He glanced at the boy questioningly when he felt him tense. Now why was he acting that way? Byron sighed slightly. It was difficult, trying to please another. No ... others should please him, no that wasn't right... No one had every tried to please him. He'd always wanted to please others. His hold tightened slightly. "You will try to keep me happy, won't you Gabriel?" Say yes, Byron's mind cried, say yes! There was always a different part of him lurking in the background, lying in wait to pounce to the forefront.

It was those times when he lost it. Blood usually ran from his hands then, covering the walls and painting the world the same color as rubies. This couldn't be one of them. He forced himself to back away, to stand and turn his back upon the pale eyed man. "Excuse me ..."

Byron locked the door, and struggled to remain as he was as he leaned against the wood. No, not again. He liked it when blood covered the world, was always aware of things when that happened. This .. he was losing himself again. Why now?

Byron's demeanor changed, anger leaving him and a serene kindness emanated from the man. He sent a puzzled glance to the door, wondering silently why he stood there. He never went in there. Shaking his head, the pale haired man went upstairs and started cooking his dinner. He was sure it was dinner time, and that was proved true when he glanced at the clock.

Well he did know what was going on, but he never interfered with his other side's will. It was the only reason he was allowed to exist at all. Loyal threw in some spices over the chicken he prepared, and almost wanted to scream at the injustice of it all. That poor young man, captured and used ... Though he knew from his silent observations that Byron truly was beginning to become fond of him. That could change at the drop of a hat.

Once the food was done, rice and chicken both, he placed them artfully upon a pair of plates and brought them down the stairs carefully. It was a juggling act, but he managed to unlock the door and close it again. He turned to face Gabe with a gentle smile, and kind eyes, far different then anything the young man had yet seen from him. Wordlessly, he placed the plate upon the dresser near the bed and moved to stand by the door with his own food in hand still. Loyal was curious about the one able to create such a strange kind of affection in Byron, but he didn't want to stay too long for fear that Byron might resurface and take out the anger that always followed him upon his reawakening on the boy.

Gabriel gasped as the arm against him drew tighter. He shut his eyes as if blocking everything out, but nodded quickly at the question. Why would he dare say anything else? He didn’t know what he would have to do to keep Byron happy with him, but Gabriel didn’t exactly want to consider that right now. It was frightening. When his captor left, Gabriel blew out a pent-up breath and shook visibly as he rummaged in the bag and pulled out a sketchbook and a pack of regularl pencils. He had to do something, or he’d go crazy all the faster. Brushing back his damp hair, Gabriel crossed his legs in the center of the bed and flipped the book open, starting a drawing. A forest in the height of summer, a beautifully leafy and sunny, bright sight. He had to draw very lightly to make sure the colored pencils wouldn’t let the gray graphite show up.

He drew deer first, a young buck whose antlers were hardly much more than a couple twigs on his head. Long-legged and thin, elegant and weak, like Gabriel, relying on speed to escape terrifying or dangerous situations... But the deer was no doubt smarter than he was---A deer never allowed itself to be approached by someone they didn’t know, no matter how soul-crushingly lonely they were. He finished the creature’s body half-blind, then brought up his hand to wipe away the tears before starting on the trees. He barely made a mark on the paper, his sensitive eyes watchful of every tiny mark he made. It was good to take himself away from this ridiculous mess, if only a little.

He found the colored pencils then, having finished a rough outline of the trees. A dark, woody brown among many other tones that just didn’t work in that situation. Coupled with black and gray to shade the area, and green for the leaves, paling as it went back, framed by yellowy-orange sunlight. The deer itself was still light, as it hadn’t lost all its spots yet. It was framed by the sunlight that came through the trees.

As he was about to pick up a blue tone to place a bit of sky where it was needed, the door opened and sent Gabriel back a bit in surprise. His heart leapt into his throat and it was hard to swallow it down again as he took to his feet. It only felt natural to stand in Byron’s presence, and lower his head. Perhaps his self-appointed title of ‘Lord’ was well placed... Still, the lure of food was what hooked him forward, and Gabriel stepped toward the dresser, where the second plate had been set. Byron did seem like a good cook...

He stood somewhat tensely near Byron, and managed a nervous smile. “Ah, are you a... a chef?” He asked tentatively. “You could be...” It was true. Gabriel himself had a bit of talent, but nothing that one would really raise a brow to.

The young man was so frightened ... Loyal shook his head and smiled with a small laugh. "No, not at all! I can't. It isn't possible for me to really do anything, except exist and try to stay that way." It was such a rush, speaking to someone else! He'd never been able to do that. To reach out and feel, to be able to take action and actually do when another was there to pay witness to everything, all of that was such a novel feeling.

"Do as he says, and he won't harm you, not in anger at least. Don't try to escape. He won't kill you if you try, I don't think, but he'll make you miserable. " The words were spoken in a rush, quickly and without breath. "Please ... please take my advice." He couldn't believe that he was actually able to warn someone, as he'd tried so many times to. Loyal never could do much, save perhaps encourage Byron to make his prisoner's ends quick and painless, or at least more so. With this boy, he was able to nudge at the more benevolent feelings Byron harbored.

Byron ... He could return to control at any time. Heart beating faster at the thought, the blonde's eyes moved to the door and then back to Gabe. "He doesn't know I'm there, not really ... Don't tell him and remember me .. Me, Loyal. I'm not him." He left in a rush, locking the door on reflex behind his back. His time had been so short, but he'd actually spoken to someone else. Loyal smiled and cried as he leaned against the wall, hoping in a way that Gabe would hear him.

The sounds faded away. Instead, the renting of fabric filled the air. Stuffing flew across the room, chairs were thrown and a loud bang resounded through the basement. Byron's anger was back, and in full force. He glanced at the plate he'd set aside, cooked in an artful way he'd never have been able to replicate. That conniving other him had actually gotten control. What had happened? His hands trembled shakily, moving to grasp the key in his pocket.

This certainly wasn’t Byron---or at least, it wasn’t what he knew Byron to be. This was crazy...! He had multiple personalities, two obviously. One so much kinder... But the stark contrast would be so difficult to pinpoint. How would he be able to know which was which? Suddenly he wasn’t hungry anymore, and a rather sick feeling came over him again. Stepping away, Gabriel covered his mouth and willed the sensation away, and suddenly a loud, shocking noise came through the door. It was terribly muffled, so he couldn’t understand what was happening out there. Perhaps Byron had come back...

His knees grew weak and gave way, sending him to the floor as he went toward the nearest safe place he could find: The corner farthest away from the door. Gabriel covered his eyes and brought up his legs, hiding behind them as if they could make him invisible. When the sound fell utterly silent then, Gabriel put his hands over his head as a makeshift shield just in case he became the man decided to make him the object of whatever rage he was revealing.

Trembling, he recognized the emotion running through him. It was fear. He didn't want his pet to be gone when he opened the door. The key slipped inside, and with a quick flick of the rest the door creaked open slowly. Unexpected relief washed through him when he saw the crouching youth. "You're still here ... Thank the gods, I thought he'd freed you." Byron moved to sit upon the bed. He had no illusions, he knew how much he was feared, and so didn't reach out to offer comfort. It wouldn't have made any difference.

"You draw well." His gaze had moved to the piece of unfinished artwork. He felt a sudden impulse to kneel before the youth, and for once he followed it so his steely grey eyes could face Gabriel's pale ones. "I'm glad to see that my gifts are already in use, Gabriel." Reach out ... No, no, he couldn't ever reach out again. That was what Darius had used to destroy him.

He was so confused... Byron was terribly unpredictable, so much that Gabriel simply didn’t allow himself to be surprised anymore. Afraid, of course. Surprised---hopeful? Never. The one that called himself ‘Loyal’ had been so kind. Those eyes had been soft, sweet, caring... He wanted to heed the other personality’s words, but his instinct was telling him not to become so attached, to run at the first fleeting opportunity he had and not to second guess it whatsoever. Of course he didn’t want to make Byron angry, and Loyal...? What if he became angry too? All the more reason to look for a way to get out...

He looked down as Byron knelt in front of him. Last time he’d been so close Gabriel had received a series of sharp blows. But he took it as well as he could. “Th-thanks... I... Maybe I’ll paint some snowy scenes for you... if you’d want that.” He could do that. He’d painted many scenes of various seasons. Some realistic, some that resembled Thomas Kinkade, a painter he came to really idolize for his serene paintings of hope, of solitude, surreal and simple lives. He’d never be able to be just like that man, but at least he could try... He had time...

The tension in his frame eased a little. He hadn't even known he was so tense. "It's alright," murmured the man. He didn't even know where the words were coming from. "I'm right here.." Byron winced slightly, no he wasn't! What was wrong with him? The pale haired man stood and stomped away to slam his hand against the opposite wall, near the door.

"Paint me something or not. It's up to you." Anger sliced through the words. Byron simply couldn't understand what was going on. Those words hadn't been his, and that tone of voice .. None of that was him. That other side of him perhaps? He needed to find a way to get rid of it. The sooner there was only him, the better.

Gabriel would quickly become that wall, he was sure. Byron was so utterly torn in half, first calm, then violent, then... So many chances to offend, disrupt, anger him in some way. He forcibly jolted when the resounding crack of Byron’s strong fist impacted the wall. He wouldn’t stand a chance if he had been there... He was more helpless now than he’d ever been before, and the thought brought a well of tears down his cheeks.

“I will then.” He muttered simply. It was a bold move, but the sudden heat of the tears had forced a strange sensation forward. “I’ll paint... and you can take them if you like.” Though his words were somewhat bolder than he felt, Gabriel couldn’t bring himself to move toward the unfinished sketch. He’d finish it later, then perhaps wait to make another... If he were still alive.

Paint me something. That was Loyal's thought, but it was buried beneath Byron's overwhelming mind. The hidden personality wanted to badly to comfort the other man, but he could do no such thing.

Byron turned to face the youth once more, shook his head, then left with a slam of the door. He went through his little routine, getting prepared for the hunt. It wasn't long before he went into the city, and then was returning with another dark haired, cinnamon skinned, man who was plastered all over him. That soon changed, screams echoing in one of the soundproof rooms. Blood soaked through Byron's clothing as he knelt upon the floor, faced with the wreckage of yet another monster strewn about.

That was much better. He began the meticulous clean up. He got rid of the monster's remains by first grinding it all up, then mixing it with beef. The whole of it went into a hole, filled with other plastic bags. These were mostly empty, because of all the maggots within the whole he'd made in the home's foundation, and hidden behind a cement wall that looked seamless.

He could finally rest once everything was done. And did so after going to peek into Gabriel's room. Byron was so tired, he collapsed on the sofa downstairs in the basement. He was oblivious to the fact that the door to the room wasn't locked.

Gabriel stood when he was alone again. This whole situation was trying on the nerves, made him a wreck. But he shook that off and emptied the bag of supplies, separating it all. Markers, pencils, pastels, paints of various mixes, brushes... It seemed Byron had really thought about everything. He gathered it up, though, and sorted it out. The paints he put on the top free shelf of the bookshelf near the bathroom door. The pens, pencils, and markers and pastels he put below that. Then the rolls of paper and canvas and sketchbooks he placed below that, and the towels, palates, and brushes he placed at the bottom. A small pencil sharpener fell out of the bottom, and he studied it. It’d come in handy.

Placing it with the paper, he chose a simple outlining pen and settled on the bed with the green journal. It was probably going to save what was left of his sanity. Glancing upward, he studied the door before turning to the first page, uncapping the thin pen, and started writing.

He didn’t look at what he wrote---it would slow his hand, which would be useless to letting his mind reveal his worst fears in the moment, or what might become of him at a later time. And he wanted his subconscious to take over in that instant. His hand ran down the page lightly, as if he were suddenly disconnected from his situation. When his door opened, Gabriel ducked his head as if someone threw something at him, but Byron didn’t enter, and Gabriel sighed shakily. If Byron didn’t kill him, the internal bleeding from stress-induced ulcers would...

Without reading what he wrote, Gabriel shut the journal and capped the pen, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes until starbursts exploded in the darkness.

He dreamed, but he wasn't really dreaming. It was like the two personalities could finally meet at night, one aware of what was happening while the other thought it was nothing more then his subconscious putting his worries to rest at night.

They stood facing each other, or he stood facing himself. One of them spoke, but it was impossible to tell which of the reflections did so. "Keep him safe, be kind ... Once you were like him." A void of darkness surrounded the reflections as the whispering continued, surrounding them like a tornado of sound.

The sound turned into birds of black, who swooped down and carried them both away.

The disturbing dream had Byron snapping awake, eyes wide and breath coming out in little gasps. Blonde hair flying, he stood and before he knew it his hand was raised to knock upon his prisoner's door. He stopped before completing the action, and sighed. Words spoken in his sleep drifted through Byron's mind, and he couldn't deny their truth.

Gabriel finally managed to sleep, curled under the blanket on a real bed rather than a small nest of pillows and sheets. The light being off forced him into complete darkness because of a lack of windows, but of everything he feared, the darkness wasn’t one of them. He turned in his sleep, and opened his eyes just a bit.

The bathroom door was ajar, and the light was on, giving the room a yellowish glow off to the left. Though he found that odd, since he had closed the door with the light off, Gabriel couldn’t look past the figure framed in the light. An all-too familiar figure. His hair shone pale. Gabriel gasped, and went backward, but Byron moved quicker---in a moment he was on top of the young man, pressing him down, legs wrapped around his torso to keep him still. His large hands were around Gabriel’s wrists, keeping his arms pinned.

Gabriel’s heart pounded hard against his ribs. “N-no, Byron! Please, I---” The man cut off his words with a rough kiss, and moved back with a laugh. A word: “Quiet!”

He closed his eyes hard, and snapped them open again. The room’s utter darkness let the visions linger, and somehow he was sitting up. The bathroom was dark, because he couldn’t see anything at all, beyond what was left of the nightmare... Or could it really be classified as a nightmare...? Gabriel shook his head hard. Of course it was a nightmare! Damn it, what else could it have been...? Byron had tried to... Gabriel’s breath caught when his mind drifted to that very idea. It was a nightmare---a nightmare that had soaked his sheets with sweat and left him shaking and gasping.

He knocked. There were faint sounds coming from the room which worried him. The emotion was so real, and Byron so unable to deal with it, that Loyal leaped upon the chance to be free once more, and this time with a subconscious acquiescence he'd never had before. He lifted a hand to braid his hair after the knock, giving a little time for the man behind the door to collect himself.

That done, he placed the key inside to unlock it, but was shocked to find it being locked instead. It was a good thing that Loyal had made the discovery, and not his other self. With a shake of his head, Loyal finally opened the door and walked inside. His kind eyes traveled over the distraught looking young man. The serene man walked nearer Gabriel, approaching him like one would a frightened colt.

"Is everything alright, pet? Can I do anything to help you calm down, feel safer? Byron would have me locked away if I let you escape but .." Maybe he could show him a bit of the house, bring him upstairs to his own room and show him some of his work. An idea struck Loyal then, and the thought of having company as he cooked made his heart soar. He was the one who loved cooking, Byron would rather lock himself away in his little workroom to create pieces of art with lifeless metal.

Gabriel snapped around when a knock sounded at the door. How strange... Byron didn’t have to knock---or, that was what he thought. It was his house, after all, he could come into any room as he wished. When he entered Gabriel could tell something was very different about him. Perhaps it was the one known as Loyal that had entered, but Gabriel kept himself prepared for anything. Two personalities living in one body was so unnerving, Gabriel felt he had to tiptoe over eggshells even more now that the other side of the man was obvious.

He shook his head slightly, bringing up his hands to run one through his hair to keep it back and the other to wipe away the tears that he hadn’t realized had appeared when he woke up. Now that there was a light on, he had to squint. “Um, no... No, I don’t think so. You... You’ve already done so much...” The dream---no, nightmare---was still lingering in his mind, he was almost able to feel the man’s hands pressing his arms down and holding him still...

Turning his gaze down, Gabriel looked at the edge of the bed. His book had stayed there after he was done writing. He hadn’t read through it yet, afraid of what his mind had decided to tell him. “Um... Actually, some different clothes might... be nice.” He felt so odd asking for something specifically. But he had to get out of these dirty, two-day-old clothes somehow, and walking about naked was just out of the question.

"Of course, of course ... For now you'll have to make do with some of mine, but if you make a list of the types of things you like to wear, I could go and get some next time I go in town." Actually that would be Byron, but it would also be him. Loyal wanted so badly to reach out, and so he did as he'd wished to do the previous day by passing a gentle touch over the other man's arm. Loyal tilted his head to the side to smell the captive's hair. It smelled fruity. That was something else he needed to ask about, what kind of shampoo Gabriel liked.

There was so much to do, and so little time, so little reason for any of it. Gabriel certainly didn't want anything to do with him, he was still in Byron's body, trapped with someone he despised for horrific actions. "I'm sorry, please forgive me. This is the first time I've ever really been able to interact with anyone. Usually I just stay upstairs, in the kitchen, and cook." Then he could taste, smell and feel. It was such a treat to be able to indulge in the things he liked, rather then having to bear the things that Byron preferred.

Gabriel twitched when Byron---actually, Loyal---got so near him. He wasn’t afraid of Loyal so terribly, but it was still a challenge to be bold enough to work his way around this personality. Besides, he had no idea which was the real Byron. Was it this kind, caring, sweet version? Or the easily-angered violent murderer? Perhaps the latter came out when Darius was involved in his life, a type of protector that overcame its master and locked that once benevolent side of him away, delving into the delusion that he was a lord and the dark-skinned, dark-haired men of the city were monsters bent on harming him and everyone else.

Gabriel nodded, and felt a bit of a pull in his heart. He wanted so badly to let Loyal know it wasn’t him Gabriel feared, but that other side... The side that might not really be who Byron was. “It’s okay...” He tried to sound reassuring, but that was a failing endeavor. “I just...” He paused, feeling a bit lightheaded at the worry that Byron himself would snap back any moment. “I’d just like to know if there’s some... ways I might be able to keep Byron happy with me? Something I can do, or not do... That might make him angry?” It was worth a shot to ask Loyal, someone he didn’t have to fear as much. “If I could paint him things... Write him things... I don’t have many talents otherwise.”

The questions both startled and saddened the pale haired man. He wished with all he was that he could find some way for Gabriel to walk free without consequences, but he couldn't. He couldn't risk seeing the young man killed when Byron flew in a rage at his disappearance. Then there would be no mercy, and no life.

"He likes it when you appreciate him, when you're kind to him ... When you seem like you enjoy his presence. I know that's hard to hear, but it's what's kept you alive so far, even though he's aware you fear him and with reason." He offered up a small smile. "Basically be the opposite of anything he says Darius is, even though you share his coloring, and whatever you do, don't contradict anything he says, and do what he asks." Byron was stirring, he could feel it at the back of his mind. There was nothing Loyal could do, his sight was already blurring and his sense of everything around him was gone. Now he was relegated to being nothing more then a hidden mind, hiding behind eyes that were not his and trying desperately to let some of himself shine through Byron's stormy eyes.

The man tensed, glanced around the room, then turned to shoot the younger man a glare. With an angry sound, he reached out to slap a hand over the broken finger. Byron did nothing more, save stand and move to the unfinished drawing. He grasped it between his hands and ripped the delicate paper to shreds, without touching any of the other pages. "What the hell happened? You lured me in here, trying to worm your way out! Isn't that what you were doing? It was, I'm sure."

Byron's volatile temper had been ignited, and he moved to tower over the dark haired man. "I'll break your legs if I have to," stated the tall man quite matter of factly.

When those eyes darkened again Gabriel’s heart sank. Byron was back, and that was obvious when he quickly approached. Before he could make a defensive movement to retract back into himself, a burning pain shot up his arm from his hand, making him cry out and snatch his hand away, cradling it against his chest. Through new tears he watched Byron grab his unfinished drawing and rip it to pieces, and vaguely, it felt as if his captor were shredding a bit of Gabriel himself. Tiny pieces of deer and tree littered the floor, completely unable to truly be copied. He flinched when Byron accused him.

“N-no... No, I---” He cut himself off when the words of Loyal drifted back. Don’t contradict him... “I’m sorry. I did.” He went back as the muttered threat, horrified that Byron wouldn’t think twice about it. The pain in his left hand was bad enough, he couldn’t begin to imagine how horrible a broken leg would feel... Let alone two. “I’m sorry, Byron. I just do-don’t like being alone... I thought you’d come back and...” It almost wasn’t a lie. Being alone was horribly frightening, and when Byron wasn’t around, Gabriel could only imagine what he might be doing, might be thinking. It was more unpredictable than when he was around. “I-it’d just be... nice to, y’know, have someone around, like... someone...” He put his head down, as if trying to block the world out. His injured hand was protectively under his chin, hidden away.

Anger faded quickly to a low simmer, instead of it's previous explosive and volatile incarnation. The imposing man moved to sit down by Gabe, his weight making the bed sag. Byron's heart shivered, hearing such words leaping from the other's lips and his name being spoken. "Alright. Just, don't do it again, or I will make sure you regret it." There was no threat in the words. Byron saw this as no more then a statement of fact, a proof of his will and lordship.

"In the meantime, you want my company? That could be arranged ..." Perhaps he would bring the other man upstairs, or better yet, show him his beloved workroom. Yes, that was what he would do, and perhaps he could make something for his pet. A leash sounded appropriate, made of chain ending in leather, that would work. It would make trusting the other man out of his room all the easier, if he held something binding him.

Gabriel nodded when the words were spoken. He had no doubt whatsoever that Byron would act, then perhaps force him to walk about on those broken legs. But his mind had always played a little further into whatever terrible situation he was forced to endure. While he couldn’t have imagined something like this to have ever happened, he could almost see the millions of ends. None did well for him.

When the man sat, Gabriel forced himself to calm down a bit. His hands lowered, and he raised his head a bit. He had always wanted something to happen in his life. His sad little job was worthless, his friendless existence futile, his hope to write or be a known artist down the drain because he couldn’t stand to face many people at once. He was going nowhere in life, just like his parents had always sighed in disappointment when talking to or about him. And to think---if he got out of here, he’d be going right back to that: Struggling with writing, trying to get finished with what he hoped were masterpiece paintings, fighting to make enough to keep his dingy little apartment, which was only about as large as where he was now. If he was just a little careful, perhaps he’d learn to exist here...

He’d gone through faint depression, and now that was coming back. The listlessness, the lack of emotion. Even fear was starting to ebb a little, but it was still there, at the forefront of his mind. He would follow Loyal’s instructions to precise measurements, as long as he possibly could. Perhaps he’d even find the will to try an escape.

"Come with me." So saying, he reached out to grab the other man's hand. He pulled him along, opening the door and leading Gabe to another section of the basement. Within, there were well placed lights, and a window. A well stocked workbench dominated one wall with an array of metal working materials, along with rolls of metal wire, chains and other things.

A half finished chainmail shirt lay upon the workbench, just waiting to be taken up once more. "This is where I spend most of my free time. You can try your hand at metalworking, if you want." Byron actually would like that, being able to teach someone else about his hobby, even if it was a monster. Not quite a monster though. Gabriel confused him, that was the only certainty he had about the smaller male.

Of course he allowed himself to be led out of the room, to Byron’s workshop. A nice place, he had to admit, easy on the eyes, full of the necessities one would probably require when using metal. He looked up from the work in progress as Byron spoke, and nodded quickly. “I think... that’d be nice. I-I don’t know how good I’d be... I’m n-not really made for metalwork...” He glanced at his hands. They were thin and long, meant for typing, writing, drawing, any type of painting that didn’t involve a terrible amount of exertion. It was why the break had caused so much more pain than it ought to have.

But if it appeased Byron, he would try. He would do anything to avoid another injury. Of course he was still afraid, but he just wanted it to be over in a way. Some way... Maybe if he did what Byron liked to do, it’d earn favor for his next inevitable screwup.

The man's grey eyes traveled to Gabriel's elegant fingers. He winced slightly upon seeing the bandage. "For now, watch. And think of a project you might like to undertake. " So saying, Byron moved his wiry frame onto one of the benches. The clink of metal being moved rang lightly through the room as he prepared himself to work. He actually looked peaceful, bending the chain and wire to create the links needed for his chainmail shirt.

His was a wary kind of calmness, like a predator at rest. Every muscle moved fluidly with his movements, and for a moment he forgot all about Gabe standing there uncertainly. "You can come near me to watch, and ask questions as well. " He truly was at his calmest working with metal, forcing the element to his unbendable will.

Gabriel nodded and stood a bit awkwardly now that he was able to stand on his own. For a moment it felt like Loyal was back, being kind and not threatening bodily harm. But Gabriel knew better. This was probably as calm and caring as Byron could be, and it almost made him sad that a cold, lifeless metal could induce such a state while he couldn’t.

He stepped forward as the man spoke again, and cautiously settled himself on the bench beside him. He kept his hands on the seat between his legs, rather worried that any wrong movement would cause injury to him. Indeed if he were to be killed, he wanted it to be quick. Broken legs weren’t quick, and head injuries tended to be unpredictable. But he forgot about that and focused on the way Byron’s hands moved, bending metal easily with small pliers, cutting them to size, setting them aside to continue as if it were a talent he were born with. This was how he felt while focusing on a canvas, if he could acquire one with his meager savings. And his paints were cheap and ran out quickly, but it was still what he did. He liked to draw, and paint and write. It calmed him. He didn’t quite realize how he was leaning forward a bit, tongue sticking out as if in concentration as each link was created.

He twisted the metal rings he'd created deftly, and then began to chain them to the shirt he'd already begun. Byron's eyes caught on the sight of his captive leaning forward, a hint of pink flesh sticking from his mouth. The temptation was there, so he took it. The pale haired man leaned over to nip lightly at the other's lips, then returned to his work without a word.

So warm ... Darius had been like that sometimes, but then he made a mistake and none of their happy times had mattered anymore. Byron didn't realize that his hands trembled with rage as he continued with the links at a steady, but furious, pace. Eventually the repetitive actions soothed him once more. "You have someone waiting for you, I expect." Not parents, but a lover perhaps? Byron expected to hear an affirmative answer to that.