The Captor

“Later,” his phone read. Pilate wet his chapped, dry lips, his smartphone trembling in his palms.

He had send a long message to Asher informing him that he had a surprise of utmost importance to show him, and that Asher was going to be so proud of him. After about ten painstaking minutes, “later” was the only reply he received. Pilate didn't take it to heart. Asher had said much worse to him before.

Pilate let his eyes settle on Victor, his prisoner. The boy was bound in zip tie handcuffs and trembling in fear. The picture felt almost empowering to Pilate, who had spent way too many nights handcuffed and beaten senseless on the kitchen floor. Knowing that he was finally the one gloating over another's defenseless form sparked self confidence he didn't know he had.

He stared coldly at Victor, trying to shove down any sympathy he felt for him. Victor shuffled awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. Putting on the most diabolical smirk he could muster, Pilate moved his attention to his cell phone. He had exerted his control over Victor.

Pilate groaned at the sound of a pencil scratching on paper. He lazily glanced up from his phone.

Victor had broken out of his restrains! Hunching his back, Pilate's captive was hastily writing on the paper he had left beside him.

“Hey!” Pilate cried, stomping his foot, “You're not supposed to do that!”

I thought I had did the zip ties right, Pilate thought, feeling his cheeks turn hot. He glared bitterly at his phone. Wikihow is no help at all.

Victor flinched at the sound of his voice, but held up the notepad regardless. “Do you live here?” the paper read.

Pilate paused, slowly sounding out the letters. “I...um...Me and my master live in an apartment in the south part of the city. But we do work for The Circle.”

Victor blinked, confusion settling across his face. He turned his head, staring around as if it was truly dawning on him where he was. He bit his lip, wringing his hands in his lap.

Victor shuffled on the concrete floor, growing restless. He brought his hands to his mouth, stifling a cry. He rocked back and forth in an attempt to comfort himself, but it was in vain. Victor suddenly gasped, his breathing turning ragged.

Pilate hugged his chest, watching Victor have a breakdown. The malice he was forcing on himself disapated, and his stomach twisted in worry. What was he supposed to do?! He had never comforted anyone!

Pilate dropped to his knees, snatching at his headband. “I, er…” he started, voice trailing off. He fumbled with the latch on one of his buttons, pulling it off.

“Take this,” he mumbled, clipping a smiley-face button onto Victor's shirt, “And please stop being sad.”

Victor's lip trembled, and he glanced up. Pilate met his gaze, fingers lingering over his shirt. Seconds seemed to stretch for hours.

Gasping, Pilate stood up, staggering away from Victor. He couldn't shake the look in Victor's eyes.

It was almost like he cared about him.

Author's Note- i wonder if the name of this arc is meaningful

also: remember to vote when you read!♡