Not Interested // Shuntaro Chishiya

♡30♡

GAME START
Round one.
You can roam freely until it is time to enter your cell.

Whispers echo.
People break into groups of swapping symbols and 'thank yous'.

When the hair at the back of your neck shifts, you shiver. It's Chishiya, he's maneuvering the strands away from your collar. His fingers drag along the metal, stopping at the base of your neck.

He's cold to the touch and you feel your stomach do a flip, the butterflies going wild.
Then he whispers your symbol, and a warmth spreads across your chest. You have to fight to keep the color from rising to your face.

"If you're not careful, Shiya," you mutter, a streak of excitement running through you. "I'll go down on you in front of these people."

His breath his lost to him, the grip he has on your neck tightening ever so slightly. Something in him rises.

Do you know what you do to him?

You turn, slowly and on your heels. A smile graces your lips. You raise a hand, he lets his fall.
Carefully, you put your fingers on his jaw, turning his head and peeking at his symbol, inhaling with excitement.

"It's your specialty," you say, letting your fingers fall from his face and taking a few steps away. You shoot him a wink that makes his stomach clench. What's gotten into you?

He'd like to blame your mood on your injury, the pain making you delirious. But underneath it all, he knows it's him. He makes you crazy in the best way possible. And you're cherishing his presence.

The thought makes him want to twirl his hair and giggle like a school girl. He wants to pull you in, smash his lips into yours, not caring for those who will see.

But your already a few feet away from him. Back to him, you're approaching two men who shrink into themselves, an attempt to be invisible.

Those else in the room have broken into groups. A large one surrounding a pretty girl in a dress that sways when she moves her her hips. Her lips quirk as she acknowledges her power in pretty privilege.

There's a yakuza threatening a whimpering boy, showing the hierarchy that comes with being mean.

A woman and man, both dressed formally, tucked away in a corner. It's obvious who owns the other the way the woman is clutching onto the man for safety.

Then there's two freaks.
One with a disgustingly bad display of bangs, wandering focus, and fidgety fingers.
The other is a murderer.

Banda is his name.
He's killed four woman, most likely wondering how many more bodies he can kill off in his time in the Borderlands.

He's a freak that deserved to be put on death row. Some sick individual that takes pleasure in seeing people writhe in pain under him.

You've read about him in the newspaper, even thought of taking him on as a patient for the time he had left to life. That lucky fuck got away from the electric chair and into his makeshift paradise of the Borderlands.

What puzzle could you create to sift yourself through the works of his mind, what game could you make up to break down his walls and have him begging you to make him a better person?

He was a basket case.
But you were confident; one session with him, and you'd have him labeled mentally insane.

But this wasn't the real world. You didn't have your tools, your job, your paper and pen to write down his flaws, how he acquired a superiority complex over the years.

In this world you were his enemy, not his friend.
Which is why you approached with a sweet smile, showing him the white of your teeth.

"Do you want me to tell you your symbol," you ask politely, leaning forward on your toes.
"I promise I won't lie!"

Banda's lips twitch.
"No. And I won't tell you yours."

No need.
"Why not? We can help each other."

Letting his gaze lower to yours, he accesses you intently. He doesn't look pleased, but that's what you want.

"You're nice. I don't like that."

Inwardly, you grin.
Outwardly, you cock your head back, eyebrows furrowing slightly in feigned hurt. "What do you mean?"

"You're either nice because you're a naive little girl," he growls out, not letting his voice lift above a whisper. He's trying to scare you, and man is it not working. "Or you're faking it."

In response, you shrug.
Your lack of reaction is enough to make him take a step away from you, back pressing into the wall.

Then you walk away, and Chishiya watches the murderer's lips purse in displeasure, making his own quirk in approval of whatever the hell you just did.

"So," he asks once you come back to him. In an instant, he doesn't know what comes over him, his hands are on your hips.

He doesn't pull you any closer, but he enjoys seeing the surprise streak through your face, your own hands lifting to hover over his chest in thought.

With a tap on his chest, you step away, making his hands fall from your body. "I'm hungry, going to grab a snack. I'm pretty sure the food we got was expired."

He chuckles, a sudden want arising.
"Don't worry, when we get home, I'll cook you a nice meal."