Summary: You trade your life for someone you know, offering yourself as a sacrifice to the group of thieves. When Feitan prepares to torture you, all you can hope is that it'll be over soon.
Warnings: Weapons, minor injuries, fear, poison.
Word Count: 2,800+
Note: I know the warnings sound kind of violent, but I promise it isn't that bad!
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Kenta was foolish. You knew not to go off stealing from criminals, but he couldn't be bothered to listen to you. You knew not to ask for trouble, but he welcomed it with open arms. He was a young, foolish child. He may as well die behaving so recklessly, ignoring your judgement, but you couldn't let him. He was too young to die so tragically; he had so much left worth living for. You needed to save him. Which is why you rushed after him when he disappeared, sure of where he'd gone but dreading it all the same.
You knew enough to know he wouldn't live as you stood there staring at the man holding him. Large, strong shoulders, a nearly sickly grin. Kenta couldn't die like this, not after one foolish mistake with dangerous people. His mother would be heartbroken.
"Take me," you blurted, words more reflexive than sincere. "Take me instead of him. Let him go. I'll repent."
Somehow, you'd convinced them to agree.
The sickly grin of the larger man was quickly replaced by the uncaring glare of someone much smaller. Though, his stature spoke nothing of the power thrumming in his core. You could feel it in his grip as he chained you up, hanging above the floor like a piece of meat for slaughter.
He walked across the room, examining a myriad of items on a table. You were glad you couldn't see everything from your angle. However, you feared the worst. Stringing you up had to mean he enjoyed drawing out your last breath, but how? Stabbing? Electrocution? Suffocation? Uncertainty allowed the mind to run wild with possibilities; maybe that's why he'd left you at such an odd angle, table just out of view.
"Why you trade? You love him?" the man asked, running the edge of the blade along his thumb. His voice was quiet, and you almost missed his words over the thrum of your own heartbeat. Yet the question helped, allowing your mind to hone in on something rather than skitter through the infinite possibilities of your demise.
"He's an imbecile," you sighed, eyes downcast as you thought of him. "But now he knows better than to cross thieves."
He was in front of you then, faster than you could blink. Your heart stuttered, thundering in your throat. At least things would be over soon. Apparently the blade was sharp enough for his taste.
"You love him?" he asked again, fixing you with an unreadable stare.
