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He should have known from the moment that Kyouji missed their usual turn to Karaoke Heaven that something was off.
Satomi had turned to look at him then, but Kyouji had just kept driving like nothing was wrong. Maybe he’s just taking the back way, Satomi’d thought, but when they’d started slowing down near a building he’d never seen before, in a part of town that seemed almost deserted, well… there was a part of him that wasn’t overly surprised.
Kyouji parks in the back, in an alley away from any main roads, what once was asphalt crumbled to gravel beneath the wheels.
“Where are we…?” Satomi eyes the building warily. It’s old and plain, with few signs to indicate what might be inside.
Without responding, Kyouji opens his door and gets out of the car, and seeing no other real option, Satomi shoulders his backpack and follows suit. He shuts the door behind him softly, fingers lingering on the handle as Kyouji strides forward.
“Come on,” Kyouji pauses in his footsteps, turning to gesture towards the building with his head. Satomi takes a tentative step forward, then a few more. Kyouji drops a heavy hand on his shoulder as soon as he’s close enough, avoiding his questioning eyes as he ushers him inside.
The inside isn’t faring much better than the outside, and its purpose is no more apparent. It does seem more corporate than residential — maybe an old office building? But that’s about all he gets as they begin to walk down a fluorescent-lit hallway of nearly identical doors, each a little beaten, a little faded. It seems like they’re the only people in the entire building, which does nothing to help his nerves.
“What are we doing here?” Satomi asks, only to get ignored. Again. “Kyouji-san?”
He wonders if this is another ambush, if Kyouji’ll open a door to reveal another eager mob of yakuza awaiting Satomi’s coaching.
Just as he’s shuddering at that visualization, Kyouji stops short, producing a key and unlocking the door in front of them.
Despite the bare, commercial feel of the rest of the building, the room is set up sort of like a living room. Only the decor is dusty and out of date, with smudged, dirty windows that only let a muted version of daylight through. There’s a TV sitting opposite a faded couch, black and bulky, with some other old-looking tech stuff hooked up to it. It reminds him a little of the equipment the film club uses.
“Is this where you live?” Satomi asks, feeling a pang of sympathy despite everything. If this represents a typical yakuza’s apartment, maybe it’s no wonder they act the way they do.
Kyouji laughs. “Of course not.”
“Then…”
Kyouji, hand still firm on his shoulder, only urges him further inside.
He guides him toward another doorway toward the back, opening to what resembles a bedroom, with a double bed against the back wall taking up most of the space. It’s windowless, and otherwise almost completely bare save for a couple of wooden chairs. On one of them lies a folded length of long, red rope.
Out of all the strange things about this place, this room feels the most unnatural of all. Satomi stops short in the doorway, but Kyouji doesn’t, his heels skidding against the floor a little as he’s pushed forward.
“Kyou—” Satomi starts, but in a flash, Kyouji grabs both of his shoulders, turning him around and pressing his knees back against the seat of the empty chair until he sits on instinct. He plucks Satomi’s backpack from his shoulders, tossing it aside carelessly, then turning to the other chair. His first thought is that he’s going to sit next to him, but Kyouji just picks up the rope, dropping coils of it onto the floor as he turns back to face Satomi, a length held taught between his hands.
He’s already looped it around his torso a few times before Satomi thinks to struggle.
“Wh-What are you doing!?”
“Hold still for me for a second, alright?”
Kyouji grips his upper arm as he tries to jerk away, so Satomi tries leaning back, tries pushing the chair out from under him, but the grip only gets stronger. Painfully so, enough to draw out a little whimper.
“Stop it—”
Satomi’s voice comes out as hardly more than a squeak, and then there’s another band of red cord pressing into his school uniform. He opens his mouth for further protest, but it’s like his throat has closed up, and he finds himself unable to make another sound as he squirms again, grasping futilely at Kyouji’s sleeve.
From there it’s easy enough for Kyouji to sidle behind him, pulling both of Satomi’s wrists together. Those get wrapped up, too, and by the time Kyouji moves onto his ankles, Satomi isn’t capable of much more than a few feeble wriggles. In the end, he can only watch numbly as Kyouji knots the rope between them again, and again, and again.
“There. All done.” Kyouji stands, surveying his work. Satomi’s eyes follow him, lips parting soundlessly, barely comprehending what just happened.
“K-Kyouji-san,” he eventually manages. “Why…?”
“Well… Because I’m kidnapping you,” he answers brightly.
“What?”
A raw sense of betrayal burrows straight into his gut. He’d been scared of Kyouji at first — still is, to some extent — but he never seriously thought he’d go this far. Even the first time they’d met, when he’d snatched him away from his teachers and peers, Kyouji hadn’t lied about his intentions. They’d ended up at the karaoke place just like he’d said.
“You…but we…you can’t,” he finishes miserably. Tears start to well up in his eyes, Satomi shaking his head in an attempt to hide them.
“Actually, you made it pretty easy.” Kyouji laughs that horrible, booming laugh of his.
Satomi tries rocking his body as violently as he can, but only succeeds in scooting the chair legs a teeny bit. Again, and this time the legs lift for a second, putting him in danger of tipping over.
“Careful,” Kyouji says, putting a stabilizing hand on the back of the chair, as if rubbing it in.
That’s when it really sinks in: he’s helpless here, at the mercy of Kyouji’s bizarre whims. Satomi shies away from the body looming over him, curling into himself instinctively, and the tears stinging at his eyes blossom into a full, biting sob.
“Hey,” Kyouji says, smile fading as he crouches down next to him. “It’s not that bad, is it? I tried not to make it too tight…”
Satomi’s too busy dealing with the tension squeezing his chest, the gasping bids for air to pay much attention to what Kyouji’s saying. He should have quit for real after the group lesson — no, he never should have let Kyouji take him to karaoke in the first place on that rainy summer day.
“Satomi-kun, it’s OK. We’re just sitting here talking. You’re alright.”
Kyouji rubs a hand between Satomi’s shoulders, shushing him. It’s embarrassing, he knows, to cry like this, especially in front of Kyouji, but he can’t help it. This is too much. Too scary. He tries to hold it in, but it just turns the sobs strained, hiccuping.
“Wait one sec.”
He pats Satomi on the back twice, stands, and leaves the room. Kyouji’s absence sends another momentary surge of panic through Satomi, but fortunately he comes back quickly, kneeling down to his level again and offering him something. A juice box.
“Here,” Kyouji says, puncturing the top with the straw and pushing it against Satomi’s lips. He takes it in his mouth almost without thinking. Orange juice. As he sips it down, the little interrupting gasps start to taper off. By the time he’s finished, he’s able to take a few stabilizing breaths — in, out — settling into only the occasional sniffle.
“There? See. You’re fine.” Kyouji’s back to smiling again, wiping just a little too roughly at the wetness on Satomi’s face with a thumb.
“Can you—” Satomi swallows, voice a little scratchy. “Can you untie me now?”
“But Satomi-kun, I just finished. It was a lot of work with you wiggling around the whole time, too. I get why you’re supposed to knock them out first, haha.”
It’s clear that he needs to convince him somehow. It’s just, he doesn’t really know why anyone would kidnap someone in the first place, except what he’s seen in movies. And even that knowledge is pretty limited.
“…Are you going to kill me?”
“What?” Kyouji barks a laugh of surprise, brows coming together even as he maintains an awkward smile. “Of course not.”
“Then… you want a ransom, I guess?”
Kyouji laughs again, more honestly.
“I don’t think that would be worth it even if your family liquidated all their assets.”
Satomi racks his brain for another reason, but nothing makes sense. If Kyouji wanted extra singing lessons, he would have taken him to the karaoke place. If he just wanted to hang out…well, he didn’t have to tie him up for that.
Satomi’s starting to think this is all some kind of stupid joke, anger slowly replacing his fear. But then, he’s still in this strange, dingy place, still tied up. Every time he thinks about it, every time he moves and feels nothing but the chafing of a rope, it feels impossible to breath.
“I want to go home,” he manages, but Kyouji just looks at him sympathetically.
“Sorry, Satomi-kun, but it’s not that easy.”
“Then, what do I have to do?” He can’t just keep him here forever. They both have obligations. Karaoke contests, choir festivals.
Kyouji tilts his head.
“What if I wanted you to do something bad?”
“Like what?”
There’s still that little smile on Kyouji’s lips, but something about his expression is blank, unreadable.
“Well…What if I wanted to give you drugs?”
“But your group doesn’t allow drugs.”
“That’s right.”
It’s annoying enough on a normal day when Kyouji gets like this, refusing to give him a straight answer. Satomi twists petulantly in his seat.
“Just tell me—”
And right then, his stomach growls, loud and obvious.
“Are you hungry?” Kyouji asks, not missing a beat.
Satomi hesitates for a moment, then nods. No use lying. And he’s never known Kyouji to deny him food — that would be truly out of character.
“What do you want? I’ll go grab it.”
“Can’t we go pick it up together?”
“How about fried rice? Just keep it simple.”
Satomi frowns. Considering how much Kyouji has been listening to him today, he doubts whatever he argues here is going to do anything. It’ll just delay food from getting to his stomach. He doesn’t see much of a choice except to sigh and nod reluctantly along.
“Alright…”
“Great,” Kyouji says, taking a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and folding it diagonally a few times to form a thin strap of cloth. Satomi stares, unsure of what he’s doing, only snapping out of it once the fabric brushes against his lips.
“W-Wait, don’t!” He turns his head away in protest, trying desperately to avoid it, though there’s nowhere to go.
“Sorry, Satomi-kun, but you can actually yell pretty loud, you know? It’d be bad if someone heard you…”
Kyouji goes in with the cloth again, Satomi tasting dry cotton in his mouth, the frantic noise he makes muffled by strong hands pulling the fabric taut. It only takes a moment for Kyouji to tighten it behind Satomi’s head and knot it.
He backs off then, looking down at his work. Satomi tries to protest, but all that comes out is an impotent little noise of frustration. Kyouji pats his head.
“It’ll only be a few minutes, promise. Just hang in there.”
He turns from him, taking a step towards the door. The idea of being trapped here, unable to move, unable to speak, just waiting for Kyouji to get back…his heart starts pounding to an uncontrolled pace, breaths coming fast and sharp through his nose.
Just as Satomi feels like he might hyperventilate, there it is: a hesitation. Kyouji pauses, looks back, then crosses over to him again. He reaches behind his head, and soon the makeshift gag is pulled out of his mouth.
Satomi coughs, struggling to catch his breath. He hadn’t noticed, but he’s crying again, a few fat tears spilling helplessly down his cheeks.
“Hey, it’s alright. C’mon.”
The cloth hanging limp in one hand, he begins lightly stroking Satomi’s hair over and over with the other in a soothing gesture. It should probably make him feel like a pet cat or something, but honestly? The gentle pressure on his scalp really does calm him down a little. Once he’s more-or-less regained himself, Kyouji lets his palm sit heavy on the top of Satomi’s head.
“Can you just stay quiet for a little while, then? I won’t be gone long. Then we’ll have dinner together.”
“…OK.” There’s something about the idea that lends a sense of normality to things, even though Satomi is aware he shouldn’t be feeling that way at all.
Kyouji smiles down at him, then pulls his hand away, turning toward the door.
“See you soon.”
Satomi waits until he thinks Kyouji must be far away to consider screaming. Maybe it would attract a concerned citizen, but maybe it would also attract more of Kyouji’s yakuza friends. And worst of all, what if he times it wrong, what if Kyouji hears him? What if he tries to shove his handkerchief in his mouth again?
What if it finally does his voice in, and he can’t sing a single note at the choir festival?
He opens his mouth anyway, but the sound he manages isn’t even enough to fill the room, much less alert a neighbor. It’s just that every time he tries, he imagines what Kyouji’s expression would be if he walked in on him. Disappointed, maybe, that he broke his promise, or maybe angry, though he doesn’t really know how that would look.
And so, he settles for twisting around in his bindings, picking at the strands of rope he can reach with his fingernails.
His backpack is on the floor nearby. Maybe he could knock the chair over, scoot himself over and dig through it for his phone. And then try to call…who? His mom? The police?
He knows, though, that if he ever wants to see Kyouji again, that’s the one thing he can never do.
In the end, he’s left hesitating, every minute crawling by without a clock to measure the time. His mind wanders back to the same questions. What Kyouji could mean by this, why he felt like he had to tie him up. When, or if, he was planning to let him go. And that newly planted seed of hurt, of bewilderment.
By the time he hears Kyouji unlocking the outer door, though, he regrets not giving the screaming another shot.
“I’m back,” Kyouji announces cheerfully as he enters the room, raising a couple big bags of takeout at him. “Fried rice! And a few other things, too.”
He kneels down beside the chair, laying out an array of containers on the floor in front of him. Satomi’s not 100% sure what all of them are, but it’s clear there’s more than two people could or should finish on their own.
He pulls against the restraints once again.
“Can you untie me now? So I can eat?”
“No need.” Kyouji shakes his head, opening the container of fried rice and lifting a spoonful up to Satomi. “Say ‘ahhh.’”
Satomi keeps his mouth closed, even when Kyouji starts to press the spoon against his lips. This is stupid. He’s not a baby. And yet, his stomach is growling again, and it does smell really good…
He caves probably too easily, but the warm, delicious food distracts him from it soon enough.
Kyouji watches him, looking satisfied, promptly offering another bite each time Satomi finishes swallowing.
“How is it?”
There’s something about his expression that’s a little too intent. Like he’s enjoying watching just as much as Satomi’s enjoying the food.
“…It’s OK.”
“Really? It’s supposed to be one of the best places around here.” Kyouji scoops up another bite, but instead of giving it to Satomi, he pops it in his own mouth.
Ew.
“Tastes pretty good to me,” Kyouji says, offering him another spoonful.
“Um…” Satomi looks down at it, then back to Kyouji’s face.
“What?” Kyouji blinks at him almost innocently, before following Satomi’s gaze. “Oh. It’s fine. I’m not sick or anything.”
He wants to ask him to go rinse it off, but then again, Kyouji’d probably just ignore him. A different tack, then.
“Can I try something else?”
He surveys the rest of the dishes. There’s one that looks like fried chicken, some kind of vegetable, gyoza…
“Sure. Which first?”
Kyouji proceeds to let him sample each one in turn, sneaking a bite for himself here and there. It’s a little less gross when he’s using chopsticks, though.
They get through more than Satomi had expected by the time he has to refuse the next bite, full.
“At least your appetite’s still healthy, huh?” Kyouji says in his old man-ish way, tidying up the leftovers before leaving to dispose of them.
It’s definitely easier to think with a full stomach, though Satomi still hasn’t come up with a solid plan for escape. He has to get Kyouji to relent — that much is clear. It’s just a matter of finding the right words.
“Kyouji-san,” he says as the man walks back through the door. “What do I have to do to get you to untie me?”
“You haven’t given up on that yet?”
Satomi grimaces. So much for the direct approach.
“It’s uncomfortable…” he mumbles, that renewed confidence crumbling almost instantly.
Kyouji doesn’t respond as he sits back down on the floor at his side. Then, to Satomi’s surprise, Kyouji leans his head on his lap, heavy, solid.
He gives him a minute or two to do something else, say something else, but he seems content just where he’s at.
“Kyouji-san,” Satomi says.
“Mm?”
“Are we just going to sit here all night?”
“Hmm,” Kyouji yawns. “Maybe.” He nuzzles his head into Satomi’s lap, an arm looping under the chair and hand coming to rest on Satomi’s pant leg like he’s some oversized teddy bear.
“Don’t just fall asleep.” The food had temporarily placated him, but if Kyouji thinks he can get comfy while Satomi’s legs have been cramping up for hours…
“I won’t.” Kyouji’s hand rubs lightly up and down his shin, catching at the bottom of his pant leg once or twice, pulling it up to trail fingers across his bare skin. It feels a little weird, but there’s not much Satomi can do about it.
They stay that way for a while, in silence, until Satomi’s the one starting to get drowsy. His chin droops, and he blinks in an attempt to summon back some awareness.
“Sleepy?” Kyouji peers up at him at an angle, gaze flicking from him towards the bed behind them.
“Not really…” The last thing he needs is to prolong this by Kyouji thinking he needs a nap, or something.
Kyouji gives a little hum as a response, cheek rubbing back against the fabric of Satomi’s pants.
“It’s been kind of nice having so much time together, right? Maybe we could just stay here for a while. You and me.”
“…Tied to a chair?”
Kyouji lets out a laugh, though it’s a small thing compared to his usual one.
“If you wanted to stay, you wouldn’t have to be. Right?”
“Who would want to stay here?”
It sounds a little childish, a little whiny, but if Kyouji had thought he’d needed to tie him up to keep him here, well, isn’t the answer obvious?
“Yeah,” is Kyouji’s noncommittal reply. The silence returns, but this time it feels a little awkward.
It makes no sense, he makes no sense, and once again Satomi’s feelings on the man veer towards “hate.” Only, he knows once he’s home again, alone with his thoughts, he’ll somehow forget that feeling. And when Kyouji texts, he’ll find himself answering despite it all.
“But I guess…if you want to stay for a little while longer, then…I can stay, too,” he says, hesitant, feeling his cheeks warm with a flush. He must be just as crazy as Kyouji.
Kyouji turns his head, looks up at him with an indecipherable expression. Then he stands, the weight finally lifted.
“Um, so, could you…”
Satomi stiffens as Kyouji looms over him. He’s so huge up close, all-encompassing — he’s all Satomi can see as he brings his face down to Satomi’s level.
There’s something embarrassing about him being so close, close enough to feel Kyouji’s breath on his cheek. Satomi’s instinct is to turn his head, but fingers lightly pinching his jaw prevent him from creating any distance.
“Kyouji...?” he begins, but before he can say more, Kyouji’s lips brush against his. It’s a dry but warm feeling. Then there’s light suction, Satomi’s lips parting with a teeny noise, then there’s the bizarre sensation of Kyouji’s tongue tracing his lower lip. Just for a moment, it slips in Satomi’s mouth.
And then it’s gone. Kyouji fetches something from an inner coat pocket, and though Satomi doesn’t get a good look, he hears the shick of what must be a knife as Kyouji reaches around him. Soon enough the ropes fall away, and he can finally move his arms in front of him again.
He flexes each hand, but before he can use them to untangle himself from the rest of the rope, Kyouji takes him gently by each wrist.
“They’re all chafed… you shouldn’t have moved around so much.”
Kyouji’s fingers feel cool against the heated, irritated skin.
“What was I supposed to do…?” Satomi grumbles, not attempting to pull away.
Kyouji smiles, though it seems brittle, painted on. “Sorry, Satomi-kun.”
He trails Kyouji back through the two strange rooms, back through the hallway, back to the abandoned-looking alley. It’s nighttime, now. Kyouji opens the passenger door for him, and finally hands him his backpack.
There’s a surreal quality to the drive back, simply because it’s so normal. If not for the marks on his wrists, the lingering stiffness in his joints, he could almost fool himself into believing what happened had been just another daydream during Kyouji’s 8th rendition of Crimson.
Still, he should probably let his mom know he’s heading back. Only, after a quick search, his phone doesn’t seem to be in his backpack after all. He glances over at Kyouji.
“My phone’s missing.”
“Sorry, almost forgot.” Kyouji fishes it out of a pocket, offering it over without taking his eyes off the road.
Satomi expects that even his own fairly permissive mother would have reached out at some point. And she had. After a message exchange convincing enough that Satomi momentarily wonders if he’d only forgot that he’d sent it.
I went to a friend’s house to study.
Don’t be out too late! 🌞
I’ll be back before 9.
Satomi glances up at the clock on the dash. It’s 8:38.
They roll to a stop at the usual spot a block or two away from Satomi’s apartment. There’s a beat of silence where Satomi would usually pick up his backpack, open the door, make a plan for next time, but today he can’t stop staring at Kyouji’s profile, half-lit by the streetlights.
“Good luck at the festival. I’m sure you’ll do great.” Kyouji remains staring straight ahead, hands resting lightly on the wheel.
“Kyouji-san.”
“Hm?”
There’s a lot of ways he could phrase it, a lot of things he’d like to ask. Instead, he only manages a single word.
“…Why?”
Kyouji tilts his head to the right, further away from him. Satomi can catch a bit of his expression reflected in the window.
“Even if you hadn’t gotten into my car yourself, it wouldn’t have been hard to pull you inside. You’re really small and light, almost anyone could just pick you right up. That space alien the other day was about two seconds away from dragging you into his van, you know. You need to kick and scream if an adult tries to take you somewhere.”
Satomi’s mind wanders back to when he’d basically done as much to take him to that horrible group singing lesson. Maybe he did have a point, but...
“I know all that already.”
“You got in today without even asking where we were going, though.”
“That’s not a good reason.”
Kyouji taps his finger on the wheel a few times, pausing.
“Well, maybe it’s because I just like Satomi-kun too much.” A beat. “Just kidding.”
He’s not even that mad about what happened anymore, even though he should be. Even though he knows he should run as far as he can before Kyouji decides to start up the car and take him somewhere even weirder. And there’s still something he hasn’t asked about, something he hasn’t quite worked up the nerve to verbalize.
“Is that why you…?”
“You should head inside before your mom starts to worry,” Kyouji interrupts, and then goes quiet. He feels so impossibly far away now, like the console separating them is a vast, growing ocean. He’s going away; he’ll be gone soon, and there’s no more excuses.
It always ends up like this. Even though Kyouji is always the one at fault, even though he mostly just makes Satomi suffer. Somehow, Satomi’s the one left feeling guilty. It’s just the thought that tonight’s idiotic events might turn out to be the last few hours they ever spend together is almost too much to bear.
“Kyouji-san.”
Satomi puts his fingers on the door latch, pulls.
“Send me a picture of whatever tattoo you end up getting.”
There. Kyouji looks at him, his lips part slightly as if to protest, but then, finally, a small smile.
“OK.”
Satomi lets himself out without another word, beginning the short walk back to his family’s apartment, and wills himself not to look back.