Chapter 1: Collision

Noteworthy information: Daito is 20, Sho is 17. There will be strong language, graphic descriptions of abuse, violence, murder, and mature scenes later, so consider yourself warned. Also, if you could not tell, this is an alternate universe. If you're uncomfortable with M/M relationships, leave. Also, all times will be in 24-hour time, so 7:00 P.M. is 19:00.

DISCLAIMER: I wish I were talented enough to have created these characters, but alas, I am not. I only own the plot and any OCs.

Sho, December 20th, 2018

Pain. It was the only word I could think of when I wake up. Abuse. It was the only thing I had to look forward to when I wake up. Helplessness. The horrible feeling of weakness that I hated about me, but I have come to accept. pain shot through several point on my skin, and I felt them, before recognizing the sharp objects as shards of glass. After meticulously picking them out from my skin, I climbed out of my bed, my milky white scars, black and blue bruises, and painful, scabbing wounds still on display, yesterday's happenings still fresh on my mind:

"You useless brat! I have raised you, tolerated you until now, and you repay me with your insolence?!"
Silence.
"Answer me!"
The sound of leather hitting skin filled the still air.
"I had to feed you, clothe you, house you, and educate you for 17 years. And not once have you done anything to repay me!"
Two more lashes struck my back, each so fast that they were a blur.
"You're not a father, you're a useless bitch that can't do anything but drink!" I spat out.
"How dare you?!"

He swapped to the buckle, each blow producing gashes on my back and arms. I bit my lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of me being in pain.
"You know, you're so ugly and stupid you're never going to find a girl. Hell, I'm doing the world a favor by getting rid of you!"
He smiled at his handiwork, before his ugly mug lit up with what seemed like a fantastic idea. He picked up his wine bottle, not yet emptied, and threw it at me, repeating it for every bottle he could find. Most of them only bruised me, some hit me in the face. But others, he missed, and they hurt more. Some hit the floor in an explosion of shards, a few stabbing into my skin and making me wince in pain. Satisfied by my pain, he laughed maniacally, savoring my weakness. He returned to the belt, his strikes beginning to hasten, now like the wild flailing of a psychopath, rather than hits designed to make me cry or inflict me maximum pain. After who knows how long, I was blessed. He began to slow, the drowsiness of the alcohol finally kicking into effect, and he collapsed. Once I was sure he was done, I crawled back to my bed in the cupboard, and cried my heart out before going to sleep.

I remember that my mother told me she loved me before she left. Love. I began to giggle to myself. It was nonexistent, almost a laughable prospect in my mind that someone could feel so strongly for another. It was only in movies or stories; entirely fictitious settings that such an emotion or feeling could even occur. It was hilarious, as if the thing that I live with could even be called a father who loved his children. I knew that love was an impossible feeling, after all, I used to naively think that it existed, before it was exposed as a lie before my very eyes. It was a preposterous thought, I told myself, that a loving mother would ever leave her child behind, especially with a monster like that son of a bitch that I am forced to live with. Such was the life of an unloved, weak teenager.

The drunkard was gone, probably off to buy more wine or steal more money, leaving me alone in the slum that he called a house. It was two stories high, and a mess. We had two bedrooms, but it forced me to sleep in the cupboard by the kitchen, because he said that the cupboard is where useless things go.

'Where useless things go,' I thought bitterly. 'He should be in there with me too, but I guess his ego is too big for that.'

The house was in a state of utter disarray. Wine bottles were littered across the floor; one had to be careful to not step on a stray shard, courtesy of it dropping bottles or throwing bottles at me everywhere it went. Chairs were flipped everywhere, beginning to splinter from the force that threw them on the ground. Puddles of a dark, purple liquid were scattered around, remnants from bottles that were half-drunk and thrown at me. Some spots of my blood from last night were dried up on the floor. An all too familiar belt also lay on the floor, next to the red patches. I glared at it. We didn't have much money; all the money we did have was spent on wine for that swine.

I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself. My name is Zhou, but I prefer Sho, and I am 17. Chinese and Japanese on my mom's side, and American on that thing's side. I go to a local school, where everyone is a deadbeat or bullies me, and I'm barely passing. I'm a little shorter than my peers at 5'9" (175cm), quite skinny from malnutrition, and covered in scars. I have dull brown eyes and black hair. I looked horrible, but it was something I had come to terms with. I sighed in relief that the ass was gone, but one burning question lingered in my head; what do I do now?

Run.

Daito, Same Time
I sighed as I looked at the accounting book.
'Another $36,000,000 from that transaction we made.'
It was boring. The life of a successful businessman. Nothing varying or exciting to do, and fat stacks of money at your beck and call, and lots of paperwork to handle. I had it all; power, mansions, money...

'A girlfriend and good parents, that's what you're missing.'
'Shut up,' I told myself.
It was difficult, upholding this lifestyle at the young age of 20. When I should be drinking, partying, living in a university dorm, finding sex, or even...
'Come on, Toshiro, you're never going to find something that doesn't exist, might as well not try.'

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, the damning memories of my parents treatment and first and only girlfriend etched into my mind like scars; permanent, eternal, and forevermore reminding me of my wounds:

'Pathetic. Come on, Toshiro, you're such a pussy, why can't you do this yourself.'
'Can't even talk back or fight to save his own ass.'
'You're going to never find a girlfriend, you're too cowardly to even open your mouth, much less talk to a girl.'
'Who would want that pussy for a boyfriend?'
'You're so weak, you'll never be successful!'

'I love you, Toshiro, I promise I'm never going to leave you.'
'I'm going to go to the grocery store, okay? We'll make dinner together, how does that sound?'

'He's still at home, I made sure he isn't following me.'
'He doesn't suspect a thing!'
'He hasn't got the balls to ask me out or seduce me, honestly, you pleasure me like he never did!'
'If he finds out, I'll leave him for you, definitely. You're so much better than him!'
'W-w-wait, Toshiro, it's not what it looks like!'
'Come bac...'

It was the last time I heard of her. It was also then that my identity began to change slowly. The weak, pathetic, and innocent Toshiro was slowly replaced with the ice-cold, loveless Daito, the wealthy entrepreneur, the powerful man who had influence over whole corporations and cities, and the skeptical believer in the emotion called love.

'Love,' I thought bitterly. It was a notion so absurd and ridiculous to me that if you told me that you were in love with someone else, I would have laughed and told you you were naïve; that you were just one out of many others that fell under the spell of another. I would tell you to forget about it, to break it off before the other feels that you're not useful enough and fun enough to play with anymore and they break you, finding another toy to play with and yet another heart to break. If you were a child that had a strong relationship with your parents, I would be initially skeptical, but then jealous, as I never got to have any parent figure in my life. All I had were those assholes that were parents by name; they simply birthed me into this wretched life, and made no efforts to be a real father or mother.

'It's all in the past now,' I told myself.

I looked out into the New York skyline from my penthouse, it was snowing heavily. I would usually have work today, but as the owner I decided to take a day off for myself. I walked to my kitchen to prep a warm lunch for myself, risotto with some seared halibut with a pesto.
'I need some olive oil and Arborio rice.'
After checking my pantry, I seemed to have not shopped for groceries in a while. Deciding that I needed to do so, I put on my coat and exited my penthouse, walking into the cold morning.

Ah, I must introduce myself. I am Daito, and I'm 20. I'm Japanese American, Japanese from my poor excuse for a father's side and American from my vile mother's side. I'm 6'2" (187cm), with black eyes and tousled black hair. I make a point to stay in shape, so I could never be called weak again. I suppose I could have been considered a genius; I opened my business at 17, and I graduated high school at 16. I also have been told frequently that I look good, but I doubt it.

'She wouldn't have left me otherwise.'

As I walked out of those doors, I hadn't had the slightest clue that a split-second collision would mean that my life will be changed forever.

Sho, Same Time
It was high time that I escaped. I looked around, thinking of what I would bring with me. I grabbed my bag, and scavenged the house and took any money I found, the warmest clothing I could get, some food and water, and a book, the last thing my mom gave me. I looked back, expecting to feel any sort of sadness or longing escaping, but I felt nothing as I walked out those doors into the cold, winter morning.

I ran as far away as I could, not once peering backwards as my legs carried me away from that hellhole. I had to have been running for an hour, taking a few breaks here and there to catch my breath. When I felt that I was far enough away, I scanned the area and I found a relatively warm area near a bakery, where I decided to sit and perhaps live for the next few years of my life. I pulled out the many layers I brought with me, and put them on, though the piercing cold was unforgiving. I still shivered from the icy air around me. As I sat down in a pile of snow, I told myself:

'You deserve this. You were weak, and helpless, you couldn't even save yourself. Pathetic.'

I heard a bell ring as the bakery door opened and closed. The delicious smell of fresh croissants wafted through the opening as people opened the door to get a quick bite. One customer caught my attention though. He looked Japanese but was quite tall, I would guess maybe a little over 6'. He was leanly muscled, like a swimmer or soccer player. He was extremely handsome, and had the most piercing black eyes that would pull you in, like a black hole. I gulped in recognition of this person.

'It's the legendary Daito, the most successful businessman in New York at the age of 20!' I internally screamed.
'He's so much more handsome in real life.'

Oh, and yes, I forgot to mention, but I am homosexual, another reason that the thing beat me. Looking away, I sat back down and began to wallow in my own misery.

'Look at you, so weak and useless. Running away from home only to lust over a hot guy that will never love you back? Disgusting.'

Pushing away my thoughts and Daito, I began to curl up to shield myself against the freezing winds and lean on the wall behind me, attempting to stay warm and finally letting my homeless state sink in.
'I might die here.' I morbidly thought.

Hearing someone exit from the bakery, I couldn't help but look up. It was Daito. He stared at me in the eyes, my dull, ugly brown against his mesmerizing pitch black. I could feel a faint tingle in my heart and my face heat up, but I ignored my strange reactions and curled back into a ball to conserve heat, and began to contemplate what I was going to do now that I ran away from that hellhole; now I'm homeless and freezing cold without anything warm enough to survive this winter.

'Even death is better than returning.'

Daito, 10 minutes before meeting Sho
On my way back, I noticed a small bakery nearby, and thought that a nice, warm, buttery croissant would be a perfect conclusion to the morning. I walked into the bakery, internally gasping at the massive array of breads, treats, and pastries. I was wondering what I was going to buy, now that the croissant seemed so plain in comparison to all the other baked goods on display. I then saw a tray of fresh croissants being brought out by a worker, and after she placed the croissants in the display, I picked one up. I placed it on my tray and gave it to the cashier lady.

She eyed me up and down like a piece of meat. She then flashed a suggestive smile, making me instantly uncomfortable. I internally cringed, as slutty people were definitely not my type, but I kept a neutral face and tone. Her eyes trailed back down to my chest and began to slowly travel downwards. Not waiting for her to finish staring at me, I asked her how much money it was. She ignored me and kept on ogling me, her eyes traveling farther south. I then spoke more loudly and in an impatient tone, to which she actually responded.

"Honey, there's only one number here and you have it, not me," she flirted.
"I'm not interested. How much is the croissant again?"
"Hmph, no fun. That will be $1.49," she pouted.

I paid her in full, and as I turned to leave, I caught a glimpse of her eyes widening in shock and realization. Knowing that I would probably become the center of attention, I quickened my pace. Avoiding her as best I could, I escaped the bakery as fast as I could, not once looking back. Exiting the bakery, I noticed a boy sitting on the sidewalk right next to the bakery who didn't appear that much younger than me, perhaps around 17, sitting in the snow like a homeless person, wearing at least 4 layers. He was really skinny, as if he hasn't eaten in days. He had a beautiful pair of caramel eyes, disheveled black hair and appeared to be around 5'9". What interested me more was a large purple spot on his left cheek, which was definitely a bruise. I wanted to help him, the weak Toshiro in me trying to break out, but I silenced him. I realized that I was staring at him for longer than socially acceptable, and so left the scene without making so much as a noise, maintaining my cold demeanor. I found myself looking back, however, at the boy, who was now curling up to protect his face against the painful shards of ice and sharp, howling winds that were sure to come with this storm. My heart felt a twinge of concern and a bit of something else, but I smashed it and returned through the doors of the apartment complex.

"Did you have a nice excursion, sir?" the doorman asks.
"I did, thank you," maintaining my neutral face and icy tone.
"Come on, lighten up a little bit! Everyone knows how open and welcoming you are!" he sarcastically shoots back.

Choosing to ignore him and go back to the comfort of my penthouse, I took an elevator up, swung the door open, slammed it shut, and dropped my groceries on the nearest table, and exasperatedly groaned, throwing myself onto the couch. I thought back to the homeless boy and what my doorman said, now not having the appetite for lunch anymore.

'What am I going to do?'

Thanks for reading, guys! This is my first story, so please be kind, but if you find any glaring mistakes, let me know through the comments or a PM!