Chapter Text
"Ai'Ae... He hit me. He hurt me."
Can had rushed out of the house with nothing but the clothes on his back at those words, concern for Pete and anger at Ae clouding his judgment as he followed the taller boy outside without pausing to grab his phone, wallet, or even a jacket.
Pete was crying too hard to answer any of Can's questions, so he'd walked Pete out to his car, opening the driver door for him. Pete had slumped into the seat without losing any of the gentle grace that seemed to be his hallmark. Both hands on the wheel, Pete rested his face between them, tears continuously streaking down his flushed cheeks.
Can closed the door, moving around to the passenger side, but as he reached the other door, he heard the sound of the car door locks engaging.
Confused, he stared into the window until Pete rolled it halfway down.
Pete's eyes were still red and puffy from crying, but rather than his previous expression of abject misery, his expression now held traces of fear and guilt.
"Ai'Can," Pete whispered, hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel as he gripped it for dear life. "I'm so sorry," he apologized, his dark eyes haunted.
Can's confusion deepened, but before he could ask Pete what he was talking about, another car pulled up, the headlights so bright in the darkness that Can couldn't make out the model or even the color of the vehicle.
"I never wanted this," Pete said through renewed tears, and with the last of his resolve, Pete rolled up the window and pulled off into the night.
Can's arm came up to ward off the light of the new vehicle which had stopped in front of him, and the last thought he had before someone grabbed him from behind, pressing a sickly-sweet scented cloth over his face and mouth was, 'Shit, I didn't get to eat dinner.'
When Can finally regained consciousness, he had no idea where he was.
The room was entirely unfamiliar, with dark grey walls and a bed so simultaneously luxurious and generic that it could only be a hotel room. Can's head was aching as if he'd had entirely too much to drink, but that was impossible seeing as he hadn't gone out in weeks. With his vision swimming, it was impossible for him to immediately notice certain features of the room that immediately distinguished it from a hotel room.
Things like the fact that there were no windows.
Or that the tastefully impersonal bed featured ornate metal rings embedded into the headboard and footboard.
Can wasn't on the bed; instead, he was curled up on the floor for some reason, and his shoulders were protesting against this fact with a dull ache that, while not in the same league as his pounding headache, was certainly uncomfortable enough to warrant an attempt to stand.
The sound of a chain dragging on the smooth marble floor gave him pause.
"What the hell?" Can exclaimed - or tried to. His throat was dry and sore, so his voice came out as more of a croak.
Looking down at himself, Can realized that there was a heavy metal-studded leather cuff around his left ankle, and attached to it was a thick metal chain. This chain was attached to a metal ring in the wall, and upon standing unsteadily and experimenting a bit, Can realized he was tethered with an area of mobility that was less than a square meter. Forget about reaching the door, he couldn't even reach the bed nearby.
The heel of one hand pressed into his left eye in an attempt to suppress the growing headache, while the other hand fumbled through his clothes, seeking and not finding his phone. A flash of memory reminded him that he'd left the house without it, and as he stood there, shocked, the rest of his most recent memories came flooding in.
Pete's expression of apologetic anguish.
The strong arms that'd grabbed him from behind, drugging him and knocking him unconscious.
Waking up chained to a wall in an unfamiliar room.
Realization dawned with a sickening clarity and Can swayed on his feet.
He'd been kidnapped.
Can sank to his knees, mind reeling. He thought of half a dozen unrealistic scenarios by which he could free himself, but they all called for superhuman strength, of which he was lamentably in short supply. He grew angry, realizing that he'd been tricked, but his anger wasn't at Pete, poor gullible Pete. No, Can wasn't an unreasonable guy really. He directed his anger at the person behind this ridiculous scenario.
Can wasn't afraid; or at least, not the sort of afraid that would have him screaming for help or breaking down in tears immediately. That sort of reaction was best reserved for people that didn't know exactly who was behind their predicament. Damsels in distress. Can wasn't a damsel, he was a man, damn it! And he wasn't distressed, he was fucking ticked off!
"Ai'Asshole!" he shouted, voice dry and hoarse but loud enough to wake the dead. "Let me go!"
The door opened, and as expected, Tin stepped into the room, looking as neatly-dressed and regal as ever, making Can all-too aware of his own rumpled clothes that he'd thrown on in his rush to accompany Pete.
Tin crossed the room in no hurry, his expensive loafers nearly soundless on the cold, dark marble tile as they came to a stop just beside where Can kneeled, and Tin reached down to caress the side of Can's face, tilting his chin upward until he could look directly into the expression of angry indignation directed at himself.
"Never."