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The first time Sougo saw it, he was leaning over Woz’s shoulder trying to get a peek into the damn book. Woz had been shifting around, trying his best to block the view with his body. Sougo tried pouting, hoping to earn some sympathy only to notice something underneath Woz’s scarf. A dark black line drawn in stark contrast to his pale neck.
Woz didn’t notice Sougo’s dumbfounded expression, moving away quickly enough that Sougo could have sworn he imagined the thing. But the image stuck with him, made him carefully watch his new… whatever Woz was.
The next time he saw it was during a random breakfast. Woz had entered the shop with yet another broken clock and had been hastily invited in. Sougo moved around the table serving food only to look down and see what he was looking for clearly.
A black collar was fastened around Woz’s neck, hidden from the view of most. It was thin with a silver clasp on the front with an odd shape that Sougo couldn’t quite make out.
The next couple of weeks Sougo constantly tried to get another peek at it. He looked for any excuse to push Woz into a sitting position so he could look down his jacket. He’d tug at the man’s scarf just to see if he could see the collar past it. He even started giving Woz orders than would make him bend in front of Sougo just for the pleasure of seeing that tether around his neck.
He savored each look even as a thousand questions filled his mind. He told himself he was overthinking it. Sometimes chokers were just an accessory. But Woz didn’t seem the type to wear something like that just for fun. And with all his talk of being a prophet and a humble servant of his king, Sougo couldn’t help but hope the collar had something to do with him.
The thing that drove him to ask directly was seeing the other Woz. The fake Woz brought about by Geiz’s potential betrayal. It was hard to tell in the heat of battle, but Sougo was almost positive, that Woz didn’t have a collar. It was a small and foolish thing to focus on, but that small fact made Sougo all the more confident.
It made him confident enough to call his Woz into his bedroom. Technically, it wasn’t the first time Sougo had done it. He’d called Woz a couple times to help him with a chore or to make the prophet get something from downstairs. After all, why wouldn’t he take advantage of a teleporter willing to do anything he asked?
But this time he wasn’t planning on such benign requests. He wanted an answer. Just one answer among the hundreds that’d come since the prophet appeared in his life.
“Yes, my demon king?” Woz asked smiling in his unique way: too formal but with an intensity that would give anyone pause.
“Sit down,” Sougo said, patting the bed next to him.
Woz did so without hesitation or question. That act in itself made Sougo’s heart jump. He’d dreamed of being king so long, but it still feel unnatural whenever someone listened to him like this.
“I want to take a look at you,” Sougo said. He wasn’t sure if it was a question or an order.
“Of course, my lord,” Woz said, smile unchanging as he opened his arms, “What part of me do you want to see?”
Sougo mouth felt dry as he looked into Woz’s face. There was no hint of nerves or confusion in Woz’s face, just calm acceptance of whatever Sougo would do to him. He felt like he should ask, before tearing off Woz’s clothes, but he knew the permission had already been granted.
He reached forward, grabbing a handful of Woz’s scarf tugging it up and over his head. The cloth fell on the bed behind them with a soft thump. Sougo remembered that the scarf was more than just an item of clothing, it was a weapon. There were a hundred questions in his head about that, but none of them were important at the moment. What was important was unfastening the buttons on Woz’s jacket.
There was silence between the two of them as Sougo fumbled clumsily with the large buttons. Sougo was too nervously to look Woz in the face so he focused intently on his now exposed neck. It was much paler than his face due to being constantly covered. Something about that made Sougo’s fingers itch to wrap his hand around it.
When just enough buttons had been undone, Sougo yanked the jacket open and stared down at the collar. The silver buckle at the front was undoubtedly his symbol. Technically Oma Zi-O’s symbol, but at this point they were one and the same. Either way, the sight made his entire body feel warm.
Sougo hooked a finger under the collar, pulling Woz forward just a little.
“Explain this.”
Woz’s head tilted back, a weak little sigh leaving his mouth. “It’s my collar, sir.” His smile was changed slightly, it was more relaxed, and his gaze was unfocused.
“What does that mean?” Sougo asked tugging a little harder.
Woz’s fists were balled at his side and there was a noticeable blush creeping up his cheeks. “It’s proof I belong to you,” he said words coming like they were automatic. Like he’d said those exact words a thousand times.
Sougo was at a loss for words. He’d barely even admitted this fantasy to an incognito browser, let alone another person. Yet here he was, holding someone unquestioningly loyal to him by the collar. It stirred something deep in him.
“You belong to me,” Sougo whispered reverently as he pulled his hand away from the collar to rest it on Woz’s head. Woz nodded, pressing into the touch. “But what does that mean? Do you belong to me or to my future self?”
“Yes, my demon lord.”
Sougo laughed at that. He didn’t know what he’d expected. Expecting a useful answer from Woz was like finding customers that came to the shop to get a clock fixed. It was possible, but usually when it did happen there was some sort of catch. Every answer came with a hundred more questions that he wanted to ask. However, he wasn’t entirely sure how many of them he wanted answered.
“Why is there no mention of this in the book?” Sougo asked, more to break the silence than anything else.
“Because the book is not about that,” Woz answered just as sincerely as always, “And this collar is not about the book.”
“What does that mean?”
“I carry the book because I am your prophet. But I wear this collar because I’m yours.”
The words felt like lightning in Sougo’s chest. He doesn’t know how to react to them. Woz’s eyes bored into him, but he didn’t know how to be the king Woz wanted. He knew he wanted to be the best king, one worthy of the passion and dedication Woz was giving him so freely. But how to be that was another set of questions.
Sougo’s hand went to the collar again, thumb running slowly over his symbol on the clasp of the collar. There was a keyhole there for key he didn’t yet possess.
Maybe if he’d been smarter or paid attention in school, he would have been able to come up with some wise words to describe the feeling tugging at his heart. Something about metaphor and symbolism. But he wasn’t smart and he wasn’t clever. All he could think to do was press a gentle kiss to his Woz’s forehead. The motion seemed to startle the man more than anything else that had happened between the two of them.
“That’s all I needed to know,” Sougo said, letting go of the collar.
Woz’s head tilted in confusion, but he didn’t say anything. Sougo turned away knowing he’d be alone when he turned back. The sinking in his chest was becoming increasingly familiar. The feeling of getting everything he’d ever dreamed only for it to come to him broken and wrong was becoming a common occurrence for him. But he was going to set it right. He was going to become a king worthy of the ownership of his darling prophet.