scarsi
Scars - Interlude

Summer vacation was always so warm, especially then. He studied and studied, though of course he didn't need to. It was a way to block out burgeoning feelings that swarmed him.

It had hardly mattered who it was. Just that it happened, he was caught, and he was denounced.

Stupid.

He hadn't known him long, but they had grown to be quick friends. Friends had sleepovers, even Shinobu. Sleepovers required the dark.

The questions had been innocent at first, but the minds of twelve year old boys don't tend to stay along that path.

"Have you ever been kissed?"

"No. You?"

"Nah, girls are yucky."

He could hear his parents wandering around in their room, making ready for bed, so he lowered his voice. "I wonder what it feels like to be kissed."

A blond head popped suddenly into his vision, blue eyes sparkling in the dark, a smile lighting on that youthful face. "Wanna find out?"

It was strange to be so open about all this, especially with both of them being boys, but he shrugged, sitting up on his bed. His friend, Hikaru, hopping up beside him, watching him studiously, also kept his voice down. "You're supposed to close your eyes…"

Shinobu did as he was commanded.

"And then… I lean forward…"

He could feel warm breath near his lips and was suddenly eager. Did this kiss mean he loved Hikaru? Did Hikaru love him? And then there was the feeling of heat and slight wetness against his mouth.

Like all first kisses, it was a rather messy affair, but it was well-meaning. He pulled away after a moment, looking to his friend with shining eyes. "I think that was good…"

Hikaru grinned widely at him. "There's more, you know."

Of course Shinobu knew; he had gone to school too.

It was about the point when both of them had their shirts off and were still exploring different ways to kiss when it happened.

They must have been making just a bit too much noise, the over-enthusiasm of youth getting the better of them. Shinobu was busy kissing down Hikaru's neck, whose hands were exploring his young body, and the door burst open, the sudden flash of light painful and bright, and they froze, eyes wide and terrified.

And Shinobu knew it was over.

His father had started yelling as soon as the first shock had worn off and he had cowered back against the wall, clutching blankets protectively against himself. Hikaru had fled to the other side of the room. His mother came in to see what the commotion was about, and thankfully, ever so thankfully, Nagisa was away at school and Akira had already vanished, because his father started explaining loudly with a rather unclean language rare for him. His mother had simply started to weep.

Immediately afterwards, she had called Hikaru's parents and they came to pick him up.

That was the last time he had seen him.

His parents transferred him to a small private school, one they hoped would instill a value system in their son that his flawless yet faulty upbringing obviously had not. The pressure was overwhelming.

Every day he was told he was wrong, that his feelings must be controlled, even to himself. Control had never been an issue for him outwardly, but to not even allow himself to feel what he wanted was unbearable. His parents' half-nagging, half-begging reminders to purge his sin were constant. It was his duty to preserve the family business. There was no one else who could. It was his job to see that the family name survived to the next generation. Akira was gone, discounted from the ranks, and Nagisa was only a girl. It was his job to be brilliant and cold and perfect and strong, a miniature replica of his stern father, and if he were not…

On the day he drew the bath water, nothing in particular had happened. It had been a generally bad day, as were almost all his days. The only unusual thing had been a stray thought that had flitted through his head all day.

He was a disgrace to his family. A shame. He could never live up to their hopes and expectations. Every wish and desire of his was against theirs, and was therefore null and wrong.

He had drawn the bath water until it was comfortably warm, locked the door, taken off his clothes, and settled himself in. His determination and resolution were soothing. In his right hand he took the razor, brand new, stolen from his father's medicine cabinet, and drew a long line down his forearm. It stung at first, but he ignored it. A second followed, and then a third, and another and another, until his hands were shaking. It didn't hurt now. He switched hands, repeating the process on his right arm, and then slowly settled himself in the water. He could feel the water becoming colder, colder… There was no pain, just an overwhelming sense of relief, and then blackness.

And then hospitals.

His family was rich, so every hospital was pretentious and dignified, clean and stark. He hated them.

They had found him somehow, before he had succeeded, and called emergency assistance, who had provided them with an ambulance and crew. They had bandaged him and stuck IVs in him until his heart rate and breathing and blood pressure were all normal.

The next six months passed with him being shuffled from hospital to hospital, from white room to white room, from psychologist to sociologist to psychiatrist, each trying to crack the boy before them without success.

As soon as Shinobu had woken up in the first hospital and realized he was still alive, he killed himself in another way – emotionally. No emotions equal no pain. Only loathing.

And hospitals.

Finally, they mostly gave up, leaving him in one to continue his studies, preparing him for high school, for the real world. His last few years of junior high were spent there, healing physically and freezing emotionally.

Ryukuto Academy was the escape that suicide had not provided. He stooped low enough to actually threaten his parents, but in the end, they let him go because they needed him. Just needed him.

And after the constant dreariness of white and sterility, Greenwood was a welcome change. He closed himself off from people, not specifically shunning them, but certainly distancing himself.

Except, of course, for his roommate, whose constant presence could not be discounted. Slowly, he found himself growing to like his flaxen-haired companion. It was a cheery camaraderie they had, recapturing some of the mischievous innocence his younger days had lacked. His scars had faded until they were barely memories. School was easy, as it always had been, but it was pleasant as well. Extracurricular activities kept him entertained and he even had people that he would consider friends, most especially his roommate. Everything held that sense of shining perfection, happiness, and hope. He was actually happy.

Until he realized he had fallen in love with Mitsuru.