Chapter 1 -The Light of Hidden Flowers

A/N: This chapters is basically just establishing the story and so on, so in that sense it's kind of a prologue but in my idle mind that translates to 'do not have to read' which I hope you do because well, nothing will make much sense without it.

Mello had become very accustomed to darkness over the years, seeming to become almost immune to both its foreboding presence and the sadistic pleasure that surrounded it. It was only customary now, so much so every element of himself had to change in order to fit into the crowd he loathed. It was hard at first, it was still hard now but on the contrary it had started begrudgingly at an almost painful pace. But gradually, as time had progressed, Mello had changed. He would still like to call himself Mihael but it was just a simple memory now, never to be rediscovered or relived. Mello is now past, present and future.

Still, despite internal monologues of self-hatred it was easy to admit how well he had slipped into the crowd and become yet another dark driven shadow. It began with his leather, acting as his cloak for passers-by but it was still rather worn causing the illusion of perfection to decompose into a masterpiece of gradual deterioration. Analytical thoughts could also attempt to depict his insides but it was simply too much of a task as it was all but a tangle of thoughts of rejection and pain, memories of fire and anguish rotting down to his very literal self of bones and organs. In simple terms, Mello was a masterpiece of confusion, but unfortunately the piece was destined for darkness as it had no one to admire its haunting beauty.

But even in the world of monsters and shadows, there must be light for contrast. A spotlight to be exact.

.

On the stage was a man. There was nothing special of particularly noteworthy about the man except a foreboding stench of malicious intention that seemed to emit from his very soul. But that may just be down to the smirk on his face, that and the excited gleam in his eye that was only enhanced by the haunting glow of the spotlight.

"Now Gentlemen, I think it's safe to say we've definitely saved the best till last," He paused again with a knowing smile, "This next piece of merchandise is a little… different from the rest but I'm sure it'll be to your tastes."

The atmosphere became dense with excitement, and on Mello's part, mild curiosity.

Mello knew such events were conventional in this line of work but the idea of human trafficking had never once stirred up desire inside of him. In fact even the stench of perverted pleasure around him was almost too much to bear. Still he endured as it was, in a two dimensional view, extremely beneficial for his work.

Silence was disturbed by business talk and the sipping of bitter drinks that ended abruptly by the entrance of a cowering figure that needed no more introductions

The first thing Mello saw was red, a colour he had grown far too accustomed to over the course of his young life. But it wasn't the memories of blood and agony that perplexed Mello. It was the idea of beauty that swam deep within the strands of copper hair.

The second thing he registered was anger at his own stupidity.

The third was, once again, bewilderment.

Beauty was extinct. It had and always will be. Yet here it sat, mere meters away, crying silently.

Mello couldn't see much of the figure but his very presence was unfamiliar causing curiosity to centre on his interests. The boy was hunched in an unnatural angle giving the impression it was to hide the tiny shred of dignity he had left rather than for comfort purposes. The boy's nakedness was evident but because of the awkward angle it left a surprisingly large amount still to be desired.

"This piece was a very lucky find. He was only recently acquired so he lacks experience and discipline so he can be trained any way you wish."

The murmurs returned seeming more impatient as time slowly stretched on.

They were hungry.

The man paused with a sadistic smirk as he slowly bent down towards the boy.

"He possess many desirable qualities from his pure ivory skin to his lovely crimson locks, that-"

Mello subconsciously inhaled loudly, too overcome with an unknown twist in his gut to realise the breath never released.

The man grasped the boy's knees and parted them keenly. Only then did the boy make a sound, unfortunately for him the small moan of protest only fuelled the excitement of the crowd.

"-is of course completely natural."

Laughing abruptly filled the room, whether it was at the poorly placed joke or the increase of tears that slipped down the boy's cheeks Mello wasn't sure.

Mello felt angry, he felt murderous, he felt empty yet in the same time full of… how could he define the feeling rotting whatever was left of his heart? Was it pity? Was in sympathy? Empathy? Whatever it was he wanted it to leave and never to return. He wanted the boy to leave for making him feel things he didn't ask nor want to feel. But in reality he knew neither requests would be filled causing him to endure the unusual limbo of unnamed feelings, feeling powerless to do anything at all, except watch and wait.

"His frame is small and slight giving him a very boyish appearance despite him being older than his appearance implies," The man grasped the boy's chin and tilted it towards the spotlight causing the shelter of ruby hair to part and leave him completely and utterly exposed.

Every thought of beauty in Mello's mind was diminished into sheer nothingness.

Beauty was extinct. The thought of it was immoral and almost unholy as it held everything Mello no longer possessed. It was purity, it was innocence… it was hope. Yet there it was defying every self-created rule of living and enduring, being nothing but its perfect and holy self. But the beauty was out of place and wrong, but somehow that made it all the more appealing.

Mello's world was too clouded with darkness and nothing- absolutely nothing, should be as bright as the boy's eyes.

Green, they were, but in a metaphorical and three dimensional way, so much more. Just as unnatural as his hair but still so oddly fitting in a way that seemed was crafted specifically for him. But it was clear to see the clouded daze of drug indorsed submission through his eyes due to the slightly absent look and eyelids too prone too blinking.

"As you can see his face is just as youthful as the rest of him: well defined features, cute little nose with a slight dusting of freckles. As you can see he has beautiful eyes that share the same abnormal style of colouring as his hair. But of course the main attraction is the fact he is still a virgin."

The last word announced acted as a detonator in the crowd. All conversation had reached its progressing crescendo turning it into a montage of incoherent shouts. But Mello just sat, waiting for something he couldn't quite distinguish. But not once did his eyes leave the boy's.

"This piece is a guaranteed crowd pleaser and a very unique catch with many desirable qualities and adding on his virginity we'll start the bidding at twenty thousand."

"Thirty!"

The boy's face visually paled as the impending fact of his fate fell down upon him causing his shoulders to droop in mourning.

"Fifty!"

Fear coursed through his veins and took his body hostage.

"Seventy five!"

Then, as all hope was truly lost, the defiance set in, fuelling his body to thrash that was subdued drastically by the drugs.

"One million!"

Then the acceptance settled in, drinking up the tears only to replace them by a numbness he embraced.

"One and a half!"

And Mello just sat.

"Two!"

Watching.

"Three!"

Waiting.

"Do I hear anything above three?"

And then standing, shouting:

"Five million pounds!"

Then came the silence.

All heads pivoted slowly towards the voice. Towards Mello.

"Sold to the blonde!" The voice called out again concluding the auction, the contract and the boy's fate.

But Mello was oblivious to the stares, the mumbles and the fact he had lost five million pounds. All he could see was the red head and the clouded green orbs that opposed his stare before falling closed, descending into a world of unconsciousness.

A/N: This story was actually inspired by a sonnet which is pretty surprising as I never really had a passion for poetry. The sonnet was written by Pablo Neruda and it's called 'Sonnet XVII' which google tells me is the number seventeen, there you go it has roman numerals which must mean it's fancy. I recommend reading it but I will be posting the odd quote here and there because it's kind of morbid in a way that probably only I see it in, oh well it did inspire a story about the sex trade so it can't be all that bad. Take that how you will.

This story will be uploaded soon and I've planned the entire thing out so you know it's just the… writing.

Thank you so much for reading and any feedback is thoroughly appreciated. Thanks a bunch!