Title: Give Me...Nothing (ch. 1)
Pairing: ??? x Kyo
Summary: When you're left out of touch with man kind, can you measure time? Or is time merely at the control of who's in control of you? Meet Niimura Tooru--a 32 year old musician who awakens and finds himself completely dependent on someone he can't even see. Can obsession equal love, and can delusions become reality?
Rating: NC-17 over all. R for this.
Warnings: violence, language
Disclaimer: Don't own them, blabalbla.
Word Count: 3493




There had been music, flashing lights, thousands of people. Then nothing. Pure, unadulterated nothing. The inkiest and most terrifying nothing that man probably would ever come to know, because it was the type of nothing that came without warning and with the potential to disperse from becoming nothing to becoming, well, everything. But before the details of nothing can become accounted for and further explored, the ever important concept of “previously” must be documented so that the events that resulted of the terrifying nothing, accompanied with the psychological implications, can be fully understood.

Meet Niimura Toory, alias “Kyo.” A thirty-two year old Kyoto native with a complex mental interior. A poet, a lyricist, a vocalist, an entertainer, a self-proclaimed prophet. But this did not stem from a sense of untitled narcissism or an egomaniac induced decree, but rather out of a desire to mean something. An attempt at fulfilling a hole of self-hatred and disgust that quite honestly may never be reached. Kyo was a high school drop-out who did nothing but the things that he wanted to do. One of these things was music. He joined the music scene as a teen, roadieing for various bands and eventually became the “Kyo” everyone knows today. A complex creature, indeed.

The day had started off like any other. Waking up after only two hours of sleep, groggy as ever, and slinking off to the venue Dir en grey was scheduled to play at. Sound check took longer than usual, much to his dismay, and eventually but inevitably night fell. The doors had opened and fans filed in to see their beloved idols perform. It was a night like any other night. The crowd was like any other. Mindless screams of adoration and devotion that their prophet would never come to understand. As the show progressed, so did the screams. The screams acted as fuel for Kyo, and he could honestly say he performed the hardest that particular night. And by the time of the encore, he was already exhausted.

As he screamed into the microphone during “Vinushka” he could feel his throat muscles burning in anger and the familiar black dots dancing seductively in his line of vision, trying to coax him to succumb to the sweet pull of unconsciousness, but he pursued. The vocalist pushed through the set until his legs trembled with the threat of collapsing and he could no longer hold the microphone.

Down he went, small yet powerful body hitting the stage. No one rushed to help, his band mates too busy teasing the crowd with promises of items thrown into the greedy masses. But he didn't need their help in the first place. Gradually he opened his eyes, body buzzing in disdain towards the decision. The stage lights bore into his retinas, mixing with the sweat running down his entire body and causing his eyes to sting painfully. Kyo rose, dizzy, and walked off without a second look tot he audience.

When he had gotten to the wings he pushed past the stage manager that had questioned him about the spill. He made his way past the crew wordlessly, ignoring calls of his name and pats to his body in a vain attempt to grab his attention. Kyo wasn't going to waste his time, he couldn't ignore the little voice in the back of his head saying “get out, get out.” And out he did go, finally remembering to breathe. The vocalist was gasping for air, clutching the door jam tightly as nausea got a hold of him and he doubled over and emptied his stomach, which only contained the water he had chugged on stage.

His head was spinning, he needed to get on that damn bus and sleep. It was only twenty or so steps from were he was. Though as he heard voices, tons of voices, more voices than he would have liked coming from around the corner, he registered the fact that he'd have to book it and now was the only time should he want to make it to the bus without interference. He had wasted his usual escape time having his slight panic attack. As Kyo gathered his composure to make a run for it, he was stopped by a voice behind him calling his name. Shit, caught.

And then nothing.

Kyo had been introduced to the familiar blackness that he had fleetingly experienced only moments ago on stage. The rest that he so desperately craved was given to him but by no means by his own devices. This nothing, this absence of thought and coherency was far more terrifying than the type Kyo brought upon himself. It was far more dark, far more empty, far more lonely and threatening. It was the nothing that could drive men insane if it truly wanted to.

Though slowly the black became less and less, and consciousness returned to the musician. But as he opened his eyes, slowly, carefully, he immediately craved that terrifying nothing over the harsh slap of reality. The pain in his skull made him cry out in pain, eyes clenching shut tightly. His wrists burned irritably, and as he moved to hold his head in his hands he found himself immobilized. His hands were bound above his head. Confused, Kyo opened his eyes only to be introduced to a blackness that was more tangible than the one with his eyes closed. Through the material covering his eyes he could see the shadow of something moving above him in a circular motion. It frightened the living hell out of him and he thought for sure it was getting lower and lower. It was going to kill him! This shadowy thing was going to slice him to death!

Kyo shut his eyes behind the constricting cloth and tried to regain control of his mind and reopened his eyes. The shadow hadn't gotten lower though it did continue to spin. It was then that he realized that it was a ceiling fan and his body relaxed just a bit. That was, until he began to wrap his mind over the fact that he was bound and blindfolded in a place that he was most definitely not supposed to be in. He began tugging on what bound his wrists, the sound of his heart fluttering fearfully in his chest drowning out the sound of metal against metal—almost. So he was handcuffed to what he could assume was the bed post of a bed. Kyo carefully moved his legs around and found them to be untied. Thankfully.

Now Kyo was only conscious for thirty seconds before he began screaming at the top of his lungs, ignoring the pain in his throat and how it made the curious pain in his head merely intensify. He was sent into a panic and a mini rage as he kicked and pulled on the handcuffs that bound him to the prison. He screamed for help, he screamed for release, he screamed for answers, but most of all he screamed for the mere fact it was basic human instinct. When no one answered paranoia intensified. He pulled so hard on the cuffs that the tattooed skin broke and blood dripped down his arm and fell on the blanket he was resting above. Yet he pulled still, panic stricken mind not yet registering the pain. He was like an animal caught in a trap, willing to chew their own limb off if only it meant escape. Kyo was at a loss of what to do. He screamed for a whole forty-five minutes before the sobbing began.

What kind of a place was this? Surely he was in an area that had neighbors. So why wasn't anyone rushing to his aid? It made absolutely no sense. His mind was running a million miles per second, desperately trying to find a solution to his problem. His chest heaved with the frantic rate of his breathing, cloth over his eyes becoming more and more constraining as his tears dampened the fabric. What a sight he must have been! Even the mighty and terrifying Kyo could be reduced to a pitiful mass of nerves and anxiety when in the face of the unknown. And this unknown was more than terrifying, it was downright deadly. Gradually he grabbed a light hold on himself, and instead of screaming for the help that undoubtedly would not come, the blonde instead tried to figure out who had the gall to do this to him.

He had heard fans before he had blacked out, so more than likely he was in the clutches of some fucked fan that idolized bands far more than they probably should have. That was the logical answer. If that were the case, he couldn't be in that much danger. A fan would never kill him. Then again, what fan would kidnap their favored band member and then leave them blind and ignorant in an unknown territory? No fan that he wanted to meet, that much was for certain.

Kyo began taking deep breaths to calm his psyche, eyes forcing themselves closed beneath the blindfold. Each breath came out raggedly, unable to calm his pounding heart. He was ill enough as it was from fatigue, and this little situation was only adding to his mental stress. It probably explained why he had been so quick to break down into tears, though honestly in this type of situation, what person wouldn't cry? It relieved some of the stress that his body was undergoing and lord knows how badly his body needed that break.

Eventually he just stilled completely, body going limp on the mattress and eyes remaining closed against the cotton around his eyes. He could now hear the swaying of the ceiling fan, the forced win licking his tear struck face and damp chest and making him feel colder than he would have liked. It was then that he realized he was still dressed from the concert, track pants still in tact and void of a shirt. He was starting to regret rushing out for air now like he had. If he had a shirt he would have felt a tiny bit better.

There was no other sound in the room except his own, frightened breathing and the ever swirling ceiling fan. He felt like he was going to go mad staring at that damn thing for so long. It was like it was trying to hypnotize him or shred his sanity away. Then there was this incessant ringing noise that was driving him absolutely insane. It wasn't until at least ten minutes later when his throat began to burn again did he begin to realize that the ringing was the sound of his own screaming. He had started yelling again though honestly he didn't know when or why. Maybe he just wanted to hear a human voice, even if it was just his own. He was so detached, however, that he hadn't even realized he had been doing it.

One hour had past since he had gained consciousness, though to tell the truth it felt like one day. Though how he was to know how long it had been? Kyo lacked the means to tell time so it may as well have been a day. Time just did not exist when you didn't have the ability or the means to measure it. That brought up the question of how long had he been out? He didn't know. It could still have been the night of the concert, the morning after, two weeks from then. Okay, so maybe the latter was a bit unrealistic. But how long had he been gone? Surely long enough to worry his band mates and staff. He was praying that a missing persons report had been filed by now or they were asking around the concert hall for any mysterious figures or shady things that anyone there might have seen. Surely someone saw a person dragging an unconscious person to their place. The streets were always filled with people, after all. He had to of been spotted by someone. So why didn't anyone stop him!?

The more he thought on it, the angrier he became. What kind of a fucking country was this where no one would second guess the validity of someone carrying around an unconscious person? Especially someone who looked like him. Surely that was a sign that he wasn't the type to go down so easily. The Japanese infuriated him. They were the types to look at a suspicious situation and say, “It's not my problem.” Though Japan was a relatively safe place to live, he sometimes wished that they were more assertive like Americans or Europeans. And the more he was left to dwell on the situation, the more irritated and frustrated he became.

What did he do to deserve something like this? He was a good person. Surprisingly he had lead a simple and honest life. Sure, his stage persona was angry and violent and a deviant, but that was nothing like who he was. A stage person was just that, a stage persona. He was far more quiet and shy and peaceful, despite what he said in interviews. It was because he enjoyed keeping his work life and private one completely separate. Was he being punished for that?

Or maybe—maybe this was a joke. Maybe his band mates were trying to pull one over on him. Yes, that had to be it! That made perfect sense! His band mates were trying to get him back for leaving the stage so early. Kyo laughed, though it came out more hysterical than at ease as he clutches his fists tightly. Everything was going to be okay because it was all a big joke. At least that's what he wanted to believe.

The door to Kyo's prison opened and he tensed immediately. He held his breath even, straining to hear a familiar voice, anything that would put his mind at ease. All he heard was the sound of footsteps on the tatami flooring, drawing closer and closer to where he lay. The sudden icy touch to his abdomen startled him to gasp in fear, obviously frightening the person in the room as well as they retracted their hand from his skin. Clearly they weren't aware of the fact that he had been awake. Kyo went back into panic mode, breathing frantic as he laid rigid on the bed. The hand was back on him, fingertips this time. They traced over the protruding vein that disappeared under his pants, causing his hips to jerk away in surprise. This time the hand didn't move when Kyo did, it continued caressing his abdomen, like one would do to a cherished pet. Finally Kyo couldn't take it anymore. The touches from the ghostly hand and not hearing a voice terrified him.

“Who are you?” The vocalist managed to choke out, though his voice cracked from the strain he had put on it earlier.

The hand on him stopped on his stmoach upon hearing the question for a fraction of a second before it began to trail it's way up his stomach and to his chest, tracing the year old scars on the pale yet inked skin. No response to his question.

Frustrated, Kyo asked again. “Who are you?”

And yet again no response was elicited from the person that held him captive. Angry and frightened, Kyo began to thrash wildly on the bed, screaming demands to be let go and desperate cries for help from anyone that may be so lucky to hear him. This wasn't a joke, there was no way this was a joke from his friends. No one could be this cruel.

Apparently the person above him was getting just as frustrated as he was. The captor dug their fingertips into Kyo's hair and tugged hard on the bleached strands to the point where his throbbing headache from before came roaring back. Kyo screamed in pain, leaning his head toward the hand to ease the pain in his skull.

“Listen you little bitch. You're making this worse than it has to be screaming like that,” the captor growled in a gruff voice. A man. That scared the living hell out of Kyo. “So if you cooperate, I'll give you some privileges. You'll be untied at one point, get your sight back at another. But if you keep this shit up you'll be left like this longer than you need to be. Understand?”

For a brief moment there was no response from Kyo. How was he supposed to respond? It wasn't like most people would agree to such a thing without complain or concern. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond. Was someone seriously prohibited him from basic human and birth rights? Movement and sight? There was no possible way this guy was serious.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Kyo's voice came out quietly, timid even. “Let me go!” It rose in volume as the urgency for release continued to build with each unmeasurable second that past by.

“Why?” The voice sounded offended, angry even. “Because I love you. There was no other way to get through to you. I should be entitled to keeping you to myself.”

“Because you love me? If you love me you'll let me go!” Kyo pleaded, though his voice continued to hold it's angry yet desperate tone.

A slap resonated in the room, echoing through the room and stinging Kyo's cheek violently. The force jerked his head to the opposite side. Surely a mark was there and set to remain for God knows how long. He wasn't entirely sure how to react to the slap though his body began to tremble fearfully.

“Shut the hell up!” His captor screamed angrily. “I love you so that means I have to keep you here, with me. You know damn well there isn't any other way. Stop fucking arguing with me. If you listen to what I say and do as you're told you'll have a better life with me. Do you think I want to tie you here forever?”

“You're going to let me go?” Kyo questioned, hopeful. And yet another slap was delivered to the face in the exact same spot as before.

“No! Stop asking me that!” The man snapped. “And because you can't seem to behave even after I talk to you, I'm not going to untie you.”

Shit, he may as well have destroyed his only chance at escape. Panicked, Kyo began pleading with his only connection to reality. “No! I'm sorry, I'll behave. Just untie me, okay? I promise I'll listen just untie me!”

Instead of hearing a voice like he wanted to, Kyo was greeted to the sound of the door opening and slamming shut. Clearly he had severely aggravated his captor to the point of warranting this degree of aggression. His cheek smarted from the slaps and his arms felt like they were going to go numb from constantly being held above his head and the lack of proper blood circulation. This? This wasn't love. This was torture. This was something you did to someone you hated. Clearly his kidnapper had quite a fucked up view on reality. Kyo wasn't a mad man, a mad man was the sick bastard who doing this to him.

Slowly but surely the gravity of his situation began to wrap itself around him and his fragile state of mind. This was real. He was actually in some unknown place being held captive by someone who had no intention of letting him go. Some crazed fuck so out of touch with reality that they believed they loved someone they did not even know. Kyo was put into a fit of hysterics, once again bursting into tears and thrashing angrily on the bed, tearing at the skin on his wrists. The third fit of screaming began, screams for help, screams to be released. He was going to die, he was sure of it. There was no way he'd be able to stay alive in a situation like this. The freak would probably end up tiring of him or getting so frustrated they slit his throat. He'd die, and not a person in the world would know it.

By some point of his screaming fit he blacked out, falling unconscious for God knows how long. It was back to that nothingness only this time he welcomed it with open arms. The inky nothing created by his own mind was far more comforting than the man made nothing created by the blindfold. This nothing didn't hold promises of hurting him, and instead of threatening to drive him mad it felt like a blanket promising security from the horrors he was sure to awake to.