Disclaimer: Loveless isn't mine. I'm making no profit from this story.
Warnings: Blood, violence, Seimei being terrifying... nothing worse than some of what happens in canon, but described in greater detail. Also, spoilers for anything past, oh, volume five of the manga? Oh, and some nasty language.

Ownership

"I met him, y'know."

Nisei is allegedly doing his English homework, but he's been staring at the same question for an awfully long time now. He's made no effort to actually answer the question, but he has triple-underlined a single word: "beloved." It's certainly not the only word in the English passage that he can understand, but it's the only one that has any meaning to him. Homework is boring - school in general is boring, and right now he just can't find the energy to care about boring things. It's been a long day. He'd be asleep already if he didn't have company.

"Who is 'him'?"

Nisei looks up to see Seimei eying him over his glasses, as still and unreadable as ever. No hint of anger, or annoyance, or anything dangerous is showing on his face, but then those things rarely show on Seimei's face unless it's already too late. Calm or not, Nisei doesn't really think that Seimei belongs on his couch with a novel in his hands; he looks at home there, but it still feels all wrong. Getting to know Seimei is something that so far has been accomplished in short bursts of time and long phone calls. Nisei thinks he likes it a lot better that way.

"Agatsuma Soubi." Nisei pauses for a reaction and frowns when there isn't one. By now he knows better than to be surprised when he fails to get a rise out of Seimei, but that doesn't stop it from irritating him. Instead of giving up he takes it as a challenge, and he's never been the type to back down from a challenge just because it's so far bested him at every turn. "Your old Fighter?"

"I know who Agatsuma Soubi is," Seimei says calmly - but his tail twitches once, an involuntary gesture that Nisei is sure he should take as a warning sign. If he were a more cautious person, maybe he would heed it, but caution, like homework, is boring. "And I know that you met him. You tried to hurt him by calling me. It's very rude to call people during dinner..."

Nisei ignores that lecture entirely. "It worked," he points out instead. "He just locked up. Wouldn't say a word. Wouldn't even cry." There's satisfaction all too clear in the singsong tone of his voice and in the smirk he makes no attempt to hide. There had been no challenge in reading Soubi and playing to his weaknesses, but it had been enjoyable nonetheless just because of who Soubi is. A legendary Fighter broken down in minutes without so much as a single spell...

"Why are you telling me this, Nisei? Are you that desperate for my approval? There are simpler ways to earn it."

Is there any mood that Seimei can't ruin? Nisei certainly doesn't need Seimei's approval, and he wasn't fishing for it, not really, but Seimei's words still sting. He scowls down at his homework and grabs his pencil to strike an angry line through the underlined "beloved". "Of course not," he snaps, refusing to give Seimei the power of thinking that he needs him for anything. Maybe he can't read Seimei or figure out how to manipulate him, but he can try his hardest to keep from giving Seimei any kind of advantage. "I just have a question."

After a moment he decides to take Seimei's silence as permission. "Soubi's name wasn't on his hand like it is for us. Did it vanish when you found me, or -"

"For something to vanish, it must have once existed. Soubi's name did not vanish from his hand because it was never there."

It's an answer but not an explanation, and Nisei isn't satisfied. He wants to know everything he can - not just so that he can eventually hurt Soubi with it, but because this is a topic that truly interests him, and those are few and far between. Socializing with his peers is something to be avoided whenever possible, but as in all things, Seimei is different.

"Where is it, then?" he asks, and there's no hiding the excitement in his voice. He turns his chair around to face Seimei, who doesn't immediately respond - another warning sign that Nisei ignores as completely as the first. "Don't just stop answering," he demands after only a moment, impatient now that Seimei has teased him with a hint of an answer. "I want to know!"

"You want a lot of things, Nisei." Seimei doesn't sound too pleased by that, but he doesn't give Nisei a chance to defend himself. He sets his book aside and his glasses neatly atop it, giving Nisei his full attention as Nisei has given him his. "Soubi had bandages around his neck, didn't he?"

It only takes a moment for Nisei to decide that details like that aren't worth remembering, and he shrugs as though to dismiss the question, impatient and eager to find the right things to ask - things that Seimei has to answer with real answers, and not just more questions. "Maybe. He was busy roughing me up and destroying my equipment - I wasn't paying attention to what he looked like!"

That coaxes a laugh from Seimei, but it's a cold, joyless sound that sends a shiver down Nisei's spine. "You should have been more observant. Soubi has my name wrapped around his throat, like a necklace... or a collar. He bandages his neck to hide it." The chill from Seimei's laugh has reached his voice as well, and Nisei actually considers dropping the subject before things get out of hand. His curiosity, however, gets the best of him.

"Why is it there?"

"Because I put it there." Seimei's smile is sweet and innocent, but his voice is dangerously low. "Soubi was a blank Fighter - a blank canvas, waiting for someone to claim ownership and paint their name upon him. He closed his eyes and bared his throat to me, and I carved my name there with a knife and made him mine."

For a full minute, Nisei is speechless. It takes him a while to realize that what he's feeling, so sudden and strong that it makes him feel sick, is jealousy. There's no logical reason for him to be jealous, he knows. He's a million times better than Soubi, and the fact that Seimei tossed Soubi aside to team up with him only proves that. Nisei is the Beloved Fighter now. Soubi doesn't matter. Soubi is useless - but it's hard to convince himself of that.

Seimei wouldn't take possession of something useless, after all. He might use it, exploit it, but give it his name and call it his?

"You marked him," Nisei finally says, tone much closer to accusing than is really fair. "He wasn't Beloved to start with, you made him Beloved -" That's where the jealousy kicks in, and trying to put words to it is sickening. Names are supposed to be special, sacred, something for two and only two people to share. Knowing that Soubi was an exception was tolerable when he thought it was just some twist of fate, because at least Seimei did the right thing and abandoned him for a better Fighter when he got the chance. But knowing that Seimei is responsible for it all...

"I needed a Fighter. I used my family's influence to acquire Soubi, and when I found you I cast Soubi aside. Is that not enough for you?"

Nisei wants to say that no, it's not enough. He should have been first, and Soubi should never have been in the picture at all! But even he isn't daring enough right now to argue with Seimei, and he doesn't have the energy for it either. He doesn't even have the energy to be properly angry; instead of wanting to argue, he just wants to sleep, homework be damned. With Seimei here that isn't an option, so he stands and goes to his coat, hanging by the door, to rummage blindly in its pockets for cigarettes and a lighter.

Behind him, he can hear Seimei stand as well, and it isn't long before the Sacrifice is standing next to him with book in hand, slipping into his own coat. "Jealousy is not flattering, Nisei," he says quietly, and then, louder, "I'll need your help with something soon, so don't get too involved with anything at school."

"How soon?"

There's no answer. Seimei is already gone.

Jealousy may not be flattering, but it's powerful. No matter how hard Nisei tries to push his conversation with Seimei out of his mind, it comes back to distract him at the most inconvenient times, and everything else becomes unimportant by comparison. It's nothing that can be identified and set aside, just desire so strong that it hurts and overpowers everything else - an overwhelming need to have something that he can't name and can't figure out how to get.

Being Seimei's isn't enough for him. He wants to be everything that Seimei needs, though he knows that won't ever happen (little Rit-chan might not know it, but he has a hold on Seimei stronger than anything Nisei's ever seen). He can handle sharing Seimei with Ritsuka... but with Soubi? Nisei is stronger, better, and far more worthy of the name Beloved - he should be more than enough for Seimei, and yet he seems to earn the fickle Sacrifice's disapproval at every turn, constantly compared to someone who shouldn't even exist.

Craving approval and acceptance is a new experience for Nisei, and an unwelcome one. He's only sure of one thing: carrying out Seimei's orders perfectly and without question is the absolute least he can do to prove his worth.

Seimei doesn't give many orders, though. With his recording equipment destroyed, Nisei can't keep an eye on Ritsuka, and Seimei spends too much time with the old lady who gives him food and shelter to require anything more from his Fighter; Nisei is free to do as he wishes as long as he keeps his phone nearby, waiting for the summons that will eventually come.

Despite all his determination, Nisei makes the mistake of assuming that Seimei cares about such things as rules. He keeps his phone muted during class, not at all fond of the consequences that would come if it went off, and so when Seimei finally calls him he doesn't find out until he's on his way home.

His phone lists three missed calls, all from Seimei, all within ten minutes of each other - but whatever the reason he was calling, it apparently wasn't important enough for him to leave a message. The one order Seimei's given this week, and Nisei misses it! He wants to shrug it aside and let it go, but finds that it's nowhere near that easy. Soubi, he's sure, would not have had his phone off for any reason, and Nisei isn't sure how to make up for his mistake - only that he has to make up for it, somehow. He has to prove that he's better than Soubi - worth more than Soubi ever could have been.

Whatever Seimei wants, it's not important enough to make him answer his phone. Nisei calls twice and then gives up, irritated more than he should be by a bad feeling he can't shake off. He knows that if Seimei really needed him, he wouldn't be calling him by phone. If Seimei was in danger, or hurt, Nisei would feel it. They're connected, after all - and remembering that is almost enough to ease the irrational fear.

They're connected, so he can feel Seimei's presence whenever he's nearby, and as he draws closer to home he realizes that Seimei is nearby even though he has no reason to be. There's no mistaking the way his presence feels, something bright and hot and powerful in the back of Nisei's mind that demands attention and will not be ignored. So when Nisei arrives home to find the front door unlocked and Seimei waiting for him, he isn't surprised - just utterly clueless, and extremely irritated because of it. He doesn't like not knowing what's going on.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asks at once, dumping his bag on the floor and glaring at the cat-eared boy who's made himself quite at home on his couch.

"You would know the answer to that if you hadn't been ignoring your phone." Seimei is awfully calm for someone who's technically trespassing, and he might as well not have noticed the harshness of Nisei's words for all the response he's giving them.

"I was in class, Seimei!"

"School is more important to you than I am?" His tone of voice makes it immediately obvious to Nisei that he said the wrong thing, but he has no chance to defend himself before Seimei continues - and he doesn't dare interrupt. He shrugs out of his coat, furious but silent, waiting for Seimei to finish. "You are my Fighter. There should be nothing that is more important to you than I am."

What stings more than being lectured is knowing that Seimei is right, and that knowledge silences any comeback Nisei might otherwise have made. Other teams might not be like this, but there's no point in mentioning that Mimuro would never dream of forcing Mei to put him above everything else in her life - Fearless cannot be compared to Beloved, because Beloved is different, special, better. At least, Beloved was. And it will be, because Nisei will prove that he's better than Soubi.

Somehow.

It hurts his pride to mumble an apology but he does it anyway, and Seimei smiles like he doesn't realize he's given Nisei no other option. "Go shower," he says suddenly, the change of subject so sudden and strange that it takes Nisei a moment to figure out what he's being told to do. His fingers freeze at his chest, halfway through unbuttoning the jacket of his school uniform.

"Go shower?" he echoes, too caught off guard to come up with anything more intelligent, or to remember that questioning Seimei's orders is probably a very, very bad idea, especially right now. "You broke into my apartment to tell me to shower?" Maybe he's overreacting a little, but he doesn't at all like the way Seimei has waltzed in and ruined what had been a pretty good day.

"You smell like cigarettes." As though that's really an explanation. "It's disgusting. I don't want to be near you until you've showered."

A real explanation doesn't appear to be coming any time soon, and Nisei figures that he's already pushed his luck enough today. He shrugs and gives in - maybe Seimei will explain himself properly once his orders have been followed, and maybe not, but either way Nisei won't get anywhere by refusing.

So he murmurs an only partially sarcastic "yes, sir" and goes to do as he was told, trusting the Sacrifice not to ruin anything in his absence. Seimei is probably the least trustworthy person Nisei knows, but he'd probably have some kind of nervous breakdown long before he managed to make a mess in someone else's apartment.

Sure enough, the apartment is intact when Nisei finally steps out of the bathroom to find Seimei waiting for him.

"Are you going to tell me why you're here?" he asks, warily eying Seimei's hands and the pocketknife the Sacrifice is toying with. Knowing that Seimei doesn't need a weapon to hurt him doesn't make the presence of one any less unnerving, and Nisei can't take his eyes off the knife, suddenly on edge.

"You question me too much, Nisei." Seimei's voice is calm, even cheerful, but Nisei knows better than to be soothed by it. As he watches the pocketknife, Nisei realizes that Seimei is wearing gloves - thin and translucent, like a doctor's. He shakes it off as a more obvious than usual display of Seimei's compulsions, and focuses on the knife again. "You're lucky I'm so forgiving."

Another answer that isn't an answer at all. Seimei seems fond of those today. He turns and walks away, seeming to be as comfortable in this apartment as its rightful owner is, and Nisei doesn't have to be told to follow him. The unspoken order is obvious - and Nisei isn't about to let Seimei out of his sight if he can help it, because he doesn't trust him or that knife one bit.

His bed is distinctly neater than he remembers leaving it, with a towel laid down over the blankets. "Take off your shirt," Seimei orders, voice still impossibly calm. The knife is still in his hands, an unspoken threat that makes Nisei obey after only a moment's hesitation. He can guess what Seimei has in mind, and that knowledge keeps him silent and obedient out of something as pathetic and unlike him as fear.

"Lie down," Seimei says, once Nisei has removed his shirt and tossed it carelessly aside. Nisei takes a step to obey, then stops, making a hasty, reckless decision that he's already prepared to regret.

"Tell me what I did wrong." He stays right where he is, fully aware of the risk he's taking and deciding that it's worth it. Seimei doesn't have the right to do anything he wants to him without explanation. Seimei doesn't have the right to hurt him. "If I'm being punished for something, I want to know what it is. Don't I deserve that much, Seimei? Doesn't your Fighter deserve that much?"

"But I'm not punishing you." Seimei actually sounds surprised, and Nisei can't quite tell whether or not it's just an act. "You still have a lot to learn, and your attitude needs work, but I'm not going to punish you for that right now. Unless you continue to disobey me, of course." His smile twists dangerously, and the shiver that runs down Nisei's spine has nothing to do with the water trickling down his back from his still-wet hair. "Lie down, Nisei. I don't want to have to tell you again."

Seimei shouldn't have the right to hurt him, but he's dangerous and powerful, and maybe those things don't give him the right but they certainly give him the means. It strikes Nisei hard that he's utterly at the mercy of this boy who still has his ears - who's so polite and soft-spoken and completely fucked up in the head. This isn't right. It isn't fair.

And he submits to it anyway, because Soubi would have, and he has to prove that he's a better Fighter than Soubi ever could have been. In the end, he always has to submit to Seimei, even if he argues and complains and tries to put off the inevitable. He's watched Fearless enough to know that, in the end, there is no other choice; a Fighter who refuses to obey his Sacrifice will always be useless.

After a moment Seimei kneels on the bed next to him, his tail brushing back and forth over Nisei's legs. For several minutes he's silent and still, save for the restless twitching of his tail; Nisei stares at the wall, at the bright posters taped up to cover as much of the boring blank white as possible. He thinks he knows what's going to happen, but he doesn't want to see it, doesn't want to watch -

The tip of the knife presses against his stomach, not quite hard enough to break the skin just yet, and his breath catches in his throat. His mind screams at him to get away, to drive Seimei off with spells or with his fists, but he forces himself to do neither, to lie still and completely at Seimei's mercy. A disobedient Fighter is useless. He will not be useless.

He sucks in a breath through clenched teeth and holds it as the knife bites into his skin, cutting a harsh, stinging line. Seimei is being very careful, very slow; the first cut seems to take forever, and every second that passes makes it harder for Nisei to remain still. As soon as the blade is clear of his skin he jerks away from it, sucking in another breath and already expecting Seimei to scold him.

Sure enough, Seimei murmurs "be still, Nisei" as he puts the knife to Nisei's stomach again, but his tone is far too soft to be scolding. The next cut takes longer, but Nisei realizes that he's felt worse pain than this; it's not pleasant, but it's far from intolerable. The urgent, instinctive desire to shove Seimei away fades, and his breath comes more easily. If this makes Seimei happy, in some twisted, sadistic way, he can tolerate it.

Slowly, carefully, Seimei spells out their shared name, and Nisei repeats that thought to himself like a mantra; Seimei's a sadistic bastard, and this makes him happy. Seimei's a sadistic bastard but it's better if he's happy... - because right now Nisei refuses to admit, even to himself, that this makes him happy as well. There's a tiny shred of comfort to be found in thinking that he's better than Soubi, in thinking that at least he's not a freak, a masochist, like Soubi.

And he can honestly say that he's no masochist. Each cut hurts, and there's no relief to be found when the knife lifts free, for the pauses between cuts are only just long enough for Nisei to catch his breath. There's more time in-between the letters as Seimei pauses to puzzle out where the next should go, and Nisei catches on to the pattern and adjusts to it, learns when to breathe and when to freeze in anticipation of more pain. With Seimei, learning and adapting more quickly than should be possible is the only option.

B-E-L-O-V-E-D - there. It's over, it's done, or at least it should be. Nisei barely has time to be relieved before he feels the bite of the knife again. This unexpected cut is long and deep, though over more quickly than any of the others; a seemingly uncontrolled slash that Nisei can't understand. "What the hell -" he starts to ask, breathless and miserable, but Seimei just shakes his head and doesn't answer.

Two more long cuts follow, and the second drags a strangled cry from him, because it's deep and it hurts and he no longer understands what Seimei's doing. He presses the back of his hand against his mouth to keep himself quiet, something he's glad for when Seimei starts cutting across those lines; he'd much rather bite down on his hand than let Seimei hear him whimpering. He's stronger than that, and he's certain that this is some kind of test, something that he absolutely can't afford to fail.

Time passes too slowly as Seimei perfects his design, but finally he sets the knife aside and sits back. "You've been very good, Nisei," he purrs, and only then, when he's absolutely certain that Seimei is finished, does Nisei dare start to breathe properly again. "I'm very pleased."

Nisei doesn't want to be desperate for Seimei's approval, but he finds that having it freely offered is is as pleasant as it is surprising. Sitting up is nowhere near as pleasant, but he manages to prop himself up on one elbow to look at the mess Seimei's made. He has no real aversion to the sight of blood, but he doesn't exactly enjoy seeing his own, and right now there's so much blood that he can barely see the cuts Seimei's made through it; now that he's sitting up it starts to trickle sluggishly down to the waistband of his pants, instead of down across his side to stain the towel beneath him. The knife, too, and Seimei's gloved hands, are smeared with too much red.

But though the blood he can see their name, underlined with three lines that look almost like barbed wire. He reaches down to touch it, not caring that it hurts, not caring that blood coats his fingertips as he traces the shapes of the letters. A week's worth of jealousy fades, cast aside by irrefutable proof - at least, irrefutable in Nisei's eyes - that Soubi isn't more important after all.

If they've both been christened Beloved at Seimei's hand, but only one of them was given the same name by fate, doesn't that make Nisei better? Two is better than one... isn't it? It must be. Has to be.

"You're my Fighter, Nisei," Seimei says as he stands up. "You're not perfect, but I can't hold that against you. You're mine, and I don't plan on letting you forget that." He takes the knife with him as he leaves the room; Nisei can hear water running in the bathroom, and then, long minutes later, the open and close of the front door as the Sacrifice leaves.

Getting up isn't very pleasant, and getting to the bathroom to clean himself up and bandage the cuts isn't at all fun; Nisei curses Seimei's existence more than once as he tries to puzzle out how to bandages such awkwardly-placed wounds. Of course Seimei doesn't stick around to help. But Nisei wasn't really expecting anything better, and he can't bring himself to be truly angry.

He knows that, to Seimei, the word "Fighter" might as well be synonymous with "slave", and he's not at all sure he likes being claimed as a possession. But surely Seimei wouldn't claim something useless, something without value...

Nisei knows the meaning of the name he shares with Seimei, even if he doesn't understand what it means to love, or to be loved, except in ways that don't apply to him. Love is something he sees and finds fault with in other people; it's what makes his classmates act like idiots whenever their girlfriends are mentioned, and it's what makes him roll his eyes when he has to read about it for homework.

The name Seimei has marked him with means nothing to him as a word. It's the act of being marked with it that holds meaning for him.

He may not be loved by anyone, or capable of loving anyone, but Nisei is Beloved in the eyes of the only person that matters, and that's enough.