Work Text:
He was back in that room again. That awful, red, dimly lit room.
The details were hazy for the most part, a blessing… or a curse. He couldn’t say, really. Not that it mattered because all he could focus on were the big, sweaty, grime-covered hands that were on him. Grabbing at his wrists, tugging him harshly by the arms, pulling at his clothes so rough he could have sworn he heard the fabric tearing.
The surroundings were blurry, almost fog-like, giving him the sensation he was underwater. His body felt like it was made out of cement – heavy and slow. For a nimble thief like himself it wouldn’t have been much of a problem to wriggle out of the assaulter’s grasp but his senses were dulled by a blow to the head, his wrists and legs bound together by tight rope that was piercing into his flesh, cutting off a good portion of the circulation there. The marks on his wrists would be visible clear as day when all of this would be over. If he even made it out alive at all.
He felt himself being lifted up by his armpits, like some sort of roadkill that got picked up on the highway and then tossed into the bushes below. Then the realization hit. There was pressure around his neck, the material raw and unforgiving. His heart sank, a strangled, pathetic noise clawing up his throat and spilling past his lips. The men in front of him laughed, their voices booming and making the steady ache of his head worse.
He tried to struggle but to no avail. Panic was rising in his chest, spreading like a wildfire and igniting every cell in his system. So many feelings and thoughts were running through him that he felt like an overheated balloon that would burst any second. Pain, rage, grief, anguish. A memory of his sister sat heavy in the back on his mind. He wanted to cry, to scream and thrash around, but no sound escaped him. Would he share the same fate as her? Another corpse for sick entertainment?
A scream pierced the thick atmosphere. A cry of his name.
Though the figure that ran past the door looked blurry to Sugiura, the voice was a familiar one.
“The hell? Can’t you see I’m tryin’ to have some fun here?!” the man to his left hollered, kicking the small stool from underneath Sugiura’s feet. He felt his body drop, the noose around his neck cutting into his skin and knocking the wind out of him.
“I give him three minutes. Then he’s just another body!” A gruff laugh followed.
Now, he wasn’t stupid. Sugiura knew the more he thrashed and moved, the quicker his death would come. So he let himself hang there, something akin to a piece of meat hanging from a hook. The sounds of fighting echoed through the room but to Sugiura it was nothing more than distant background noise. He grit his teeth, struggling to take in air. The edges of his vision were getting more and more blurry while the weight on his neck increased with each passing second. He was slowly suffocating.
Three minutes.
“-guira? Sugiura!”
The man awoke, his whole body jerking so violently that, to a stranger, it looked like he’d been electrified. His throat felt raw as he heaved. Sugiura’s chest felt like a boulder was sitting on top of it, his mouth open in a silent scream as he tried to gulp down air like a man drowning. A few drops of saliva ran down his chin as he was sent into a coughing fit. Automatically, he shot his hands up to his throat, grasping at skin and fabric, trying desperately to rip off whatever force was chocking him. However, he found nothing. Hair clung to his forehead and his shirt was drenched in sweat. He felt sick, as if he was going to vomit.
“Sugiura…”
Only then did his mind register whom that voice belonged to, as well as the comforting weight of a broad, warm hand on his shoulder.
“...an. Ya-… mi-…san,” the young man rasped, shattered syllables in between pained gasps tumbling out his mouth. Sugiura tried speaking again. And again. And again. A broken mantra of his lover’s name. Tears pricked at his eyes, the feeling hot and unpleasant but he barely noticed.
“Breathe,” Yagami told him. As if to emphasize what he meant, the older man drew in a deep breath, then exhaled steadily.
Clammy hands slowly retreated from their position at his throat and wrapped themselves around Yagami’s forearms instead. Sugiura tried copying his partner by inhaling shakily and letting the air out with a choked sigh. After a moment, the world around him seemed to be come into focus a little. A distant car honk could be heard, as well as the sound of the coffee machine on the kitchenette sink. His body felt hollow, like he wasn’t entirely there, his hands and knees trembling. All he could do was stare at his legs on the couch.
The glassy, distant look on Sugiura’s face made Yagami shift in worry. He knew that look well: the unfocused gaze of a person dissociating, an attempt for the conscious to escape the physical body as a form of self-defense. It bothered him because he’s been there before himself, the night of his parents’ murder.
“Hey,” he spoke again, his voice much softer this time, less assertive. Almost as though the man was trying to approach a hesitant deer in the woods. That seemed to gain Sugiura’s attention, dragging him out of the jumbled mess that was his chaotic thoughts. He looked at Yagami.
“It’s okay, I’m here. We’re here. We’re safe.” Yagami breathed, “It’s going to be okay.”
Yagami’s hands traveled up his lover’s arms and onto his jaw. A thumb swiped across the other’s cheek to rid the area of fresh tears that were now steadily rolling down. The sensation was welcomed, as Sugiura’s body leaned into Yagami’s touch on instinct. Interpreting that as a cue, he slowly pulled his body towards his; letting Sugiura drop his head on his shoulder and start sobbing quietly.
“Yagami-san,” Sugiura croaked again while he clung to the older man.
“I know. You don’t need to tell me anything if you don’t want to but… I think I have a hunch about what your nightmare was about,” Yagami stated, running the flat of his palm up and down the other’s back. The distant memory of the encounter creeped into Sugiura’s brain again.
“But it’s in the past and no one is going to hurt you anymore. Not as long as I live.”
All the man could do at that moment was cry. And he did. He cried, letting himself go, huddled into a small, tight ball in Yagami’s arms.