Two little boys slept in their room together, blissfully unaware of the picked lock. The eldest by two minutes was the first to awaken to breaking glass. Then he heard the screams. He ran out of his bedroom into the hall. That was when the other brother was alerted. Following his brother more slowly, the youngest padded cautiously outside. There was no sound, not even the usual cicadas or owls of the night.

"Sly?" he called, tiny hands placed on the wall, "Sly, what's going on?"

No one replied to him. He went downstairs into the living room.

"Anybody there?"

Again, silence was the only response. The younger twin went to enter the kitchen, and stopped when his bare feet touched something wet. He looked down and screamed at the dark red pooling out from under the door.

Aoba bolted upright, gasping for breath. Sweat coated his clothes and made them stick to him. The sheets had been kicked to the foot of the bed. Aoba's headphones that should've been secured on his ears were dangling on his shoulder. Listening to music was what let Aoba sleep; the fact that they slipped automatically explained Aoba's nightmare. Calming down, he sighed, and got up to make himself breakfast. As he passed the neighboring bedroom, Aoba's heartbeat spiked again, then relaxed when he realized it was empty. The kitchen was also vacant, as was the rest of the house. There was no note to suggest where Sly had gone, or when he'd get back, but Aoba had the house to himself for the time being. A true gift.

He had a full bowl of cereal with a spoon of sugar, reading the newspaper leisurely. Being the responsible brother, Aoba washed his dishes and went back upstairs to shower. Aoba took his sweet time, using all the warm water, though he didn't dare leave the door unlocked. Sometimes the lock wasn't enough. It was, in any case, the only protection he was granted, however bleak.

The house was still deserted, save for Aoba, by the time he got out of the shower and changed. This really was a good morning. Aoba grabbed his books, plugged in his headphones to charge while he was gone, then left the house. He walked to the bus stop without fear. Now that he was in public, Sly couldn't do anything even if he did see him.

Classes that day were the custom boring. The teacher rattled on about English pronunciation, something to do with the letter "L". Aoba's eyes wandered out the window, into the clouds. English didn't interest him in the slightest bit. He only took this class to learn the language so he could go to America. It was supposed to be free there. Aoba could've easily picked German or French instead of English, but their designated countries were too close to Japan by land for Aoba's taste. Internally moaning, Aoba reluctantly shifted his focus back onto the hardest language in the universe and learned that "READ" could be pronounced two different ways. In any case, this was the only place Aoba could go to escape home. He didn't have a job to go to after this, or any friends to hang out with. The government paid for his and Sly's house, and he wasn't allowed to have any friends. Sly didn't want Aoba telling anyone their secrets.

Dread pulsed through Aoba when the dismissal bell chimed. He dragged his feet through the door, carrying the paper-light textbooks that suddenly weighed a ton. There were only a few more times Aoba would be able to do this for a while. Summer vacation threatened the end of the week. Another summer Aoba would have to survive. Then the cycle would repeat, as the English class lasted for four years. Only nineteen, one year out of high school, Aoba would have to endure three more. He prayed that he'd eventually get used to it, but his body still rejected everything thrown at him. When Aoba got home, it dulled into an ache. It learned to recognize Sly's presence by now, before Aoba could even spot him.

"Back from school, eh?" Sly gave a malicious grin. Aoba hoped Sly couldn't see the panic in Aoba's chest. Whenever Sly was shirtless, it usually didn't end well. As he answered, Sly had begun to play with the waistband of his jeans.

"Yeah."

Sly cocked an eyebrow, "Oh? Where's my kiss?"

Aoba swallowed his dead pride and pecked Sly on the cheek, his face burning. On his breath, Aoba could smell smoke, from pot or cigarettes, he wasn't sure, but it was tainted with the bitter scent of beer. Already Aoba's nerves started shrieking.

"That's better, Aoba. What a good boy you are," Sly slid a caressing hand across Aoba's face, never a good sign. Aoba kept his eyes off to the side, "Who's a good boy?"

"I am. I am a good boy."

"Yes, you are. Go upstairs. We need to shower."

"I have homework - -"

The back of Sly's hand cracked against the side of Aoba's head. It snapped his neck to the side, reddening. Sly kept the same smile, "Go upstairs."

"Yes, Sly."

Aoba set his books down by the front door. He ascended a floor, ignoring the growing disgust in the pit of his stomach, mixed with intense hunger for dinner. Behind him, Sly had dropped his pants and was tailing Aoba. They stood in the bathroom, the shower untouched. Aoba stayed completely still. If he moved, he'd get a lot worse than a slap to the cheek. This time, Sly undressed him. He licked Aoba's chest, purring lowly into his ear, "What a good boy…"

Don't you fucking touch me.

He wished he could revolt. He wished he could say that. But last time he even said a word, Aoba ended up with a gash inches deep. Sly locked him in the house, refusing him a visit to the hospital. Aoba's stitches were put in without anesthesia, by his own hands. He sewed his own shoulder back together. Luckily for Aoba, the cabinet stocked to the max with painkillers for Sly's parties, also held disinfectant. Aoba bit down on a belt and screamed when he poured it onto his wound, but was glad he did it, as the cut eventually healed without infection. That was when he was fourteen, years ago, the first time Sly touched him. It hadn't happened since.

Sly slid off his boxers. He grabbed Aoba's hair, then poised the switchblade over his spine.

God help me.