keep it in place. “Katsu.” Nathaniel jerked when he felt Katsu straddle the back of his hips. Ichirou gently ran a hand across his shoulders. “Breathe, Nathaniel. Follow my hand.”
He tried to focus on the rhythm. Ichirou’s hands were rough, but not exy rough, which helped Nathaniel more than he wanted to think about. He even felt Katsu shift so he wasn’t putting as much weight on his back.
Nathaniel matched the rhythm, inadvertently trying to show Ichirou that he was listening, and, against his better judgment, actually helping.
“Breathe in.” Nathaniel took a breath. He didn’t want to think. “Exhale quickly in two. One, and two.”
Something burning—burning—hot landed against the back of Nathaniel’s neck, right in the center. His jaw clenched down as it started to sear its way into his skin. Nathaniel bit down so hard he heard his teeth creek, and Ichriou forced his head further into the couch. Honestly, the lack of oxygen was helping.
Nathaniel could feel the iron sink millimeter by millimeter into the back of his neck. Blood beaded down his skin and gathered at the base of his chin, dripping into the couch.
“Nathaniel. Breathe in,” Ichirou said, his voice left no room for argument, cutting through the forest fire working its way through Nathanie’s head. “Exhale in two. That’s one, and two.” Katsu shifted his weight and pressed the iron deeper. A scream tore from the back of his throat, tears staining the couch along with his blood. He knew what they were doing. He knew what it took to scar—but Ichirou didn’t want this to simply scar, he wanted it to brand.
It wasn’t going to be one of those faint lines you could only see in certain lights. It wasn’t going to just be puckered flesh on the back of his neck.
It was going to become part of him—deeper than the ones his father carved, stronger than the ones Riko crafted.
This was art. A brand that was a different shade than his skin, and raised a few millimeters.
“Wesninski,” Ichirou demanded. “Breathe in.” Nathaniel tried, but he failed quite spectacularly. Ichirou didn’t speak until he pulled a stuttering breath through his lungs. “Breathe out in two. Keep biting down. One, and two.” The iron pulled off the back of his neck. The pain got worse. Nathaniel’s hands pulled on the ropes, his wrists scraping against each other. Luckily, he already had scars there, the nerve endings were pretty dull, so the pulling didn’t hurt.
A cloth was placed against the back of his neck, before a liquid was poured over it. Nathaniel didn’t last long after that. He went in and out of consciousness as Katsu worked on the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure what proper burn treatment was, but they were doing something to ensure it would scar but not get infection.
The tension in his shoulders and jaw went away at some point, though Nathaniel wasn’t sure when.
For some reason, Nathaniel knew how to deal with this.
Pain. Hurt. Ownership. Being owned. Hell, this shit was like his middle name.
The blood-loss had to catch up to him at some point, he supposed. And someone moving him from the couch proved to be just the time. The fabric pulled at his old wounds, opening up a few of the weaker ones. Nathaniel vaguely remembered Katsu picking him up, the angle causing the blood from his neck to fall into his mouth.
CH6: "Listen, Son," Said the Man With the Gun
Katsu leaned against the wall of Ichirou’s bedroom, his eyes trained on Nathaniel’s back. He watched for a few seconds, noting the consistent rise and fall of his chest, then looked away. He let his head fall against the wall. If anyone was good at staring off into fuck-all space, it was him.