Chapter Text
Satoru’s brow was bleeding, and the stained fist in front of his face showed to be responsible for it. He stumbled to the side with the force of it, but didn’t make it too far. A pair of hands caught the collar of his shirt and pulled him to be only an inch from his face. The man’s breath smelled extraordinarily of alcohol, a lot more than usual, which is saying a lot. Satoru had the misfortune of running into his intoxicated, furious husband right outside his dressing room after closing for an exhausting night.
-I can’t stand all those people fucking applauding you.- The man ripped the lace blindfold from the performer’s head, the only piece of show attire he still wore, and punched it back to Satoru’s chest, who caught it in his own hand. -Look at you, how can they urge somebody so ruined?
Satoru knew better than to respond. He was once again brought up by his shirt near the man’s face, now out of words due to his unjustified rage. His husband had an odd habit of following a pattern, so Satoru was ready when he was roughly tossed back against the dresser and was able to catch himself on the edge before he hit the hardwood. With both arms awkwardly supporting himself, Satoru caught a glimpse of his reality, a crude, crude reminder.
Satoru looked at himself in the mirror, unable to recognize most of his face through swollen eyes. He tasted the bitterness of metal in his mouth, his blue eyes stained red from fresh and prior wounds that never have the chance to heal. Makeup and costume gone, his bleeding stood out like a slaughtered deer in the snow,
half eaten by wolves.
Behind him stood his predator.
Hamada Ao, the man that had promised salvation from his living hell, had only tied him down to the raging flames, carbonizing his spouse's body and soul.
How dared him have a name?
Satoru’s body, outlined in exposed flesh, singed with the violence of a loveless, one-part beneficial marriage.
The wood sounded of a repetitive click, drops of blood landing on it, Satoru traced his finger over the tiny puddle, shivering at the warm feeling of it. He never broke eye contact with Ao over the mirror, his figure being nothing more than a shadow that quickly moved, approaching. Satoru braced himself.
The man grabbed the youngest from the chin, causing him to smudge the blood that had traveled all the way from the frame of his eyebrow, staining Satoru’s lips and cheek.
-They’d throw you off that stage if they knew…- Ao’s hiccups interrupted. -If they knew how you look under that fucking blindfold of yours.
You make me wear it. Satoru knew better than to speak out loud.
-You’re a fraud. If it weren’t for me, you’d be counting dimes on the street. Handing yourself out to anyone. Do you think they would stop to think twice about you? No one does. They just come here to pray that you throw that gown off yourself at once on that stage.- Ao held a firm hand on Satoru’s back, leaning into his ear. -Cheap slut. Who’d have you if not me? You’re all mine, you know that?
With a hand Ao squeezed Satoru’s reddening cheeks, his lips parted and a string of blood and saliva dripped out of them. He swallowed the pool of it that filled up in his mouth, he knew Ao hated getting it on the floor.
-Take your clothes off. The man pushed Satoru back to the bathroom’s door by the face. -And, one thing dear, wash the blood off that face.
Satoru ledged on to the doorknob and entered the bathroom, taking a deep breath when he closed the door, his back against it. The room was poorly lit, merely by the lights outside its tiny windows. Satoru found himself standing right across the wide mirror. His image was horrid.
Distasteful for a performer in his category.
The beauty of the city, the envy of the show industry, a sight that is worth a visit! That’s what the papers said. Little did they know that his scandalous wardrobe and trademark accessories were nothing close to the erotic calling they claimed them to be. For viewers, absolutely. The tease of a pretty face never failed to keep the filthy, and filthy rich pigs on the edge of their seats.
As of now, with the club turning off their lights for the night, far past midnight, the lace blindfold lays forgotten at the bottom of Ao’s boot.
Satoru did not move from where he was, more of his weight being put on the wooden door. The ache on his head and face numbed his entire body, arms falling limply at either side.
He breathed hard, but slowly. Satoru didn’t pity himself. That was his life. That was how he’d survived so far. Taking a few punches that would never cease to hurt and hearing words that he simply did not listen to anymore. Although, he knew Ao was right about one thing. Satoru had nowhere else to go, no one else to be with. For now, at least. Satoru’s patience was wearing off.
That’s when he jerked his head up so far he almost hit himself on the back of it. The all too familiar snore that kept him up so many nights in a row. The drinking “one too many” may have finally caused Ao to drink one too many.
Satoru re-did the button he had started to undo. Waiting for a moment to hear another snore come through the wall. And another, and yet another. He didn’t know for how long he had been standing in the same, one-tile spot, but Ao’s snoring was keeping up a pace. Only then did Satoru turn the knob of the door, peeking one bloody eye out.
Ao was passed out somewhere on the floor of the bedroom. The intoxication didn’t allow him to find cushion for his black out.
Satoru smiled.
He quietly opened the door, begging that the creek of it wouldn’t reveal the still fully clothed figure to his husband. Satoru walked expertly on the fronts of his feet so that the heels of his shoes didn't make a noise on the wooden flooring.
Quietly and slowly, he pulled out a drawer, one that Ao doesn’t usually find interesting. Satoru scrambled in it, continually glancing back at the man and keeping track of the rhythm of the snores. Finally, he held his breath, his heart punching the inside of his ribs. Satoru took the thin gun that immediately shocked his fingers with its firm material.
Satoru turned, not before catching another look of himself in the mirror. A reminder, a drive.
Ao, a sick sadist that took shameless pleasure in his partner’s pain, deserves no respectful parture. His hand found a grip of the man’s neck and the other reached behind his own back.
-All yours.- He mumbled.
Satoru wanted to scream. Scream and wake Ao up to announce his assassination.
He wanted to scream when Ao grunted in excitement. He wanted to scream and pop his eardrums. The rage in his body shook his muscles, he heard the rush of his bloodstream in his ears. Mixed with all the pain he had endured all these years, Satoru’s nerves sparked electricity at the tip of his fingers.
He dug his nails to the side of the man's neck. It took every cell in his body to not leap towards Ao and rip his throat open with his bare teeth, watch him bleed, watch every ounce of life stripped away from him.
Just as Ao had done with him.
Satoru wouldn’t satisfy any more of his gruesome desires, he wouldn't take orders from an animal, from someone so depraved.
Not anymore.
The gun clicked. Satoru smiled unwillingly, the edges of his lips trembling upwards.
-Look at you.- He hissed, Satoru’s words tasted of rusted metal on his tongue as he twisted the words spoken by his husband before. The cold metal handle sent another wave of electricity up Satoru’s hand. -You’re lucky your pain isn’t worth another minute of your fucking life.
He shot the man, Satoru shot him dead. There was no time for talkback. No yelling, no threats, no insults, Satoru had had enough years of that.
There was nothing to condone.
Satoru stood and let the body remain limp on its back. The growing pool of ruby hugged the bottom of his heels. Satoru spat out blood onto the floor. With the gun still in hand, he aimed at the other eye.
Bang!
A drug in his husband’s drink would’ve been a much quieter method, a cleaner one. But Satoru urged the metallic scent of the masochist's blood. He didn’t care for his fingerprints on the gun or his DNA on the body,
Satoru wanted the world to know that he was guilty, that he would never again be a victim.
✮ ✮ ✮
-I understand your distress, ma’am. You must understand that we are doing our very best, but we do need your input for the investigation…
-You’re not doing shit! Tell me why I’ve been sitting here for the entire evening and haven’t heard anything from you!
-Ma’am…
-Geto.
Suguru stood back from the altered woman. when someone behind him called his name.
-Let me take care of it.- The other man said, making a motion with his finger, calling Geto to the door frame where he stood. -Take the night off, won’t you? I heard your chief has plans for your squad.
Suguru nodded. The officer patted his shoulder. The woman’s concerned look between them both didn’t go unnoticed. -My colleague will continue on with your case, please, excuse me.
Suguru loosened the tie around his neck as soon as he got out of the suffocated room. Friday nights were far from his favorite, not like the weekends meant much to him either. There really isn’t time for settling back with your feet up in this job.
Footsteps echoed through the opaque walls of the commissary. All the rookies were long gone, their distinctive chatter and careless wandering went quiet at this time of the week. Suguru would never admit it, but he did come around to miss it at times. Rarely, really.
Even though he wasn’t quite the veteran himself, at only twenty five years of age, he’d already spent nearly a decade in the commissioner. A naturally talented and passionate man was bound to climb up the ranks, making his work more wearing.
-Don’t tell me you’re staying in the office tonight.
-You know I like to have my nights to myself, that’s all. There’s a lot of work to be done.- Suguru elbowed his coworker, trying to pass off with a tiny bit of dry humor. He clashed his shoulder with Haibara’s to get into the office, making Suguru turn, getting a better view of his friend. Haibara’s shirt neck was neatly folded out, ironed. When was the last time he’d worn that suit? His hair was styled out of his face and… Suguru’s nose scrunched. -Are you wearing cologne?
-You didn’t get the news?
-What news?- Suguru pulled out his chair, opening his laptop, the screen reflected on the bridge of his glasses. He brought an unlit cigarette to hang from his lips, though he didn’t have a lighter at hand, it was more of a habit.
-The chief booked a reservation for us.- Haibara pressed on, Suguru didn’t bother to look up. -To celebrate the year’s end?
Suguru did know, but had no intention of going. His eyes remained stuck to the screen. -Ah, that. I already told the chief I won’t be able to make it.
Haibara walked the length of the office in a second, closing Suguru’s laptop, who was an inch away from getting his fingers stuck in between it.
-You can’t turn down an invitation like this.
-I can. I did, actually.- Suguru took his now closed laptop, prepared to leave the conversation all together. Hibaira stopped him, setting the computer back on the desk. -What?
-You should get yourself out there more.
-I’m sorry?- Suguru did get himself out there a lot. Police investigators didn’t exactly sit in a corner all day. If anything, Suguru found any time he could spare to do so.
-Don’t be boring, Suguru. How often do you get the chance to be in a place like that? Are you seriously telling me that you’d rather stay in this cement block of an office?
Suguru chewed on the end of the cigarette in his mouth, a stress habit. As always, he regretted it immediately. He put it down on his desk. He tapped his fingers on the edge of the wood, thinking. How many nights had he spent in between these four walls. There will be more to do so in the future. A drink and a nice talk with his colleagues didn’t sound all that bad.
Suguru sighed, his feet moving against his will, following Haibara across the office to the racks at the entrance. A suit jacket he recognized as his own was shoved onto his chest.
A few doors down on the hallway was Haibara's office, who walked much more enthusiastically than his companion. Suguru was the subject of a fixer-upper, forced to change into one of Haibara’s spare button up shirts that he kept in a little closet inside his office for some reason. He did always look very presentable.
It was Suguru’s hair that presented a bit more of a challenge, But Haibara wasn’t about to let his friend out with it looking like that. If there was something that Suguru really did pay attention to, it was his hair, keeping a strict routine to care for the length of it. He’d always come in with a neat hairdo but, how could it not get all over the place after a rough day in the job?
Needless to say, minutes later they were out the building looking sharp and feeling better than ever, some more than others, for that last part.
The club opened its doors in the middle of the city's busiest street. The air reeked of alcohol and tobacco smoke, making it hard on the lungs. Suguru was familiar with this side of town, he’d done hundreds if not thousands of patrols along these sidewalks. As policemen, it was never a good idea to let a street that was run solely by drugs, alcohol and sex drive out of their radar.
A specially compacted group of people gathered further along the street, pushing and elbowing each other. Suguru’s natural instincts rushed in as he and Haibara got closer to the crowd. His partner put a hand on his shoulder.
-It’s not your job to stop any fights tonight
Suguru shook his head, he made a promise to himself that he’d try to have a good time tonight, relax, if possible. They were already here, after all.
Inferno made its presence known
Red lights illuminated the dark of the night, turning the heads of pass-byers that tried to catch even a single glimpse of Inferno’s midnight life. The place screamed want, desire, sin, pulling you in to bring you into its spider web. Jazz music from inside lured the curious many closer and closer only to be denied entry.
This, of course, didn’t keep everyone smiling.
Only few could enter the prestigious club; those who drowned themselves in their riches or those who knew the ones that could spare a few hundred thousand.
Or, if you happened to have one of these sweet pass cards with you, which Haibara showed proudly to the front door guard. The man in the hat took it and scanned it without a wrinkle shifting in his face. He returned it to Haibara with that same unfriendly frown and Suguru feared they might be turned down. Instead, the man signaled them to follow him, pushing open a golden door that very possibly weighed twice as much as he did. The action caused a commotion between the people that waited outside, but it was completely shut off when the door was closed behind the pair.
Suguru looked behind him, suddenly feeling trapped. Haibara, on the other hand, kept looking around like an excited child in a theme park.
They were just scraping the surface here. Suguru had never known of any club that had a front counter lobby like this. A chandelier hung from the high ceiling and the men could see their reflections on the polished marble floor. Inferno was still kept outside of their reach, muffled music still teased through the walls.
A woman wearing elegant attire greeted them from behind the counter, where another pair typed away in their respective stations. -Good evening gentlemen, if you care to join me over here. Names?
-Yu Haibara and Suguru Geto.- Haibara said for both of them.
She looked through a thick book with hundreds of names written on them, a fine pair of glasses sat over the bridge of her nose. She looked back up at the men through them. -You’re under Mr. Yaga’s reservation, is that correct?
-That’s right.
-Perfect.- The woman stood from her chair and went around the counter, her high heels clicking against the marble. -Please, if you come this way.
Suguru and Haibara looked at each other, following the woman, going deeper into the club that promised paradise.
Inferno.
Going through the next door was like stepping into a different world entirely. The lights were dimmer than the golden ones in the lobby, the music, talking, and smell of alcohol overwhelmed all of his senses, though he couldn’t say he exactly hated it. The arrangement was the one with sets of tables that faced a stage, like a theater. Dozens of waiters balanced tray after tray of cocktails and heavy drinks, bringing them to euphoric customers. The limited lighting to the rest of the space made the stage stand out beautifully.
Inferno proudly presented their famous high stakes. The men wore their best suits and ties and the women wore their biggest jewels tonight, lips painted red.
-There they are.- A broad man dressed in a black suit jacket rose from the head of the table. Spreading out his hands, inviting his guests to take a seat around it. -Oh, Geto! I thought you said you wouldn’t make it.
-Change of plans.- He simply said, pulling out a chair.
The woman from the lobby excused herself and wished them a joyful night, disappearing back into the labyrinth of chairs and tables.
-It’s good to see you all here.- Yaga addressed the group of men that now filled every chair. He opened his mouth to start his speech, but something stopped him, he turned it into a quick whisper. -And it seems like you’re just in time, lucky us.
The lights from the stage switched from red to blue and then back to red, earning the growing silence from the audience. A silhouette appeared painted in blue lights, holding everyone’s breath in its hands.
Suguru sat at the edge of the table furthest from the theater, so it was hard to see, but it was unmistakable.
The performer wore a lace strip around the eyes.