Chapter One: On My First Night Home

Somewhere in the countryside, on the outskirts of Japan, was a small town and in this tree laden place sat a two-story home. The home was painted white and styled to resemble a western abode from the 1970s, decorated with a slate roof and old brick chimney. The two front doors were locked. The outer door was made of glass with black metal framing it and a vine-like décor going around and around from top to bottom. The other door was white and made of wood. For four out of the five windows, the cream colored curtains were drawn.
An aged broom, a dirty gray dustpan, and a metal pail that was full of grime were leaning on the outer door. This showed that everything had been freshly swept. Whoever lived there was home, two of them anyway. The two people were a middle-aged woman and a teenage boy.

Red and brown leaves danced as they blew down and around the second-floor window on the right side of the dwelling. The brittle tree limbs slightly bounced and swayed with the subtle breeze. The glass on the window was slowly starting to fog up, giving visual signs to the ever-dropping temperature outside.

A set of warm, wine-red eyes blinked as they followed more leaves as they moved with the wind. This was the dance that Mother Nature was doing to entertain whoever wanted to watch. At least that's how those eyes saw it.
These expressive orbs belonged to a boy with light tan skin. He cleared his throat while the last leaf fell from the tree and landed on the ever-growing pile below in the front yard. He sighed, turning his lowered gaze away. Great, there was now more work for him to do tomorrow. As if he didn't already have enough on his plate.
While walking across his cramped bedroom's floor he heard his boots pounding steadily on its wooden surface. Coming to a stop he looked into the body mirror that was hanging on the back of his bedroom door. He watched absentmindedly as the shadows coating his room seem to grow and paint on him as well; making his high cheekbones, narrow nose, collarbone, and long, thin lips become more prominent. The bones of his exposed body parts jutted out like sharp rocks in sand. His two-tone hair was layered and choppy, a complete mess. He'd cut it himself not too long ago, the bluish slate mingling poorly with the black in the back. His baggy black sweatshirt went well past his waist, stopping near his knees. It hung low on him. Why, because it was four sizes too big for him. The loose-fitting dark green cargo pants were the same way. Being just two sizes too big though and held up by a single red belt. The weighted brown boots fit his feet comfortably though so that was nice.
He found it funny. Everything he was wearing made him look all the more anorexic, reminiscent of someone who hadn't eaten proper shit in weeks or longer. His hands, besides his waist, were the thinnest part of him really.
Despite what the dark circles under his eyes told people, he wasn't sleep deprived. At first glance he looked ill and homeless despite that fact. His 5'11 frame didn't help how he or others viewed himself either. Honestly, he thought of himself as a mooching, dirty bum. Not the only son of a well-to-do businessman.
He grimaced and tore away toward his bed which sat on the far wall across from the door. As he walked he snapped his fingers, causing the lamp on his bedside table to come on. It illuminated him and his room pretty well but not enough that people could see in.
He sat down. Slouched slightly he could still see his legs in the mirror. He let out a groan of disgust and threw himself back on the dark blue bedding.
He let the quiet of the house engulf him. He loved when it was like this. The teen's arms were locked behind his head and his fingers were laced together. His eyes silently followed the chains of his white ceiling fan as it spun.
… How he hated his reflection.
The boy slowly turned his head to the side and peered over at his window. The wind from the fan swayed his curtains, making them catch his eye. He often thought they complimented the eggshell walls of this room. Through them, he noticed outside. The skies were darkening. Right now, it was a little after sundown.
Three loud beeps near his ear made him quickly turn, roll over, and jolt up. He sat there with wide eyes. The three beeps erupted, it seemed, from nowhere. His breathing became shallow and he could hear his heart beating. What made him jump like that? Normally he wasn't that easy to scare. He and Makoto marathoned gore and gross-out movies for fun almost every night in October so a sudden noise was nothing to him, usually.
He'd been on edge all day but he didn't know the reason why. No, he did know- Beep beep beep! Then he remembered and his face fell into his hands. Embarrassed because of his own stupidity. He had a phone. His cell phone was going off, and it was right next to him on his bed. How had he forgotten about it? He turned, looking at it. He moved to pick it up and held his old, black phone in his right hand. He tightened his grip on it.
He grunted, slowly pushing himself up, and standing straight. He didn't bother to look at the screen. He already knew who it was and what the beeps meant… two missed calls.
"What does she want now?" he grumbled to himself. He'd already done all there was to do today.
He rolled his eyes and sneered at the thought of raking and cleaning again, on top of the usual house stuff. More "stuff" always got added as the day went on. As a matter-of-fact, why was it all always put on him?! He didn't get it.
It's like she has nothing better to do. She seems to enjoy wasting my time and making my life miserable, he thought. What was there left for him to do anyway?
He wracked his brain for what felt like the millionth time that day, making a mental checklist of the various chores that he'd done. Nothing came to mind. He breathed to calm himself, pushing his emotions down as he always did. He stuffed the phone in the pocket of his sweatshirt and walked toward his door. Maybe if he left his room he'd remember? He snapped his fingers again, causing the lamp to turn off. It was darker than before, now completely blanketed in black.
He opened the door and shut it. He stepped out on to the black wood hallway that stretched to the other side of the house. Its narrowness and extended railing made it resemble a balcony.
He looked over it to see the front door, the archway, and the entire living room. Next to that, in a corner, was the kitchen which had its swinging door shut. Looking around he took in the walls and floors of the downstairs that were the same colors and surfaces as upstairs. The winding staircase that led up to where he stood had the same dark wood on its steps. The only different places were his room and his parent's room.
He reluctantly walked down the hall and soon stood in front of a white door. He knocked, opened it and went inside what he knew was his parent's bedroom. He closed the door behind him as he walked in and turned toward an unseen corner of the room.
"Hey, sweetie," came a disembodied woman's voice. He heard the door lock itself with a resounding click.
Now he remembered what he'd forgotten.

The front door pushed open to reveal a 6-foot tall man who looked to be in his mid to late-thirties. Clad in a nice, black business suit with a tie and shoes to match he walked in holding a leather briefcase in each hand. He also had a navy blue messenger bag that seemed to be thrown over his shoulder, bouncing slightly off of his hip as he walked. The man was firm in his strides, almost like he commanded respect the moment he entered the room. He had lanky limbs and short two-tone hair, akin to his son's. His pale skin contrasted with the clothing he was wearing, all except for the white button-up beneath his jacket. The collars of which were folded down over one another.
The gentleman dropped his bags to the floor with a thud and removed the other one, laying it next to the others. He noticed a muddy set of shoes on the mat that sat near the door. He knew those were his son's shoes. The ones he wore when he did yard work. He removed his jacket and tie and hung them on the coat rack, which stood on the other side of the door.
Underneath the fabric the definition of his arms and torso were visible. A black button-up vest was layered over the shirt. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows and a dark brown belt was holding up his pants.
He picked up all of his bags and neatly laid them by a red recliner that sat in the living room, adjacent to that was a worn brown couch. Both of those things sat around a glass top coffee table that had black metal legs. In front of all that was a fireplace with a flat screen TV hanging a good height above it.
He walked around some more and with his bright crimson eyes, noticed how clean the entire downstairs was. It made him happy to come into a clean house. Let alone one as thoroughly cleaned as this. Even the walls looked like they'd been washed down. He wasn't complaining, just shocked, to say the least. He was sure the upstairs looked just as good, it had to. Speaking of upstairs, he hurriedly ran to them and up a few steps. Stopping, he yelled up, his deep voice echoing throughout the silence,
"I'm home!"
"I'm up here. Welcome back," He heard what he knew was a bedroom door being opened and closed because it squeaked a bit.
"Well, don't just stand there. Come down, I wanna see you," the older man said as he walked further up the stairs. He said it with a big smile. God, he was happy to be home. The man stopped, now halfway between the upper and lower halves of their home. Deciding to be patient he stood there and waited.
Less than a minute later, the man heard quick footsteps coming toward the stairs and before he could react, he felt his son's arms around him. The hug around his neck was tight and held relief. He must be just as happy.
"Hey, dad," he said. He'd really missed him, more than he could say.
"Hey, Gou. My little man," the older one replied. Needless to say, he'd missed him too. Though neither would admit it, that month apart was way too long.
The moment Gou felt arms touch the lower half of his back he recoiled, swiftly letting go and jumping back. His dad, not surprisingly, looked on in confusion. He noticed that the teen was holding his back with both hands.
"What's wrong?" he asked, concern evident.

"Just a backache, don't worry about it," Gou spoke. He was trying to mask his pain but something told him he was failing miserably.
"How'd your back get that way?" The teen stayed silent, straightening up as the pain eased off. He looked at his dad.
"Fine, you don't have to tell me, I was just wondering if everything was all right. I haven't seen you or her for a time. I'm going to go say hi, then let's all hang out downstairs. We can watch a movie, okay?"
Now's your chance. rang a little voice inside Gou's head. He wanted to so badly but he couldn't bring his mouth to form the words.
The soft smile that his father gave off was very kind and welcoming, soothing and warm, something he'd always wished he could give to others. Then, as that thought left his mind, he remembered. Gou looked at the floor and said,
"Dad, mom and I need some time to ourselves." His dad's smile quickly faded away into a straight face. He understood though disappointment was clearly seen in his eyes. He hoped his son didn't see it though. "You see, I've been really busy lately so we haven't gotten to spend much time together at all. I'll come downstairs later."
Gou turned and headed slowly back up the stairs, and as he reached the hall he could hear the kitchen door being opened. Yeah, his dad was hurt and he couldn't blame him. He felt sick inside. He hated being the cause of that.
Gou's head hung low, and though he was away from his dad's gaze and it didn't really matter, he just couldn't keep his chin up anymore. He knew the smile that was on his dad's face was gone and what replaced it was an angry, saddened, and disappointed expression.

The man watched his young son turn in the direction of the bedroom. When he was out of sight, he went into the kitchen. He let the door swing back and forth not caring about the noise it made. He needed something to drink regardless of the situation.
I need some coffee, he thought as he went over to the coffee pot and pushed the silver button.
The black coffee pot sat in the corner of the kitchen on a small notch of the counter in between the black stove and white fridge. At the very back of the kitchen was a screen door. It was locked and led out to the back porch and small backyard. Above all of that were the large wooden cabinets that seemed to put a frame around the room, stopping on either side of the fridge. Some of them even had locks on them. Something else the man noticed when he looked around the house was the trim and crevasses on the railings. Either they had been painted again or cleaned, he figured the latter, remembering his son's back. He reached up to get a mug from the cabinet above the pot. As it brewed he sighed, tiredly leaning over the granite countertop.
A few minutes later the pot beeped a few times and a green light flashed, signaling the coffee was done. He poured the cup and headed for the living room. He set the mug on the coffee table and sat in the recliner.
Why is it always like this when I come home? Whether he's coming home from school or I've come back from a work-related trip. What have I done to make him act this way towards me? he thought, leaning back and stretching out.

About an hour later Gou limped across the hall and into the bathroom. After thirty minutes he came out and went directly to his room, closing the door as he stepped through the entryway. He grunted in the midst of taking another step. It hurt to walk, as always. Even on his best days it was hard as hell to move.
He closed his eyes tightly as he felt what little strength he had left sink to zero. He slowly slid down the door, letting one hand stay on it. The arm stretched out as he went down. The reason he did this was so that when he hit the floor, he wouldn't yell out in agony.

"Why me?" he said. His arm slid the rest of the way making a slight squeak as it moved and, just like the rest of him, hit the floor with a light tap.
Opening his eyes Gou got up from his squatting position, which dreadfully hurt mind you, and walked as best he could over to his desk and turned on the lamp that was on it. He moved to sit in the chair while he pulled it out, making sure not to hurt himself more.
He lay his head down, using his arms as a pillow. Beneath his arms laid a black, hardback journal and a ballpoint pen of the same color. The journal looked old, but also like it had been taken care of. As he lay there Gou closed his eyes and breathed in to try and relax.

You should tell him. He told you long ago that you could tell him anything, so you should, spoke the little voice in his head. He knew it was his conscience talking to him. It mirrored him, but there was one major difference between this voice and his own: it always spoke the truth.
"He wouldn't understand," Gou whispered, trying to ignore the tight knot in his gut and the heavy lump forming in his throat.
Gou Hiwatari, came the voice again.
No, that okay with you, Doctor? he thought sternly.
I'm serious, the voice said after a bit of silence.
As am I, he thought back. He was on the verge of tears.
"Gou, dear, I need your help with something." She'd knocked him out of his reverie, making him jolt upright.

Man that hurt, he thought. She seemed to do that a lot. It sounded like she was yelling for him from the stairs. What on earth was she doing there?

"I'm afraid your father is out again," she added.
"Shit!" Gou said, slamming his fist onto the table. The journal and pen bounced and moved slightly but didn't hit the floor. The cup full of spare pens and other items, as well as the lamp, wobbled too. He begrudgingly got up, his chair spinning.
The black, double strapped, cuff watch that he had on his left wrist beeped twice as he moved. He slowed to a stop and lifted his arm, moving his sleeve to look at it. The hands read 9:45PM. He growled, dropping his arm and slamming his door shut as he left. At this point, Gou didn't care about anyone or anything, not even himself.

Later that night, around 10PM Gou's father, known as Kai Hiwatari to many others, awoke with a hazy mind and dry mouth. He cleared his throat as he moved, which fixed the latter. The chair moved with him, and feeling a little off he retraced his memory.
The last thing I remember is drinking some coffee. What's going on here? A muffled scream, followed by a heavy thud hit his ears. He stood up in surprise and looked in the direction of said noises.

Upstairs, he thought.
Hearing more thuds and what sounded like bouncing the man dashed toward to the stairs. With every bounce and roll sounds of pain trailed. The moment he reached the stairs he immediately let out his arms. Right on cue, a balled up bundle spun into his sturdy arms. Looking at it he realized it was his son. That wasn't all he noticed though; he also saw that his son was completely naked. What the hell?
Kai stepped slowly, inching away from the stairs as he looked down at him. He sped up, carrying his son toward the chair he was previously in. The now heavy and swift steps showed that he was in anything but a good mood. While holding his little boy he could feel his warm, haggard breath on his chest. Beneath his fingers he could feel the numerous scabs, bumps, bruises, fresh cuts, and various old scars that the teen was covered in. The wounds practically coated him in another layer of skin. The man was beyond baffled but he didn't allow his face to falter.
How did I not see the signs… he thought.

Dundunduuuun. What will Kai's reaction be to this? Find out in chapter two! Feel free to leave any comments you'd like. They're much appreciated. :)