<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="color: #80BFFF">"Probably not, no," </span></span><br/>Fucking wonderful. Sure, Kian wouldn’t have believed a word that came out of the guy’s mouth, but there was something to be said for just a little bit of tact. Still, you had to appreciate the honesty.<br/>He eyed the icy drink surreptitiously as the other man took a long sip, unable to stop himself from licking his lips with longing. Alright, he was pretty thirsty, maybe just one sip…<br/><br/>The water glass was moved out of reach the moment before Kian opened his mouth. For a split second it seemed as though this might be some new torture (not that there’d been much of that as yet, outside of the chains, lack of free movement and head injuries, that was. It just wasn’t as swiftly paced and horrific as Kian would have imagined. Yet.), but no. Just getting comfy.<br/>Kian tracked Model-face’s movements like a hawk til he reached the table. Somehow, this was the first time he’d noticed the...tools. Oh fuck. Oh sweet Jesus. Oh David Letterman. Those were bonafide fucking torture instruments. As much as Kian had been trying to maintain a certain level of calm by believing that maybe, possibly, this might just be some terribly sadistic joke; it was sort of difficult to keep the mood light when a whole array of shiny steel tools seemingly specifically selected to smash, tear, rend and slice human flesh were staring him in the fucking face. His breath caught and died in his throat, eyes stuck staring at the implements of horror as they were bundled away so carefully. Of course he would take good care of his freaky toys. Of course. Despite the neat bundles’ mesmerizing quality, Kian forced his eyes back up to follow the catlike grace of his captor. He was perfectly aware of what the most dangerous object in the room was.<br/><br/>Slowly, he drew a long breath of malodorous air in through his nose and forced himself to hold it for beat, staving off the panic rat that threatened to bite in his mind, and exhaled through his mouth. He did it again. He tried not to think of all the fetid scents he could distinguish with each controlled breath, nor the way the rich smell of stroganoff somehow still made his mouth water above it all.<br/><br/>The blonde man settled himself on the folding table for too gracefully for someone who had mere minutes ago beaten a woman senseless. The glass was held out once more and this time he wasted no time wrapping his lips around the proffered straw. Model-face was otherwise distracted by the plate, which Kian was thankful for. Having someone watch him sucking on a straw felt weird just to think about, let alone an evidently mentally unbalanced man who had him chained up in a basement. Jesus, if that water wasn’t delicious though.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="color: #80BFFF">"Do you remember me at all, Kian?"</span></span><br/><br/>He released the straw slowly, brow furrowed in confusion. Remember him? He was sure he’d have remembered that unhinged and frankly fucking terrifying sweet smile if he’d seen it before. He’d have turned right the hell around and gone home to bed in the most ‘fuck that shit’ manner he could possibly muster. No, he’d never seen the guy in his-<br/><br/>Something stirred in the back of his mind. Blonde hair. Long. Haughty features that managed to very efficiently project a distinct wouldn’t-piss-on-fire-to-put-you-out mien. Why was that familiar?<br/>On average, Kian spoke to negative one person a day. He tended to get handed the least customer-focused duties at the coffee shop - more than likely because his people skills were, frankly, abysmal - did nearly all his schoolwork online and only saw Stiles every second day between jobs, sleep and Stiles’ pursuit of his latest unrequited love. Suffice to say, it was likely that anyone who shared a longer than three second interaction with him tended to stand out. Uncertainly, he stared at the faintly amused face before him. Comprehension dawned cruelly - the receptionist. The fucking receptionist at Saar. He had to be kidding, what was this? The panic rat was back again in full form and Kian struggled to keep his breathing deep and slow, face blank despite the expression of horror and rage slowly seeping in at the edges.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="color: #00BF80">“You look like you might have shown up in my redtube feed once or twice,” </span></span>He replied, trying to stay nonchalant.<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="color: #00BF80">“I’d probably have skipped you though, I like chests big enough to fill out a C cup.”</span></span><br/><br/>Low blow, sure. No doubt the guy knew the second Kian remembered him just from his expression. Didn’t mean he was going to start begging just yet.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="color: #00BF80">“Why am I here?"</span></span>For the first time his voice was serious, low.