Chapter Text
Cecil messed up this time. It was the first time he made him this angry. And his only way to accommodate his mistake was to bury his face into the leather at the soles of this man’s shoes and beg for forgiveness. But no matter how many times he pleaded with his master, those pleas always fell on deaf ears. Cecil was no more than a useless toy that had lost its value in his eyes. That’s how Cecil had come to see himself as well.
----
There was once a time when Cecil was an aspiring host for the local radio station. He was very popular at one time. Some said it was simply because he was gifted with a dulcet voice that could calm anyone into sleep. Others said it was the charm and allure his voice could express that only others could only hope to convey.
One man stood out from the rest in the parade of Cecil’s nameless fans and his name was Steve Carlsberg. Steve, like everyone else who listened to the radio, immediately fell under the spell that was Cecil Baldwin. His voice was so perfect. Steve would find himself with a radio in hand no matter what he was doing that day. Whether he was driving home from the grocery store or he was in his garage organizing his tools, he made sure he was listening to Cecil’s program. And each passing day, when he tuned in to his radio, Steve found himself wanting more. At first he thought nothing of it. Perhaps this was just a passing fancy. He would soon find something else to listen to, right? Or at the very least some other hobby. He knew he was lying to himself. Days passed into weeks. Cecil’s program was becoming more popular every day. And just like that, listening to him during the half-hour session wasn’t enough for Steve. He had to have him.
He had fallen in love with Cecil.
At least, that’s what he believed.
----
Today was just like any other day. Cecil was allowed to leave the house once a day for a duration that was entirely up to Steve depending on how he felt. When he left and trotted across the driveway he welcomed the smell of fresh air, as always. These moments of freedom were all he had left to enjoy.
Violet irises—whose luster had long been extinguished— scanned the streets for any sign of life and the blonde graced the neighborhood in front of his prison with a worn smile when he found it vacant. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had reason to smile. Cecil wasn’t even sure how long it had been since he had met Steve anymore. Each day was becoming more and more of a blur.
Lost in his reverie, Cecil had found himself wandering to a nearby park—Mission Grove park, maybe?— where he nearly walked in to what could only be described as the most beautiful man he had ever had the pleasure to see. “O-oh! I’m sorry about that--!” he said in a rush as the color in his usually pale and gaunt features suddenly turned rosy. Cecil stumbled back a few feet and spewed every apology his lips would form. How long had he been afraid to make someone upset? Had he not always spent his life begging for forgiveness?
He was then cut off by a gentle and caramel voice that was accompanied with a lighthearted laugh, “Don’t worry! I promise nothing was broken!” insisted the voice.
Cecil was still a little apprehensive to his reply. Even though he had the most dazzling smile and politeness about him, how could he not expect some form of payment?
The man must have noticed the worry etched on his pale features because the next thing he knew, this man’s face was the only thing he could see swimming into view. The stranger had leaned forward to inspect him, “Hey… are you alright?” asked the voice. Since he had yet to elicit a response from Cecil who was shying away from him, he held out a very tan and slender hand, “My name is Carlos.”
“Are-you-sure-you’re-okay—I-mean-I-practically-ran-over-you--!” Cecil said in a rush, completely oblivious to anything but how close he was.
Carlos’s brow furrowed, “You really hardly touched me. It was actually my fault Mr.—um…” the man who claimed to be Carlos, said, “I’m sorry I don’t think I caught your name.”
Blinking owlishly, Cecil finally noticed the hand and took it with hesitant fingers, “A-ah—uh... You can call me Cecil,” was his reply. Why was he suddenly blushing so much? “Are you sure you don’t want anything—f-for me running into you, that is?”
“Okay Cecil,” Carlos chuckled, “I really don’t see reason to need anything from you—“ and suddenly he cut off mid-sentence as something in his expression shifted and now he was grinning, “Well… maybe I’d like to meet you again… Say, tomorrow?”
Cecil’s cheeks flushed again and he went stiff except for wringing his hands nervously over his shirt cuffs. Beneath them he knew what lie there. A never ceasing reminder that he belong to someone else. His feet started moving and subconsciously he was backing away, nearly tripping on the sidewalk in the process. “I-I don’t think—,” supplied his voice, just above a whisper. The bands that were permanently sealed on his wrists started to sear his skin. His time was up. They burned white hot and he knew he had to hurry back, “Meet-me-here-same-time-tomorrow—,“ Cecil cried out all in one breath. He was now making a break for it, not daring to look back at the mysterious man. Why had he agreed to meet him in the first place? It was against his rules to converse with anyone outside the household. But he couldn’t help himself.
Those eyes.
That smile.
Who could resist?
Even though he had acted terrified of Carlos (That was his name, right?) his heart was fluttering in his chest. Almost like a caged bird trying to free itself. Almost the way it used to for him.
----
Cecil found Steve waiting for him by the recording booth. Fortunately, he made it back right on time or else Cecil’s cuffs would have left more permanent—and more painful damage.
“You made sure not to talk to anyone, yes?” Steve inquired, handing him his script.
Nodding, Cecil took the papers, “No one,” he said, much like a child who had just been scolded.
Steve relaxed a little more and offered his pet a smile that was probably supposed to be relieved but it really came off as twisted and possessive. “Good boy. I’ve prepared your script for today. And your fans are waiting eagerly to hear from you as always,” purred Carlsberg in his praising tone, “Read it word for word and I just might get you something special.”
Something special. Yes that’s what Steve always told him. And Cecil always believed him and read out the script flawlessly but as always promises were never kept. Well at least he had no reason to disobey in the first place. Perhaps someday Steve would give him something nice. Perhaps.
Cecil collected his papers and stepped inside the booth, seating himself in the only chair that was poised in front of a microphone. After scanning the page the ‘on air’ light clicked on and he began reading. Today this story was about dog parks and how no one should enter them. There was also mention of hooded figures seen around the city and near said dog park.
As he spoke with perfect fluidity, Cecil’s mind began to wander. He hardly knew what he was talking about. Talking was easy for Cecil. It let him forget about his life now. Or what it was ages ago (or so it felt). The paper in front of him said he was discussing dog parks and hooded figures and yet the more he babbled on in the recording studio the more he let his thoughts trail to earlier that day. Carlos. Thinking back on it now, Carlos was perfect in every way. “And I was in love,” he purred into the microphone before he realized what he had done. Did he really just mention Carlos on the air? Quickly he punched the button for the weather and looked up in horror to see a seething Steve outside the booth.
All the blood drained from Cecil’s face. What had he done? He knew he wasn’t allowed to speak to anyone when he was let out every day, much less fall in love with them. This was it. Steve would certainly take out his rage today. Trembling from the thought, he took a shaky breath and tried to read out the final announcements without letting his voice quiver too much.
Too soon. It was much too soon for the broadcast to be finished. But sure enough, the ‘on air’ light had clicked off and there was nothing to comfort him. He was alone. Alone with the shadow of the most terrifying man in Night Vale.
Keep calm, Cecil. He tried to tell himself. Shaky fingers that opened the door to the booth said he was anything but calm. Once the door swung wide, he flinched, bracing himself for what was to come. And next thing he knew he was on the floor, staring at the leather soles with tear-filled eyes. “Please. F-forgive me!” he sobbed into the hem of Steve’s pants, reduced to less than human as he begged for his forgiveness. “P-please!”