originally published - 080816

rating: pg-13
(current) length: 2221 words
genre(s): auworld, mystery / suspense, stockholm syndrome
pairing(s): ricsyung / ricsung
description: "such a pretty face."

+ i was inspired by pokemon of all things, specifically the pairing of perfectworldshipping (lysandre x prof. sycamore). this is, however, very loosely based off that relationship because 1 - there are no pokemon in this story and 2 - it honestly has nothing to do with that pairing. i just got an idea while reading some ffs on ao3. anyways, i hope you'll enjoy the story!

---

IN THE CORNER OF YOUR EYE

  With a gasp and a ??? he's awake. 

  Pulling himself off the ground he shudders at the frigidness of the air. Cold envelops him, invading every inch beneath his shirt and shackling his ankles. There's no sign of air conditioner nor window to tell what's causing the temperature. 

  As he rubs his arms to try and keep in some warmth he finally takes in the rest of the room. 

  It's semi-dark, a dim night light plugged into a floor outlet by the entrance. About a foot or two around it is a sickly yellow glow that illuminates part of the dark grey wall. Grime and dirt are imbedded in the crevice where it meets the floor. Eyes follow the trail to a gathering of dust in every corner of the room. There is no view of the outside world and nothing else besides what he's already seen. The walls are void of escape routes.

  Grim fear settles in his veins.

  Standing, he surveys the space for anything he's missed. He walks along the walls with quiet steps but turns up empty handed. 

  Though he wishes to remain rational the terror is settling in. It comes with questions of what will happens next. Will he be left here to die? Are there others in the same situation as him? Who did this?

  He sits on the floor, this time his back to wall farthest away from the door. What he needs to do is think. 

  Where was he last night, and who was he with?

  Slowly, he recollects some of his memory. They'd been at the bar to celebrate a co-workers promotion. He didn't drink much, but it was just enough to have him try and wave down a taxi instead of chancing a drive home. Knowing the owner he'd planned on just leaving his car in the parking lot till morning.

  Then...he was approached by a figure. About the same height as him, though with a smaller, lean build. He was pulled into a conversation. They talked about nothing and everything. He wasn't sure what exactly the exchange led to. Faintly he recalls stumbling over his words a bit due to the alcohol. The man came closer, and everything after that was a blurry mess.

  What happened?

  Somehow, sitting in the back of the room, he wished the door would open so he could stop thinking so loud. He has no such luck as the outside remained undisturbed. 

  Hours pass, to the point where exhaustion starts to creep in. 

  Though not wanting to close his eyes he decides to rest for a moment. Just a moment, but by the time he has that thought he's already asleep.

---

  Startled by the sound of a door slamming he's awake once more. 

  He almost leaps off the ground this time, jolted by the screeching sound of a metal lock pushed into place. Knowing there's no point in trying to open the door he looks around the room. Something's changed.

  Next to him lies a metal tray of food. It's simple - a glass of water, some greens and a bowl of rice. 

  He doesn't touch it.

  Looking about for anything else new he finds no other additions to his confinement. The room remains as it was before, save for the tray sitting innocently at his feet. It's almost as if it's mocking him. This feeling is especially apparents as his stomach growls in protest.

  How long had it been since he'd last eaten?

  Kneeling down to the tray he absent-mindedly the chopsticks placed over its ridges. He's about to pick them up when struck by another thought.

  What if the food's poisoned? What if they're trying to kill him?

  He takes the tray in one hand and throws it against the wall. Glass breaks, water spilling and soaking into the dirt of the floor while bits of rice stick to the wall. As the tray clatters a few broken chips from the ceramic bowl crumble like dust beneath it. 

  When everything quiets down he's sitting against the wall again. He avoids looking at the food, wrapping his arms around his knees.

  He ignores his empty stomach. 

---

  The third time he wakes up he's not alone. 

  As soon as he opens his eyes they're covered by someone's hand. He wants to reach up and pull it away - he really does - but finds himself unable to move his arms. Struggling to pull them from the floor he freezes as fingers brush through his hair. 

  There are no words exchanged for a few moments. 

  "Who are you?" he asks, voice smaller than he means for it to be. 

  "I'm no one, Eric." 

  Blinking in confusion beneath the other's hand he tilts his head as he hears movement. They lift his head up by the back of the neck, resting it against what feels like a body. Like someone's lap. 

  "You're very pretty, you know. Very," Fingers trace along the length of his jawline. "Beautiful. Unlike anything I've ever seen."

  They chuckle, the sound invading his ears as they cup the side of his face.

  Still - there are still so many questions he wants to ask. Questions he needs to have answered, but he's paralyzed by the man's gentle touch. It's almost as if they don't want to hurt him. More like, they want to keep him. 

  Unsettling shivers run down the length of his spine at the notion. The action doesn't go unnoticed.

  "Are you scared?"

  He doesn't trust his voice.

  "Yes."

  How is he even having a civil conversation right now?

  "There's no need to be afraid."

  Coming back to his senses, as if trapped in a ??? stupor, he pulls against his bonds. He tries to yank his arms from the floor but he still can't move. There's a brief moment that he even lifts his head before a hand is wrapping under his chin. 

  They pull his head back, the side of their hand resting dangerously against his throat. At any given time they could freely choke him, or even do something worse. He didn't know what else they had with them. However, they instead chose to grip him by the face to stop him from moving. It made him feel like a fly caught in a spider's web. 

  "You should know better, Eric." he whispers. 

  Without a moment's notice a cloth is being placed over his nose and mouth. He tries his best not to breathe in whatever is soaking the towel but soon enough he's losing oxygen. Taking a breath beneath the rag his eyes start to close. 

---

  It seems as if everything is to be repeated. He wakes again. 

  A glass of water sits still in front of him, lined directly with his face as he lies on the floor. Hands no longer tied he reaches for the cup. He decides that if whoever trapped him here wanted to kill him they would have done it already. That, and he hasn't had water for who knows how long. 

  Drinking the glass down greedily he hopes there's nothing else in it. 

---

  More hours pass and he has yet to fall asleep again. 

  Huddled in another area of the room he jumps as a noise comes from outside. The lock moves within the metal door before it's pushed open, just about and inch forward. 

  He stands up before a voice - the same voice - speaks into the room. 

  "Close your eyes."

  "Why?"

  They don't answer for a moment. Everything is still. 

  "Close your eyes or else."

  He supposes, not knowing what they may have, that it would be best for him to listen and do as they say. Closing his eyes he lets out a shaky breath. 

  "Okay."

  "Are they closed?"

  "Yes."

  "I'm trusting you, Eric."

  The door is opened fully with a loud squeak, hinges old and rusty. Footsteps begin entering the room. As they near him he tenses, standing completely still and fighting back the urge to open his eyes and look. He's so close to seeing who's keeping him here, but at the same time if he disobeys it might be the last thing he ever does. 

  Something is pulled over his eyes. 

  "Stay still."

  It's tied around his head, something that feels like a slip of fabric. Once it's in place hands are sliding over his shoulders and down the length of his arms. They stop it his wrists and slowly pull them together. 

  Click. 

  Cuffs in place he is taken by the hand and pulled. He stumbles, barely catching his feet before they start moving again. 

  Gulping down his fear he realizes they're walking out of the room. There's a change in the air that comes from being in a hall. The faintest of breezes, barely there, is carried from one end to the other. He doesn't know how long it goes on for, nor how many twists and turns it may has. Only his captor knows the way, pulling him along to wherever their desintation is. 

  "Where are you taking me?" he asks, opening his eyes only to be met with the certain darkness of the blindfold. 

  There is no response. Everything remains quiet, only the echoing noise of their collective steps bouncing off the walls. 

  The journey itself is fairly short, the man abruptly stopping and almost causing him to fall over. He's caught by a strong arm that holds him up. When he's no longer at risk of landing on the floor they pull away. 

  Metal against metal meets his ears as a key is inserted into the lock of the handcuffs.

  "Don't move."

  He listens. He does not move.

  Only one half of the restraint is pulled away, the other dangling from his left wrist. They hold onto the chain to keep him near before pulling open yet another door. With a carefully placed shove he is pushed into the room. The door shuts loudly behind him and a voice speaks from outside.

  "You can take off the blindfold now. Tell me when you're done, or I'll come inside after five minutes."

  Carefully, with shaky hands, he reaches up to pull off the blindfold. He has to blink away the brightness of old white lights that decorate the mirror. Looking around he realizes it's a bathroom.

  Remembering their words he shoved the fabric into his pocket. Five minutes to look around. 

  Three minutes later and he realizes there's nothing here. It's just a bathroom with nothing to offer as a weapon. There are no windows, the cupboard in the mirror contains nothing - even the shelves are missing. His best bet is to simply do as the man says so he doesn't damage his own health. Even the bathroom stall has nothing inside except the toilet. No brush, no toothed paper dispenser. It's escape-proof. 

---

  Walking back to his room feels exactly as it did walking out of it. 

  Once he'd finished in the bathroom, thoroughly washing his hands and up his arms, even splashing onto his face, he called to them through the door. Again, just like last time, they didn't open it all the way and asked him to close his eyes. 

  When he did so they walked fully in and took a few steps around the room, like they were looking for something. 

  It was only when they approached him that they seemed to find what they had been looking for. They were unbearably close, sliding their hand into his front pocket that held the blindfold. So that's what they had been looking for. It was pulled from his pocket before their hands were off him, only to make contact near his head as it was tied over his eyes. 

  The handcuffs were also put back into place, encircling both of his wrists. 

  Pull, and he was led out of the bathroom. 

  He had to put one foot in front of the other without seeing what was ahead of him. Every few seconds he would accidentally scuff the toe of his shoe against his captor's heel, but it seemed they didn't mind by the way they never said anything. 

  *to be finished later*

---

  An unfamiliar tune greets him the moment he starts dozing off.

  He still doesn't know how long he's been here. The days pass by but he can't tell what time it is. Without the transition of day to night he's left clueless, even a bit unsettled by the unchanging atmosphere of this dungeon. 

  However, though he'd been carried through a mundane schedule by his kidnapper today seemed to be different.

  For one, the door was open, but no one was there to give him an order. No one was there telling him to close his eyes. 

  Standing up and inspecting the situation carefully he inches near the door. 

  A voice comes is coming from outside, carrying on to a song he's never heard before. It's a beautiful voice, that much he can say for certain, but he still doesn't know where it's coming from. If he didn't know any better he'd say it came from a recording - it was that good. However, knowing nothing he assumed could ever be right in these situations he had to make up other guesses before standing in front of the door.