Darkness.
He could remember being so afraid of it as a child. Constantly fearing when the sun would eventually set and plummet the world into night. Too much time spent without electricity would instill the emotion into anyone.
Growing up destitute had been a unique sort of experience. A privilege he wished he hadn't been forced to partake in. Everyone looked at his family and only saw what they were now. They never bothered to picture what it had taken to get there.
Once, it had been a source of pride. All of his father's hard work had made him positively swell with it. It was a slow, steep climb, constantly losing ground and sliding backwards. But they had made it. Had ended the journey that had begun in earnest. Were an actual, certified success. Everyone envied them. What they had. What they had built.
All were praised for their patience. For their sacrifice. And he remembered the moment he had finally been old enough to take up a position within the company. Working as an assistant to someone far more important than himself. Completing menial task with little thanks.
Yet the pride still remained. Never wavered. Stayed constant and true.
Until he presented and it became far harder to hide what he was. To pretend that he was the beta his father wished him to be.
Pride turned to disappointment. And soon that transformed into disdain.
Until he was no longer the prized second son of a man who had scraped his way from nothing to rise to the top. But an unwanted embarrassment, sent from the heavens to marr his families name. To be a disgrace. A burden which must be hidden away.
So the darkness became his home.
But he never felt welcomed there. Never felt safe.
Not until now.
...
When he woke there was panic, thick and unnerving, forced upon him by the fact that he could not see. No matter how desperately he blinked or how rapidly, his vision would not clear. All there that filled it was inky blackness, and he cried out, whimpered from his place as his mind struggled to catch up, hands lifting to his face, expecting to feel the warmth of his own flesh only to feel the softness of fabric.
A blindfold. He was wearing a blindfold. And suddenly, it all came flooding back. A rapid fire replay of memories, and he found himself sagging, letting the past flood over him until he could do nothing more than accept it.
"Looks who finally awake." There was that voice, dark and soothing, and he let it wash over him, a strange sort of comfort he didn't quite comprehend. The air was heavier now, filled with less of his own candy sweetness and more of the rich spice he had caught the night before.
"Where are we?" Another stupid question. Apparently they were the only thing he was capable of asking.
"Really?" It sounded as if the other was lifting an eyebrow, unable to unwilling to believe what he had just been asked.
"Right. Sorry. Of course you're not going to tell me." In reality, he already knew far too much. Had seen far more than it was ever intended for him too. And the knowledge was what had gotten him into this exact predicament. Why he wanted to add to it was beyond him.
"What do you know? You are capable of intelligent thought." There was that amusement again, an almost musical tone that sunk into his mind and calmed the residual fear.
"Can you at least -" He gestured wildly to the area of his face, wondering if he was actually pointing at the fabric barrier or at some other random body part.
