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Ken looked like he'd been assaulted, sexually and physically.
A sharp, ugly bruise colored his cheekbone, from where Takeru had punched him after being provoked. Thin red welts coated his thighs. And while a square of gauze covered the punctures from Takeru's first violent bite, it did nothing to hide the string of teeth-shaped bruises across his entire throat. No scrap of skin was left untouched. His nipples and collarbones were likewise surrounded by bruising bite marks.
Takeru didn't even have the decency to pretend to feel bad about it. When Ken scowled at him while emerging from the bathroom, his only response was an angelic smile.
“Why so upset? I choked you and left marks, as asked. I only gave you exactly what you wanted.”
“Ripped my ass,” Ken rasped.
That wiped the grin off Takeru’s face immediately. He took a harsh inhale, then said, “For someone who insists he doesn't want to talk about any of this, you sure do seem to bring it up every chance you get.”
Ken didn't say anything in reply, and within seconds Takeru got visibly antsy, before filling the silence himself by blurting out, “I know I fucked up, I already apologized, but if you're really about to lay the blame for this on me when you admitted to goading me into it on purpose, you're more of an asshole than I thought.”
“...Sorry. Not mad about that. Mad about this,” Ken said, pointing at his abused throat.
“Why, because I decided to choke you with my cock instead of my hands? You got off on it just the same, fucking whore.”
Ken glowered but didn't reply. He couldn't exactly deny it, even if he'd hardly noticed in the moment.
Either way, talking felt like running knives through his throat, an awful grating stabbing pain that didn't abate when he fell silent, because merely breathing made the tender flesh ache.
He had a presentation at the end of the week. His voice would still be scratchy, and he'd have to buy makeup to hide the ugly bruises. And as much as he wanted to blame Takeru, Ken knew ultimately he was the idiot who'd made this happen.
“Here,” Takeru muttered, shoving a scrap of paper across his kitchenette counter.
He'd scribbled a recipe on it? Ken raised his eyebrows and met Takeru's gaze.
“Nii-san drinks that before and after every gig, it's supposed to help your throat or whatever.”
“...Thanks,” Ken managed.
“Yeah. See you Saturday.”
As tempting as it was to just take a digital gate straight home to his apartment, Ken knew he couldn't until he'd gotten something to help disguise the necklace of bruises he currently sported.
He stopped at a random convenience store a few blocks away from Takeru's place. He bought a bunch of makeup that vaguely matched his skin tone, and whatever ingredients they did have for Yamato's throat-soothing drink.
Ideally he'd put the makeup on before seeing Wormmon, but that wouldn't work even if Ken tried it. His partner would know something was wrong. So he resigned himself to the inevitable scolding and did his best to pretend nobody on the train was shooting him looks or shuffling away.
He could hardly blame anyone. He did look like someone who should be avoided, what with the harsh purplish-black his skin was drenched in.
Wormmon launched into Ken's chest the moment he opened the apartment door. Ken winced before he could brace himself.
“Ken-chan, what happened!? You told me you'd be back before your class last night!! Don't worry me like that! Are you okay? Who do I need to beat up for hurting you like that?? Ken-chan…”
“I'm sorry,” Ken whispered, dropping his bags and embracing his partner in turn, despite the soreness. After he'd kicked the door shut, Ken collapsed onto the couch, Wormmon still held tightly against his chest.
“What's wrong with your voice? This looks so much worse than when you usually go to those places, Ken-chan, you've been keeping something from me for weeks but it stops now!”
Ken couldn't fault Wormmon for his reaction. He had been hiding something.
“Asked to get choked.”
“Why would you do something so dangerous without even telling me!?”
“...I asked Takeru.”
Ken felt Wormmon tense against him before carefully trying to relax.
“...Is this about how he hurt you before you became Ken-chan again? I know he did! You always refused to talk to me about it but I saw you after it happened.”
While I was the Kaiser, Ken supplied in his own head. Wormmon never said it, at least not when it was just them. Not that it came up very much, at this point in their lives.
He'd already thought way too much about that moment lately, and would rather bury it again instead of poking it another time. But that was the incident that led to this, no matter how loathe Ken was to admit it to himself.
Ken chewed his lip, then stopped when he noticed. So much needed to be said, but his throat burned. He shifted onto his side, curling up around Wormmon and holding him close.
“Yes, and no. I asked Takeru because… I knew he could, and would hurt me, the way I wanted, if I upset him enough.”
Wormmon made a small sound of dismay. Ken's first instinct was to soothe him, but before he found any words to say, Wormmon spoke more.
“I've been in enough of your abnormal psych lectures to know the definition of ‘high risk sexual behavior,’ Ken-chan. It's not like you keep it a secret most of the time. But this time it's different, isn't it?”
Ken exhaled sharply, making the ache in his throat flare up again, but slowly nodded. He buried his face into Wormmon, shuddering too hard to keep the tears at bay any longer.
“We're talking about this more once your throat's feeling better, I hope you know that.”
Ken merely nodded again in reply, and didn't budge further. They fell asleep curled up together on the couch.
“Takeru… I wish you'd talk to me about what's bothering you instead of brooding like that.”
Takeru blinked his vision back into focus onto Patamon. “Who taught you that word?”
“Gabumon says Yamato does it all the time but talking about it usually helps.”
He winced a little. Having his ‘brooding’ become a topic of conversation between his and his brother's partners wasn't a good sign. It meant others might start asking what was wrong. Yamato, Hikari, Iori. Usually even in that order.
“Okay. Let's talk about my brooding.”
Patamon flapped over to settle on Takeru's head. He peered down at him, then said, “You've been hanging out with Ken a lot more lately when you never used to. I think that's a good thing, but when you get all quiet and stare into space like that, it makes me worry that it's not.”
“Ah.” It was true; until very recently, Takeru felt comfortable enough with all the other Chosen to spend time together one-on-one. The lone exception had always been Ken. They'd kept that careful distance for years.
Until Takeru saw him at a BDSM sex club and proceeded to get his ass banned from the premises.
He sighed. “It is a good thing, but it's also complicated. When we were kids…”
The sentence dangled unfinished in the air. Patamon finally said, “You did something you still regret when you went off without me in the Kaiser’s base. It's not like I couldn't tell, Takeru. Something happened recently, though, right?”
Takeru groaned and nodded. “I…messed him up pretty bad back then. He—lets bad things happen to him because of it.”
“What's that mean, that he lets bad things happen to him?”
Takeru hesitated. Ken’s self-destructive behavior wasn’t readily explained without the sexual component, a topic he had always avoided with Patamon. But he’d brought it up himself and couldn't say nothing.
“Takeru?”
He’d been silent longer than he realized. “Sorry. Hard to explain. He lets people hurt him, even though he could stop it. And just hides it from everybody.”
“I don’t exactly understand, but that doesn’t seem good… Why wouldn’t Wormmon protect him?”
A sharp exhale, too harsh to be a sigh. “Wormmon isn't there. The same way you aren't when I go out after we have dinner Saturday night.”
“Oh. You hate talking about that. But you don't get hurt from that, right?”
“I don't, I promise! It’s… a specific kind of letting himself be hurt. But you’re right that it’s not good, the way he does it. Really, really dangerous, actually…”
Patamon hummed contemplatively.
“And ever since I found out, I've been trying to, I don't know, make it up to him so he stops doing the worst stuff, but.”
“...But?”
“But he's not exactly cooperative all the time! When I try to fix my mistakes with him. And then I just end up making it worse again.”
“Ken's not dumb, Takeru. I'm sure he sees how hard you're trying, even when it doesn't work. And I don't think you should get too upset while it isn't working. It took you so long to even try to fix it, of course he can't just accept your apology right away.”
Takeru snatched Patamon from his head and crushed him against his chest. “T-Takeru, I can't breathe!”
“Thank you, Patamon. I needed that.”
“...I think you need to wear a scarf,” Wormmon declared. Ken made a face at him in the mirror.
“It's April.” The rest of the sentence went unsaid, but the meaning was obvious enough: he'd fall over from overheating if he did.
Wormmon had let him get away without talking almost the entirety of Tuesday, since he didn't have any classes that day. But he'd packed his schedule for Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. The whole morning was taken up, and Monday and Friday evenings, too.
It was just a habit he'd fallen into, arranging his schedule, trying to give himself recovery time between getting his shit wrecked.
Ken couldn't exactly use a scarf to cover his cheekbone anyways, which stood out the starkest. The bruise was ugly, and dark enough that the makeup couldn't quite hide it. At least some of the marks on his neck had started yellowing, making it much easier to cover up, but there were also plenty that hadn't faded much at all.
And then there was the obviously noticeable band-aid, too. Ken doused the lacerations in rubbing alcohol twice daily, paranoid about having them get infected and mortified at the thought of explaining how he'd gotten them to a doctor. Thankfully they seemed to be scabbing as expected, and the surrounding skin wasn't inflamed.
“It'll get better by Friday night. That's when your presentation is, right?”
Ken nodded, forcing a smile at Wormmon’s attempt at reassurance.
He sat in the back corner of his lectures for the day, slipping in right at start time and ghosting back out the moment class was over.
That drink helped his throat, at least. While it had the more standard honey and lemon, there was a strong spice in there as well. It made Ken cough to drink it, but the irritation lessened every time.
Of course, Ken could only get away without talking about it for so long, so on Thursday he relayed the miserable play-by-play that led to him going to Takeru's apartment and goading him until he snapped.
Wormmon took it upon himself to take Ken's phone and cancel dinner with his parents that upcoming Sunday. When his mother called back, Ken let it go to voicemail.
“Daisuke misses you too, Ken-chan. It isn't fair to either of you not to spend time together alone anymore just because of what happened.”
“All I do is hurt him. Handling me is like cleaning up broken glass and I just keep cutting up his hands whenever he tries.”
“What makes it different with Takeru? I'm not exactly reassured to think about him hurting you instead of strangers, you know.”
“...He's the one who broke me. So if he gets cut cleaning up the mess, I don't feel so guilty about it.”
By Friday night, Ken's throat was healed enough for his presentation to go off without any issues. Small mercies.
Saturday brought dread. He couldn't just not show up, and it wasn't like Ken enjoyed missing out on the weekly dinner with his friends. But the thought of seeing Takeru there made him feel a bit ill.
Ken went anyways.