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Hitoshi watches the auction from the rafters at the back of the room. He hates being here for bidding, but they like to keep him on site in case whatever drugs they’re using wear off, so he has no choice but to be here. There’s no sign of the dark-haired boy escaping any time soon as another shiver wracks his body. Shindou. His name is Shindou You.
The drugged, half-naked boy sways on his feet as he’s led around the small platform for everyone to see. Occasionally he seems to get lost in whatever drug-induced thought is flitting through his mind and Shouta will have to yank on his leash to get him stumbling forward again. His wrists are cuffed in front of him, as much to control his movements as to control his quirk.
Shindo’s eyes are glassy and unfocused, staring unseeing as they wash over the small crowd around him any time they stop walking. As unseeing as the boy’s eyes are, Shouta’s are sharp and watchful. The man watches the crowd around him like a hawk, prepared to put any number of villains in their place, or make a quick escape should an errant hero stumble on their auction.
The man’s eyes spot Hitoshi’s every move, finding him each time he wanders to a new section of the rafters and pinning him under an expectant gaze. Behave yourself, Hitoshi. He doesn’t need to be reminded. Shouta’s owned him long enough that he knows exactly what misbehavior gets him. Do I have to get the muzzle again? He shivers at the memory of hard metal being forced between his teeth and stiff leather biting into the skin of his cheeks.
A loud gong sounds, signaling the end of the bidding and Hitoshi’s forced to shake the memory from his head and head down from the rafters. There’s a small round of applause and a woman he doesn’t recognize is being congratulated. Maybe it’s callous, but Hitoshi doesn’t care. He can’t care. If he cares about one of them, then he’ll have to care about all of them. And he fears that if he does that, he’ll lose his mind.
Shouta meets him in a hallway below. He can hear the other people milling about in the main room and he’s grateful that he doesn’t have to interact with any of them. They make his skin crawl, and he knows that he can’t afford to insult anyone right now.
“You were fidgety tonight, Hitoshi.” His owner’s hand settles on his waist as they walk, his thumb idly stroking the boy’s soft, pale skin.
Hitoshi shrugs, not raising his gaze from the floor as they walk. “I’m just tired today.”
Shouta stops, grabbing Hitoshi’s arm and gently turning him. His thin lips are curved into a small smile as he touches Hitoshi’s cheek. The man’s hands are warm, deceivingly gentle as he cups the boy’s face and presses small kisses to his lips. Those small kisses turn demanding, Shouta’s tongue pushing into the boy’s mouth and Hitoshi knows better than to fight.
The kiss is interrupted by the door nearest them being opened and Hitoshi begrudgingly follows Shouta into Nemuri’s office. Fumikage closes the door behind them before taking his seat on the floor next to her. Her fingers cards softly though the boy’s dark hair, and even though she’s addressing Hitoshi, her eyes are on Shouta.
“That boy was a good find today. He was perfect for tonight’s auction.” She opens the drawer of her desk and slides an envelope towards Shouta. “Your finder’s fee.”
Fumikage’s eyes are focused on the floor in front of him, but Hitoshi can imagine the hatred those red eyes hold for him. He had been another one of Hitoshi’s good finds and he still remembers the last words he’d said to Fumikage before he’d pulled him under his quirk.
Shouta’s arm nudges his side, and he finally raises his eyes to meet Nemuri’s gaze. “Don’t mind him, Nemuri. He’s a bit tired today.”
Hitoshi bows low. “Apologies, Kayama.”
She gives a haughty, noncommittal hum before holding out a paper to him. “It’s alright, Hitoshi. We all have off days. Now, I need you to find something a bit more specific for me. I have a client with a list of attributes that he’s looking for. Very specific and a tight turnaround time. You’ll only have 48 hours, or he’ll find someone else to procure what he wants.”
Hitoshi takes the list and looks it over before pocketing it. He’ll have it memorized by tonight and in the morning, he’ll be on the hunt for what she wants. He stands quietly while Shouta and her converse, and he’s grateful that it isn’t much longer before they’re excused and he’s dealing with the long car ride back to Shouta’s apartment. They’ve barely made it through the door when Shouta’s hands are rucking up his shirt, calloused fingers pinching harshly at his nipples as he’s backed towards their bedroom.
He knows better than to fight. He lets the older man strip him down, hand roughly tugging at his cock, trying to get him hard before he’s shoved onto the bed. The pillow beneath his face smells like lavender and he focuses on the scent as he’s hurriedly worked open – just enough lube to take the edge off the burn and stretch as Shouta’s thick cock presses into him.
His pained whimpers are drowned out by Shouta’s loud grunts and praises of good boy. He lays as still as he can as the air is punched out of his lungs with each brutal thrust. He focuses on the pain and lets it ground him in the moment. It’s cathartic in a way; he’s getting what he deserves for what he’s done, for all those other kids he’s brought this on…
His owner grunts awful, dirty things in his ear, telling him how tight he is, what a slut he is, and how much he must enjoy this. Shouta never lasts long so Hitoshi just grits his teeth through the pain and humiliation until the man has finished and warm cum is dripping down his thighs.
Finally sated, Shouta collapses onto the bed next to him, and falls asleep with his arm draped over Hitoshi’s back. He moves slowly, silently inching his way out from under the man’s arm until he can limp off towards the bathroom.
He stands under the hot water, watching as the cum drips down his legs and into the drain. The sight of it makes him sick, and he has to remind himself over and over again that it could be so much worse. He thinks about Fumikage and Shindou. He thinks every single one of the boys and girls that he’d condemned to this same fate. He doesn’t bother to get dressed, before slipping back into bed. Shouta grumbles, half-asleep, and pulls the boy closer, pressing kisses to his hair and Hitoshi finally lets himself drift off to sleep.
In the morning he sits through Shouta’s lecture and reads through his list once more before setting out onto the streets of Mustafu. Hitoshi spends the morning wandering about the mall and local arcades, looking for kids who match his list. Kids who skip school are generally more vulnerable, easier for him to nab, but no one matches his list well enough. Whoever this client is, he’s very specific and Hitoshi already knows that it’s going to be a hard matchup.
He uses what little money he’s given to grab lunch and then sets back out afterwards, this time patrolling the skateparks until school lets out. He’s almost given up when a small boy with unruly green hair passes by him.
“Izuku!”
A small squeal rings in Hitoshi’s ears and he pauses at the corner to watch the interaction. The boy who’d just passed him picks up a small girl with silver hair and spins her around before setting her back down. He follows the duo, watching them from a safe distance, sometimes hiding in a tree just to scope them out without being seen. The girl is tiny, maybe six or seven – younger than anyone he’s taken before. She matches his list to the letter, and the boy with her won’t be a problem for him, but Hitoshi can’t make his feet move.
In his hesitation they get too far away, and he watches helplessly as they join up with two older boys, a shy-looking dark-haired one that wouldn’t be a problem for him and muscular blond that would. Hitoshi walks away frustrated, hoping that patrolling around in the evening will help him find someone just as suitable. He stays out late, much later than normal before finally giving up and going back to the apartment.
Shouta isn’t smiling when he sees Hitoshi return empty-handed. “Couldn’t find what you were looking for?”
For a brief moment, he’s tempted to lie, and then his hand flinches. He flexes it, trying to get rid of the phantom pain radiating through the small bones from the memory of the last time he’d lied. “I did.”
“So where are they?” Shouta closes the space between them, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. Hitoshi swears he can feel the disappointment and anger radiating off him, even though his expression remains impassive.
“I couldn’t do it.” Hitoshi hangs his head and waits for his punishment, for the pain, but it never comes.
Shouta just stares at him with that same disappointed look before shrugging his shoulders and turning away from him. “You can go visit your uncle Hizashi tonight. Don’t come back until tomorrow.”
“Please don’t make me go.” His voice is small and weak as he wraps his arms around himself. It feels like his stomach has dropped through the floor and he hates the way his hands start to tremble. He knows his pleas are likely to fall on deaf ears – Shouta’s never been much for showing mercy, but he has to try. “Please.”
Shouta walks away from him, and Hitoshi knows that he’d better be gone before the man returns. The night air feels colder than it had before. Even so, he walks slowly, knowing that he can’t stall forever and yet, still stalling. His sneakers drag along the cement of the sidewalks as he turns down side streets and alleys without needing to look. Years of punishments have taught him the way and before he’s ready he finds himself standing in front of Hizashi’s house.
Hitoshi hesitates, shifting from foot to foot, nervously, knowing that Shouta has likely already called ahead of him and that he’s delaying the inevitable. When he knocks on the door, it isn’t Hizashi that lets him in, but Neito.
“Hey, Toshi…” Neito’s eyes are glassy, his smile dopey as he wraps his arms around Hitoshi’s shoulders and practically knocks him over. “I ‘aven’t seen you ‘round for a bit.”
Neito’s words are slurred, and he sways lightly in Hitoshi’s arms. He’s skinnier than Hitoshi remembers, and his cheeks are sallower. He stiffens under the blond’s awkward embrace but doesn’t push him away. He’s here because of me.
It hurts him to remember the wisp of a boy he’d lured off. How cocky and coy he was. How he was so quick witted and had a comeback for everything. Hitoshi can still see that smug smile of his when he’d beaten him at the chess table in the park – as if he’d always known he would win, even without knowing his opponent. He’d been so vibrant and full of life and yet, he’d broken so quickly.
Shouta.
Hizashi.
It was hard not to break under them. Where Shouta had used force and threats on him, Hizashi had used drugs and pretty words on Neito. He tells himself that maybe Neito could have fought against the force and threats – could have maintained some small piece of who he was, but the drugs had taken almost everything from him…
“Nei–to!” Hizashi’s loud voice rings across the apartment, startling the boy out of whatever revelry had been playing inside his head.
Neito takes Hitoshi’s hand and leads him further into the house. Hizashi is standing in the living area. His long blond hair is tied back into a low bun, and his grin is wide as he opens his arms and welcomes Hitoshi into his home.
“Hello, Uncle.” Hitoshi walks willingly into the man’s embrace. He knows better than to make a scene in front of Neito.
“It’s been so long since you came to visit me, Toshi.” Long arms wrap around him and soft lips brush against his cheek. “Shou tells me you’ve been bad.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
Hizashi pulls away to run his thumb over Neito’s soft lips. “Be a good boy and lie down. Hitoshi and I need to have a discussion.”
Neito does as he’s told, laying down on the couch and pulling a thick blanket down on top of him. Hizashi slips something in his mouth and then kisses his forehead before leading Hitoshi to the cellar door. It’s the only room in the house that Hitoshi knows by heart.
Twelve steps down. Light switch just to the left of the landing. Once the overhead light is turned on, he’ll see the discarded mattress along the far wall. Hizashi’s tools are hanging along the west wall. In the center of the floor lies a heavy-duty bolt and above that, heavy chains dangling from the ceiling.
Hitoshi doesn’t need to be told to undress. Even though his hands shake, he still strips himself of his clothes and stands with his feet on either side of the bolt.
Hizashi chuckles darkly behind him, dragging a hand along his back before reaching overhead and securing Hitoshi’s wrists above him. “I remember when I had to drug you to get you in these chains.”
Fighting never did me any good. He doesn’t say it, but he wants to. Part of him still wants to snark, to take what little control he can, but his body remembers the pain. He knows how cruel Hizashi can be when he wants to be. With his arms stretched high above him, he’s forced to stand on his toes while Hizashi chains his ankles. Long fingers trail up the back of his legs, over the swell of his ass and around to cup his jaw. Hitoshi knows what’s coming and this time he can’t help himself. “Please. I won’t. I swear.”
“Oh, shh, shh, shh.” Hizashi’s fingers curl gently in purple hair before pulling Hitoshi’s head back. “You know the rules.”
Hitoshi’s body trembles but still, he forces his mouth open. You ever use that quirk on me, and I’ll have your mouth sewn shut. He struggles to hold his mouth open while Hizashi secures the muzzle around the back of his head. The taste of metal and silicone floods his mouth and that’s when his composure cracks. He knows he’s helpless, but having his voice taken away drives it home and he panics. He whines and cries, pulling on the chains, but it doesn’t deter Hizashi.
The first swing of the cane across his back has him groaning and pulling on the restraints. By the tenth, tears are streaming down his face. Hizashi alternates: back, thigh, buttocks, repeat – striking each area twice before moving until Hitoshi’s entire backside is a mass of bruises and bloody wounds. Only when Hitoshi’s body is limp, his entire weight dangling from his cuffed wrists does Hizashi unchain him. His body crumples to the ground, his arms so numb and sore that he barely gets them under him in time to avoid smashing his face against the concrete floor.
Hizashi yanks him back onto his hands and knees and runs his fingers through the rivulets of blood oozing down Hitoshi’s sides. He digs his fingers into fresh bruises just to listen to Hitoshi groan beneath him before spreading his ass wide.
Hitoshi’s breathing grows rapid, his body preparing for the pain that he knows is coming. He cries out at the stretch and burn as Hizashi pushes inside him, burying the entire length of his cock in one quick, brutal thrust.
“Fuck! You’re always so tight, Toshi.” Hizashi’s grip on his hips is firm, almost bruising as he holds the boy still and slowly pulls out.
The slick slide along his insides lets Hitoshi know that he’s bleeding. It’s a small thought that gets swallowed up in the feeling of Hizashi’s piercings each catching on his rim before they pop out. He can count them, just like the steps down into the cellar. Six. It’s the only reprieve he gets before Hizashi fucks into him. The man’s thrusts are brutal, his balls slapping against Hitoshi’s with each snap of his hips. He chases his pleasure with fingers gripping into bruised flesh and loud, harsh grunts.
Hitoshi cries against the muzzle, drool and snot leaking down his face as he’s fucked into the ground, but he knows better than to raise his hands against Hizashi. Bound or not, lashing out would only make his punishment worse. And Hizashi can be cruel. He cries until Hizashi’s thrusts grow erratic and shallow and warm cum is filling his insides.
Hizashi lets out a small, contented sigh as he grinds his cock inside the boy’s warm insides and admires his handiwork. He yanks harshly on the thick leather straps of the muzzle, ripping hairs from Hitoshi’s head as he works it open until the bit drops to the floor with a loud clang. “Have you learned your lesson, Toshi?”
“Yes, Uncle.” Hitoshi forces the words out through quiet sobs.
Hizashi’s chest is pressed against his back, the sweat dripping from his body stinging the open wounds that had been inflicted on him and making Hitoshi wince. Fingers lace through his hair, tugging gently before a kiss is pressed to the back of his neck, and then his legs are unbound. Hitoshi crawls as best he can and flops down onto the filthy mattress. Exhausted, his eyes flutter closed, and he lays there unmoving while his uncle goes upstairs.
He’s only just nodded off when the door to the cellar bangs open and Hizashi’s footfalls down the steps reach his ears. The mattress sags next to him and something warm and wet is draped over his backside. He hisses at the sting but does his best to hold still as his wounds are cleaned and dressed. For a long time neither of them says anything – Hizashi working quietly and Hitoshi drifting in and out of consciousness. He’s almost completely fallen asleep by the time Hizashi begins working on his wrists, rubbing ointment on them and wrapping them in gauze.
“You can share the bed with Neito tonight. I have business to attend to and I’m sure he’d love the company.” Hizashi’s voice is uncharacteristically soft as he brushes the sweat-damp hair out of Hitoshi’s face. “Don’t make me regret it, Toshi. I won’t go easy on you again.”
He lets himself lay there for a few more moments, listening as Hizashi retreats up the steps before pushing himself to his knees and standing. His entire body aches as he dresses, the drag of his clothing against his bruised and raw skin making him wince as he slowly makes his way upstairs. The rest of the house is dark and quiet. Hizashi must’ve left already. He’s hungry, but he doesn’t dare to grab anything other than a bottle of water before heading to Neito’s room.
It's just as he’d remembered the first time he’d been allowed in here. The bed has a canopy with frilly drapery and soft, baby blue bedding. Fairy lights are draped around the walls just under the ceiling, casting a soft glow around the room. There’s a large dresser in the corner, no doubt stuffed with the frilly skirts and lacy panties that Hizashi likes to put Neito in. There’s plushies all around the room in little toy nets and pillows piled high on the bed. He finds Neito nestled beneath them; his lithe body clad in a small, lavender nightgown that barely covers him, his eyes are still glassy as he smiles and motions for Hitoshi to join him.
He strips down to his boxers and eyes the various pills and powders on the nightstand before crawling into bed alongside his slender friend. Neito’s small hand cups his cheek and he places a chaste kiss on Hitoshi’s lips. He drags his free hand up his thigh, rucking up the nightgown until Hitoshi is graced with a view of lacy white panties. “Did you want to play with me, Toshi?”
“I’m tired, Neito.” He watches soft, plush lips form into a small pout as Neito grinds against him, trying to entice him to change his mind. “I just want to sleep. You should get some rest too.”
Hitoshi pulls Neito close and wraps his arms around the boy’s slender shoulders. His advances forgotten, the blond curls into his chest and falls quickly to sleep. Hitoshi cards his hand through long blond hair, and his heart hurts. I did this to you.
Neito had been his first. He’d just been some cute little blond boy the same age as him. He’d been studying at the library after school one day when some bullies had started teasing him. Neito’s quick wit and sharp tongue – along with a glare from the librarian – had sent them packing.
It was on his walk home when the brutes had cornered Neito in an alleyway and shoved him down in the dirt, determined to make him pay for making fools of them. Hitoshi had stepped in like some knight in shining armor to rescue him. He’d shown off his quirk and sent them packing and then brushed the dirt of Neito’s cheek. Instead of saying, thank you, Neito had offered to kick Hitoshi’s ass in a game of chess.
Hitoshi shouldn’t have accepted. He should have just used his quirk then and there, but he’d told himself that he needed to know the boy’s quirk first and that conversation would give him a chance to do so. For a few hours, while they played, Hitoshi had almost felt normal again. Neito had won twice, beaten him easily and looking at his triumphant grin had made Hitoshi’s heart beat a bit too fast.
He’d almost let Neito go.
It was only Shouta’s threats that had kept him moving forward with the plan. Neito had gone to the apartment willingly, no brainwashing needed, and he’d been riding one high after another ever since. Hitoshi had never forgiven himself and now, staring down at the pretty blond who’d stolen his heart, he’s not sure he ever will.
Hitoshi drifts off with his arms still wrapped around Neito. Faces flit through his dreams. Yuuga… Himiko… Tsuyu… Their friendly smiles and blank gazes haunt him until finally he gives up on sleep. When he wakes, his arm is hanging off the edge of the bed and he’s staring at the soft blue glow of a kitten shaped nightlight. He can feel movement behind him, the steady rock and sway of the bed.
Neito is panting and whining softly behind him, and Hitoshi tries to ignore the wet schlicking sounds of sex. But when Hizashi’s grunts grow loud, he knows he can’t fake sleep anymore. He's barely rolled over, still adjusting to the pain of laying on his back when Neito’s kneeling between his legs, small hands making short work of Hitoshi’s boxers and pulling out his soft cock.
“You’re never hard for me, Toshi.” Neito pouts at him while stroking his long, slender length.
“He just woke up, baby.” Hizashi crawls behind the blond and slowly fucks into him. “Give him some time.”
Neito’s mouth is warm and wet and his tongue teases into the slit of Hitoshi’s cock, slurping up the pre that drips out of it. He takes the entire length down his throat in one go, swallowing around the head of Hitoshi’s cock and rocking his hips to drive Hizashi deeper inside his ass. His eyes are glassy, and Hitoshi can’t help but wonder what concoction of drugs is coursing through his veins right now.
He closes his eyes and lets his fingers tangle in blond hair. He lies to himself and tells him that it’s okay. He tells himself that Hizashi doesn’t hurt Neito. That he’s well-fed and clothed, and that that’s enough. He closes his eyes against Hizashi’s knowing smirk as they both fuck into him. He tells himself that he’s not hurting Neito. He repeats it inside his head as he thrusts up softly, slowly fucking the blond’s throat until he finds his release. When Hizashi’s done, he leaves the two of them to curl up together. And when Hitoshi cries, it’s Neito who holds him and shushes him and strokes his hair until he falls asleep.
When Hitoshi arrives home the next day, Shouta’s on the phone with Nemuri, apologizing for Hitoshi’s failure. He can’t help but flinch as the man’s hand reaches out to stroke his hair before he’s turned away to occupy himself elsewhere. He goes to his room and strips down to his boxers. His pale skin is scarred all over – long, deep drags, short, shallow slices, and knotted puncture marks. Most of them are from Uncle Hizashi, but some of the more faded ones are from Shouta. He trails his hands over one of the scars on his face before turning from the mirror and grabbing clean clothes from his drawer.
He’s only just buttoned up his jeans when he catches sight of Shouta in his mirror. He watches the man close the distance between them. His fingers trail over the fresh bandages and poke at the bruising along his ribs. “Did you learn your lesson, Toshi?”
Hitoshi winces at another sharp press to his side. “Yes.”
Shouta’s fingers fist in Hitoshi’s hair and small kisses are placed along the back of his neck. “Don’t think you’re gonna lounge around all day.”
He dresses quickly and grabs some money off the counter before heading back out. The downtown streets are quiet, and he enjoys the fresh air. He lets himself pretend that he’s just a normal kid skipping school and when he hits the arcade, he finds a group of kids. He cashes in a few dollars and pretends to play some fighting game while he watches them.
The girl laughs a lot. She’s pretty, but her bright pink skin and hair make her much too recognizable. There’s a boy with light blond hair who yells a lot. He threatens his friends with small explosions that emanate from his hands. His quirk could be useful, but Hitoshi knows that he’ll be hard to break. He’s watching a tall boy with dark hair play fight with a redheaded boy when someone taps his shoulder.
Hitoshi turns around and finds himself staring at bright, golden and a wide, friendly smile.
“Do you wanna come play with us?” The boy is shorter than him. He’s lithe and muscular and his smile seems genuine as he holds up a silver gaming token.
He’s perfect.
Hitoshi glances at the group of kids who are still preoccupied with their game and thinks to himself that it can’t be this easy. It shouldn’t be this easy. And yet the boy is still smiling at him, flipping the token back and forth across the back of his fingers and waiting for Hitoshi’s answer.
“They’re nice. I promise. Even Katsuki, once you get to know him.” He smiles again, his head tilting to the side as he extends his hand towards Hitoshi. “Kaminari Denki.”
“Sh– Shinsou Hitoshi.” He takes Denki’s hand and glances one last time at the others before meeting Denki’s gaze. “Do you go to school around here?”
“Yea…” Denki’s happy voice trails off mid word and his golden eyes turn milky white. He can feel it coursing like liquid through his veins until everything is light and nothing is under his control.
“Come with me.” Hitoshi takes Denki’s hand and leads him out of the arcade.
The boy’s hand is warm, but clammy and Denki can’t help but think that he looks like he’s hurting. They move silently, twisting and turning down side streets and alleyways until they’re far from the arcade and his friends. Hitoshi secures a metal cuff around his wrist and the constant buzzing he’s lived with almost all his life goes quiet. Quirk-canceling.
Hitoshi’s fingers linger on the skin of Denki’s wrist, almost as if he’s contemplating taking it back off. He only hesitates for a moment though before they continue on.
“Give me your phone.”
Denki’s arm moves on its own, and no matter how hard he tries he can’t stop himself from doing exactly as he’s told. He watches helplessly as Hitoshi takes out the battery and throws both pieces in a nearby trash can. It’s his only means of contacting his friends, so he has to hope that they’ll stick to the plan.
“I had to do this.” Hitoshi’s voice is soft, and apologetic. Denki’s sure now that the boy is limping. “I’m sorry.”
Denki wants to comfort him, to tell him that it’s okay and that whatever’s going on, he can help – but his lips won’t move. Instead, he’s forced to watch silently, stealing little glances at Hitoshi – spotting bruises and small scars when his sleeves shift. Poor guy’s got it rough.
“I’m a horrible person. I am. I know this is wrong. And I still…" Hitoshi lets out a soft, shaky breath before wiping his face with the back of his sleeve. Denki swears that the guy looks terrified of something. “I know what’s going to happen to you, but… I can’t go home empty-handed again. I can’t. He’ll…”
Hitoshi pauses at a corner and waits for the crosswalk light before taking Denki’s hand and leading him across the street. He halts in front of a tall, brick apartment building and for a moment, Denki thinks that Hitoshi will let him go. Hitoshi takes a deep breath and opens the door.
“Home already?” An older man’s voice drifts to them from somewhere farther in the apartment and Denki wonders if this is the man Hitoshi is so afraid of.
“Found one.” Hitoshi takes his shoes off in the genkan and motions for Denki to do the same. “Take your shoes off.”
Once again, Denki’s body moves on its own, doing exactly what it’s told. Weird. He’s still untying his laces when a tall, dark-haired man walks in. Onyx eyes rake over his body. “What’s his quirk?”
Hitoshi lowers his head. “Don’t know.”
“How old is he?”
Hitoshi shakes his head. He can feel the panic rising up his chest. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, Shouta. He just… He was right there and started talking to me and–”
Shouta walks away from them and down the small hallway. Hitoshi grabs his hand and Denki is forced to follow. The room is tiny and dark. It has a small, dirty mattress in the middle of the floor and a crude toilet in the corner. It’s windowless, with a heavy, metal door that has a small, barred window.
Hitoshi wraps a thick, metal collar around Denki’s throat and secures it to the wall while Shouta watches him from the hallway. Once Hitoshi’s stepped back into the hallway and Shouta has closed the door, Denki feels the quirk release.
He flexes his fingers and finds that he’s back in control of his body. Cool quirk. He knows that they likely expect him to cry or scream, but instead Denki just sits down on the mattress. It’s lumpy and disgusting and he can hear Katsuki ranting about it in his head. The thought makes him smile.
Shouta’s voice is low, earnestly inquisitive as he peeks in the small window to watch the blond boy. “Where did you say you found him, Hitoshi?”
“The arcade across town.” Hitoshi’s voice is soft, fearful, and Denki worries for his safety.
“I have a meeting with Nemuri. I’ll be back later tonight.” He can hear Shouta’s steps retreating down the hallway, and then Hitoshi’s retreat the other way.
He waits until he hears the click of doors in both directions, and then he gets up to inspect the room. The chain holding him to the wall is heavier than he’d expected, and firmly bolted into the wall, but he can walk almost the whole area and surprisingly enough – reach the door. The walls are soft, almost padded and Denki would bet his brand-new Heroes Ultra video game that they’re soundproofed.
He steers clear of the filthy bucket that’s supposed to pass for a toilet and instead focuses on the door. The bolts are thick, it doesn’t budge when he pulls. The window is too small for him to escape out of, and the small bars are welded in tight.
He knows that there’s no escaping, and still, he kicks at the door. The first kick is too hard, and pain lances up through his foot. Don’t break your foot, stupid. Denki can almost see Katsuki in his mind, chastising him and the next kick is softer – just hard enough to rattle the door.
It feels like he kicks forever before he finally hears Hitoshi come down the hallway. He stops when the boy is just outside the door, but Hitoshi doesn’t come any closer. “Shinsou?”
He’s trying to separate what he knows from what he feels and he’s failing miserably. He knows that Hitoshi is technically a villain, knows that he’s been kidnapping kids from surrounding areas. But he also saw how Hitoshi’s body went rigid when faced with Shouta. He can see the pain clearly written in the boy’s body language. He’s being forced, but does that make it any less wrong? He wonders what he would have done if the tables were turned.
There’s only silence outside the room and he wonders if he misjudged. Maybe it’s Shouta out there instead of the boy and that thought frightens him. From what little he’d seen and heard from the man, from the way Hitoshi had acted – he’s one bad dude.
There’s a small shuffling sound in the hallway and then the sound of Hitoshi’s retreating footsteps. “Please don’t go.”
He’s met with more silence and Denki shifts his weight nervously from foot to foot. This is only gonna work if I can get him talking to me. “Hey? Are you okay out there?”
There’s a long silence and Denki’s almost given up when he finally hears Hitoshi’s hesitant voice. “Why would you ask that?”
He doesn’t even get a chance to answer before the boy’s footsteps are fleeing down the hallway. Shit… Denki rests his head against the cold metal door and sighs. He can’t believe he screwed this up already. There’s no one here to lean on and he wants to panic, but instead he takes a deep breath and thinks about what Katsuki would do. Bakubro wouldn’t let this get him down. He’d totally go apeshit on the door.
His sore legs protest at even the thought of kicking that hard metal one more time, so he thinks about what Hanta would do. Hanta’s always so chill… Denki smirks at the thought and then sits down on the floor with his back to the door. He sings lyrics in his head to pass the time and he’s gotten through two songs before he hears Hitoshi stomping back towards the door.
“Why would you ask me that?”
“I dunno.” Denki chuckles lightly, shrugging his shoulders even though Hitoshi can’t see him, and then decides that he should. He stands and looks out the small window. Hitoshi’s arms are wrapped around himself, and he can see small bandages along his side where his shirt has been rucked up. “You seemed like you were in pain back at the arcade.”
“Are you stupid or something?” Hitoshi’s eyes are wide, his voice disbelieving as he takes in Denki’s small smile.
“I’m not a great test-taker, but I’m pretty smart.” He knows that people underestimate him because he’s so goofy all the time. He wants Hitoshi and whoever may be listening to keep underestimating him. “So, was that guy your dad?”
“My… What?” Hitoshi runs a hand through his hair. His fingers snag on an errant knot, and he tugs it out, harshly yanking out strands of purple hair. His face has gone pale, almost sallow and he sways slightly on his feet. “Do you understand where you are right now?”
“Are you asking if I saw the address or if I understand that I’ve been kidnapped?” Denki finger guns Hitoshi and pins him under his best megawatt smile. “You look seriously stressed out, dude. Like pale and sweaty. Maybe you need to get something to drink.”
He can read the confusion on Hitoshi’s face, and he pushes further. He knows that he just needs one tiny opening. “Seriously, I think you should sit down. You look like you’re gonna pass out.”
“Why are you so worried about me?!?” Hitoshi’s loud voice echoes in the tiny hallway. He doesn’t sound angry, though.
He sounds afraid.
Denki smiles softly even though Hitoshi isn’t looking at him. “Because I’m a hero. Well, not yet. But I’m gonna be one. And my friends too–”
His voice trails off as Hitoshi suddenly closes the distance between them. His eyes are sad and tired looking. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but I’m not going to let you go.”
Denki’s smile never falters, but his heart hurts. He can see the pain and the fear in Hitoshi’s eyes. “I didn’t think you would. I think that if you were gonna do that, you’d have done it when you paused at the crosswalk and took my hand.”
When Hitoshi looks at Denki, he can tell that the boy is seeing him, actually, really seeing him. “I wouldn’t… I mean, I didn’t…”
“It’s a neat quirk you got. Brainwashing, right?” Denki pauses for a moment, watching Hitoshi’s reactions. “When I answered your question?”
Hitoshi nods, but his eyes are pinned to the floor. His eyes flit to somewhere down the hall and for a moment, he thinks the boy is going to bolt.
“It felt kinda cool.” Denki watches the way Hitoshi’s eyes snap to his. “It’s a neat quirk.”
“It’s not.” Hitoshi’s hands are trembling at his sides. “It’s nothing but–”
Denki watches helplessly as Hitoshi’s hair is grabbed and he’s hauled away from the door. He can’t see anything, but he can hear the scuffling – the sounds of blows landing and Hitoshi groaning. “Hey!”
“One rule, Hitoshi. Just the one.” Shouta’s voice is broken only by soft huffs and Hitoshi’s pained sobs. “I think another night at Uncle Hizashi’s house is in order.”
“No! Please.” Hitoshi’s voice breaks. “I swear, I wasn’t–”
“I’m starting to think that you like when he hurts you.”
Denki presses his face to the small window, but he can’t see anything as the duo moves away from him. There are quiet words that he can’t make out and then the sound of a door opening somewhere else in the apartment. He doesn’t bother kicking the door or yelling or even talking this time. I should kick myself for not listening out.
Denki paces quietly in the small room. Whatever chance he’d had with Hitoshi, he’d lost. He’s not stupid enough to think that he’ll get anywhere with Shouta. He never thought he’d miss that constant buzzing in the back of his head from his quirk, but he does. Everything around him is too quiet, and when he can’t stand it anymore, he lays down on the mattress and stares up at the ceiling.
He knows that they won’t keep him in here forever and that he’ll likely be put under Hitoshi’s control for any kind of transport. At some point he’ll have to be handed off to someone else. I just have to keep my wits about me. He thinks about Eijirou and Mina – how positive they are and even though a large part of him wants to be scared and cry, he forces himself to smile. I can do this.
Denki lets himself drift off into a fitful sleep and when he wakes up, he finds Hitoshi sitting in the room with him. His cheek is bruised and he’s holding his wrist gingerly. Denki sits up slowly, making sure the boy can see him moving. “You’re here to put me under again, huh?”
“They always told me that it was a villain’s quirk…” Hitoshi’s voice is hesitant and soft, barely reaching Denki’s ears. “…when I was little.”
“There’s no such–”
Hitoshi watches as Denki’s golden eyes turn milky white and then he unchains the boy from the wall. I’m sorry. His mind wanders back to this morning, and he thinks about what Denki had said – about letting him go. He remembers the feeling of that warm, limp palm in his, how it had reminded him of how Neito’s always feels when he’s passed out. The thought had made him so nauseous that he really had thought about letting Denki go. The urge had hit him like a punch to the gut and he’d almost lost control of his quirk.
He shakes the troublesome thoughts from his head and leads the boy out into the hallway. Shouta’s waiting for them by the door, and Hitoshi eyes the muzzle in his hands. He doesn’t fight when Shouta begins to put it on him. The wretched thing has been perfectly molded to his mouth to hold his tongue down and keep him silent without drool running down his face. Shouta wouldn’t want him to be unsightly after all – it would discourage the potential buyers. The leather straps dig into the sides of his face when Shouta tightens them too far, but Hitoshi stays perfectly still. Shouta slips the key to the cuff and a small syringe in his pocket. You’ll bring him to the stage tonight, Hitoshi. You’ll walk him around and if you can’t do that one simple task, then what good are you?
Shouta doesn’t say anything to him during the drive or when they arrive at the warehouse. Hitoshi’s left to his own devices – to put Denki in a room and watch him until the bidding starts. Once in the holding room, Hitoshi finds himself faced with a dilemma. Normally, he’d use a command – make Denki strip himself, but with the muzzle on, he’s forced to do it. Nausea overwhelms him as he strips the boy of his clothes, moving Denki’s pliant body until he’s naked before Hitoshi. He connects the quirk-canceling cuff to the wall and sits down across the room.
When he releases his quirk, it seems to take Denki a moment to catch his bearings. Once he does, he covers himself up with his hands and turns around to inspect the room. He watches Hitoshi for a moment before sitting down on the small tatami mat that’s near him.
“I’m sorry I got you in trouble.”
Hitoshi covers his ears with his hands and tries to ignore the boy’s words. Where’d you find him? He’d told Shouta that he’d found Denki at an arcade. He hadn’t told him that the place wasn’t far from where he’d found Seiji a few months ago. He’d had a sinking feeling in his gut that he’d screwed something up and now that feeling is worse. Why is he being nice to me?
Hitoshi wraps his arms around himself, but the chill he feels isn’t the air in the room. He can hear the chain as Denki moves but knows the boy can’t reach him and he lets himself sink into old memories. Neito… Himiko… Tsuyu… Yuuga… Seiji… Shindou… How he’d lured them all away with him. How he’d known it was wrong and he’d still done it anyway. He’d traded his own pain for theirs. Villain’s quirk! Villains’ quirk! Shinsou has a villain’s quirk!
“Hey…”
Hitoshi lets his head fall back against the wall, ignoring the blond’s words in favor of his own guilty conscience. He’d watched that first night when Hizashi had taken Neito from the room where Hitoshi had locked him. Go back to your room, Toshi… Was he supposed to do what Hizashi had just told him to? Or was he supposed to ignore what Shouta had told him to do? Don’t let him out of that room. He doesn’t realize that he’s crying until he’s rubbing at the wet leather digging into his skin. It’s all wrong. I never wanted–
“Does it hurt?”
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up! Hitoshi clenches the small key in his hand, letting the tiny teeth dig into the skin of his palm. Hitoshi’s body aches and he’s so tired. He knows that there won’t be any rest tonight. After the bidding, Shouta will want to have his fun. Hitoshi’s back and chest are covered in scars and every touch will be excruciating. And when he can’t stop crying his owner will be angry and it will hurt even worse. And for what?
“Can I call you Hitoshi?”
If you ever use that quirk on me again– Hitoshi’s jaw aches at the memory of Shouta’s rage. He’d been helpless back then, little more than a child and he’d been doing nothing but cowering ever since. I’m gonna be a hero. Hitoshi had wanted to be a hero once too…
“It’s okay, Hitoshi.”
It’s not okay! Stop saying that! He doesn’t even realize that he’s stood up until he’s watching Denki scoot back as he advances. The quick look of fear that crosses the boy’s face is enough to stop him in his tracks. I never wanted this… I can’t…
His chest is tight, and he can’t breathe. There isn’t enough air coming in through his nose and even though he knows that he’s just panicking, Hitoshi can’t stop the swelling in his chest. The room around him swirls and grows wet. I’m in so much trouble…
“Breathe with me.”
He can feel his hand rising and falling and then something warm pressing gently against his chest. He tries to follow the movement. It’s hard at first, when his chest feels like it’s going to explode and there’s more words that he can’t seem to focus on. Eventually though, he manages to slow his breathing and the world around him clears.
“Hey, you’re back.”
Bright golden eyes are watching him, not with fear or anger, but with concern and he can’t remember a time when anyone has ever looked at him like that. The dark feeling that’s been festering in his chest finally comes forward in full and Hitoshi realizes that he hates himself. He hates what he’s become.
He shoves Denki backwards and takes off. He doesn’t bother to close the door behind him and it’s only when he’s halfway to the exit and he’s grabbed by Shouta that he realizes the key is no longer digging a hole in his palm.
“Where do you think you’re going, Hitoshi?” Shouta has him by the collar, lifted off his feet and is pinning him to the wall. There’s a dark grin on his face that tells Hitoshi that he’s just done exactly what was expected of him.
Large hands wrap around his throat and for the second time tonight, the world around him begins to grow dark. He scratches at the hands squeezing his neck until his limbs grow too heavy to lift. There’s a sudden, incredible flash of light and then the sounds of chaos erupt somewhere in the distance. The fingers around Hitoshi’s throat continue to tighten until the world around him finally grows dark.
“You did this, didn’t you?”
I hope so…