Amor Fictus
Written by Sakki-san
Anything you haven't heard of belongs to me.
Anything you HAVE heard of, doesn't.
Ken walked leisurely along the sidewalks, locked away in his own little world of hopes and dreams (however small they may be). If life was kind, he would be a star J-league player with a future in his grasp, and Ran would return the same feelings to Ken and Ken felt for him.
But life was not kind, and Ken woke up from his dream when he saw his apartment complex come into view.
It was a large apartment complex, but it was only for people who had enough money to get in. Ken's guardian had enough money – more than enough – and could easily pay his way into the building. So they had lived there for several years now. Before, Ken remembered, they lived in a smaller building, but it was still a nice one. Ken kind of preferred that smaller one.
He fished a key out his pocket and headed to the large glass doors. The lock was there, and he pushed in key, twisted, and then pulled it out. Once he got inside, he entered the number on the padlock, pushed open the second set of doors, and walked in.
He was greeted by a rush of air for a moment, neither hot nor cold but somewhere in between. The woman who sat behind the desk looked up and smiled when she saw Ken.
"Good afternoon, Ken. How are you today?"
"I'm good. Thank you."
"That's good."
He headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time. He wanted to get his homework done. Plus, he was hungry. PE had really taken a lot out of him. Especially when Ran had –
No!
Ken felt another blush come on. Oh, damn! Would this never stop? Couldn't he even think about the crimson-haired beauty in peace?
He realized what he'd just thought and went an even darker shade of red.
His apartment was close to the middle, so he had a good amount of time to get rid of the color in his face. His door number was 33. Third floor, third room. Quietly he inserted the key into the lock, turned it, and pushed open the door.
The faint sounds of a television could be heard, but that was all. Ken sighed a little and pulled his key from the lock. The door shut quietly. He re-locked the door, took off his shoes, and headed for his room to go put his backpack away. Nobody called his name. Nobody made any mention that he had come home.
First he set his backpack down. Then he headed back into the kitchen to prepare dinner. They always ate dinner early for some reason; maybe so they could have another snack later. This had always been life.
So Ken began to cut up the ingredients for tonight's soup. He sliced, he chopped, he cut. Water boiled on the stove. The smells of a good dinner hung in the air, and Ken never heard the other person enter the room.
Suddenly, he felt someone's breath on the back of his neck; hands slid over his own and lips played with his hairline. Ken's insides turned to ice.
No words were spoken. There were only movements. Only hands caressing his arms and shoulders, only the lips brushing along his neck. He didn't move. He couldn't move. No. He knew this wasn't right, but it was the way life was. It was like being with Schuldig…only he knew that this was different. Much, much different. The touch was lighter, softer, less demanding…
But equally dangerous…
A voice whispered into his ear.
"Good afternoon, Ken."
Ken bit his lip.
"I'll bring in dinner when it's ready. You know that."
The person behind him laughed quietly, and the hands dropped.
"Yes. I know. It's nice to see you home again."
Ken heard the footsteps recede from the room. He bit his lip again and shakily went back to preparing dinner.
Why…why him?
His thoughts twisted violently in his head while his hands moved the spoon in the soup around and around, around and around. He watched bits of vegetables appear and disappear in the fine broth that bubbled in the pot.
Stirring, stirring, stirring.
He blinked slightly. Had…there just been someone else in the room…again?
Oh, no…he was getting emotional again. He hated it when that happened. His thoughts would start to wander, his body would collapse, and then he'd wake up in the same place that he had fallen. Nobody loved him like a mother or a father. Hell, nobody loved him. Schuldig only wanted his body. And as for his guardian…
Carefully, Ken cut some bread and spread butter across it. Two slices, exactly the same. Then he placed a few slices of meat on the sides of two plates, next to the bread. Slowly he ladled soup into two bowls and set those on the plates as well.
A wooden tray sat nearby, and Ken placed one of the plates on it. An added drink of water was set next to the plate, a spoon in the bowl, and a fork next to the plate. He lifted up the tray and headed into the living room.
A person sat on the couch, legs crossed, with a newspaper held up and open so Ken couldn't see his face. A small table sat in front of the couch. Ken walked up to it, set down the tray, and backed up.
The television was on. The volume was turned down low, so low that Ken could hardly hear it. The news was also on, but it was a tape. It was describing a set of murders that had happened a few months back. Ken ignored the gory details and checked the date on the newspaper before leaving the room.
As soon as he reached the door, however, a voice began speaking from the other side of the newspaper.
"How was your day?"
Ken lifted a hand and set it against the doorframe, feeling his eyes narrow in half-fear, half-resignation to a more powerful force.
"It was normal."
"Nothing special? Nothing exciting?"
"Nothing at all."
"I see."
Something occurred to Ken just then. He half turned, his right hand still on the doorframe, and looked at the newspaper.
"Um…I…wanted to ask you something."
He took the following silence as an invitation to speak.
"The new soccer season starts next spring, but we begin training in two weeks…so…I wanted to know if you thought it was ok for me to sign up again."
"You're asking me?"
"I just wanted to make sure." Ken looked back out the doorway.
"I can come pick you up after practices."
"Thank you."
The last words were hardly more than a whisper. Slowly, Ken walked out of the room, his eyes fixated on the hardwood floor. Another season of soccer would secure his position of most sought-after guy for the remainder of the year.
Did he still want that, was the question.
It was still early in the day, so Ken wandered into his room to do his homework. It was simple work: he had to do a little brainstorming for the English assignment and then his German homework. Good with bad. Black with white. Gray? No, no gray…nothing in between.
He sighed and walked over to his window. Opening it brought in a rush of cool air, a welcome change from the heat of his room and the kitchen. He opened his eyes and looked outside.
It was a beautiful fall day. Browns and golds, reds and oranges and yellows. Explosions of color were everywhere Ken looked. They swayed with the breeze and glowed in the sunlight. Light, puffy clouds drifted lazily through the sky, which was gradually fading in the fine rays of sun that were starting to hide behind exceptionally tall trees.
A smile grew on Ken's face as a breeze brushed hair out of his faces. For a moment, he forgot all his worries, all his problems. Everything just faded away into the splendor of the world. Nothing mattered. Life was good, you should enjoy it. If you're a good, kind person, then life will treat you well in return. The kind people lived good lives, with a clean conscience and a first-rate set of memories…
Ken blinked. The world faded, and reality came back to hit him in the face. But it wasn't a bad reality. He walked back to his desk and sat down, pulled out a clean sheet of notebook paper, and wrote at the top 'Kindness'. Under that, he began listing things.
Kind people live excellent lives
Kind people are those who aren't afraid to forgive others
Kindness is people who live happily
He chewed the end of his eraser. They looked so stupid written down. They sounded so good in his head, though…
Eh, who cared? They were just ideas, suggestions, thoughts. Who really paid any attention to what he thought?
Maybe Ran would like these…
He shook his head viciously. No. No. There was no time to dream about someone who obviously didn't like you and never would. Ken just about ripped his eraser off the end of his pencil with his teeth.
You have no time to dream…it's getting late. You should finish your homework.
Ken released a sigh and looked back down at his paper. Yes…finishing his homework would be good.
Three pages later, he had finished both his English and German homework. He'd had trouble penning down the words for German when he knew the man who taught them.
If he hadn't joined the soccer team, would things have been different? Would Schuldig still have gone after him, dragged him into rooms and cornered him against walls? Would the flame-haired man still have wanted to –
No.
The sun was starting to vanish, and the second meal would have to be ready soon. Ken was a little surprised at the time, 5:40. He prepared dinner around now, and served it at 6:00.
He gathered all his things together and put them in his backpack, then headed for the kitchen again. He left his window open so the room would hopefully cool down. Maybe it would stay cool all night.
The kitchen was ready for him. Ken started preparing the smaller meal of the day. It didn't really have a name. He just made it so he wouldn't go to bed starving. His guardian usually wanted some, too. Tonight would likely be no different, so Ken made the usual double portion of sandwiches and a drink and headed for the living room again.
The news on the TV had changed. It was today's news, mostly about a storm that was pulling in up north. Ken noted that the newspaper had changed as well because he checked the date when he set down the food.
"Stay here for a little while."
Ken jumped in surprise as he heard the voice. He didn't rattle the food, and instead placed it carefully on the glass surface of the table. As soon as it was secure he knelt on the other side of the table, eyes locked on the reflective surface.
The bruise from before was still visible. He didn't reach for it. Maybe it wouldn't be noticed…?
The newspaper shut slowly, and one hand reached down and touched a sandwich. Ken didn't look. He could understand what was going on, and he preferred not to look whenever his guardian chose for him to remain during meals.
"You look injured."
Damn. He'd noticed.
"I tripped during PE today."
"You tripped?" the voice responded, sounding skeptical.
"I was tired and missed my landing." It wasn't a lie; Ken hated to lie. He was just saying what had happened and omitting details.
"Ah." There was silence for some time. Ken noticed that the food remained perfectly still.
His insides froze over again as his guardian stood up and walked over to the other side of the table, then knelt behind him.
"I have the feeling," whispered a voice in his ear, "that you're not telling me the whole truth."
Ken didn't move. His hands were clasped firmly in his lap, and he could hardly feel himself breathing. All he could hear was the voice and his heartbeat.
Two hands roamed over his body, stopping only at his waist. He shivered when they slid under his shirt and touched his bruised and battered skin. Those hands…were icy cold…
"Why can't you just tell me what it is? Something happened that wasn't just an accident."
"I told you -" Ken could hardly find his own voice – "that I missed my landing. We…"
He trailed off as the hands slid up onto his ribcage, feeling the bones through a thin layer of skin.
"You're lying."
A sharp pain shot suddenly through Ken's chest as one finger moved from the center of his ribcage to the bottom edge, where there was a very prominent bruise, and pressed down. He choked and tried to double over, but the other hand caught his chest and forced him up.
"I…I'm not…we were playing against older boys and I was running too much…" Ken coughed violently as the hand pressed down on the bruise a little harder. "I tried to c-catch it, the frisbee, I mean, I landed wrong…"
"Ah."
The arms slid and locked around his waist, pulling him back into the body of the man behind him. Hands lifted his own and traced Ken's slender, delicate fingers with a loving grace.
Ken shut his eyes and tried to block out this…invasion. At least it wasn't so violent…at least this time it wasn't forceful…
Ken let his lover seduce him freely for another five minutes before he was released.
He knew what this meant. It meant that it was time for him to go to bed. This happened occasionally. Just a momentary intrusion, nothing more. Slowly, Ken stood up and headed for his bedroom.
His bedroom was cold, but not as cold as the icy touch of just a few moments ago. He went over to his window and closed it, watching as the last rays of sunlight faded from view, leaving a navy sky in their wake.
Everything seemed so insignificant. His existence, for one…
You can't die. You have to live.
Live for what?
Ken felt tears welling up behind his eyes. Here, in his room, he could take off his mask and throw it aside. Tears could fall freely across the untouched flesh of his true face. His mask would not be damaged if he cried now.
Closing the curtains, Ken pulled his shirt off. Soon after came his socks and pants, and finally, his boxers. He flung himself onto his unmade bed and wrenched the covers up over his body, buried his face in his pillow, and cried.
Cried. Cried for parents he never knew, for a life he would never experience. Cried for the agony that built up inside him every day, for the agony that was inflicted on his body every time someone touched him. Cried for the abuse he got. Cried for the love he craved. Cried because he would never receive that love. He could dream and wish and hope and hallucinate, even, but nobody would ever love him. Nobody would ever love the perfect boy, the young man on top of everything and everybody. No matter how much he prayed that maybe, just maybe, someone would look at him like they wanted to get to know him on the inside, not like they wanted to sleep with him, he knew on the inside he would never get a look like that.
He bit down into his pillow and pulled. The cloth resisted, causing tension. Ken did this to keep from screaming. If he started screaming, certainly that man in the living room would come in to shut him up.
Nobody would ever treat Ken like he was a human being. They either treated him like he was a god, a piece of dirt, or a little toy for them to play with and discard at their will. Never just another person. Maybe…maybe if he hadn't joined the soccer team…things would have been better. He'd wanted friends so badly…
Now he was paying the price for his greed. Friends, indeed. He had more friends than he could ever need, and not one of them had ever invited him over to their house. For anything. Parties, schoolwork, or just a get-together. Never. Him, the most popular kid in school. Everyone knew him, everyone thought he was so great. Yet he had never received a phone call in his life.
Sometimes, Ken wondered if it was really worth living any more…
Time passed as he cried and ripped at his pillow. Enough time that the sky grew dark and his room with it. After a while, his tears stopped, but his pillow was soaked. Ken didn't mind, though…it had happened before. It stung, too. The tears on his face had cascaded like a silent waterfall for about two hours and burned into his face.
He had lied before…the skin on his face was not untouched. His mask had barbs on the inside. The tears had fallen into those cuts and burned like fire.
Ken was locked away in his own mind so deeply that he never heard the door opening, but he did hear it closing.
Tonight? Again? But didn't you do this last night…?
He heard soft footsteps heading for his bed, and the telltale sound of cloth hitting the floor. His arms were next to his head, slightly bent, so he could keep his pillow from moving. Now his hands tightened into fists around parts of the pillowcase to keep himself from whirling and striking the form in his room.
Ken felt the covers lift, and someone slid into his bed next to him. His eyes shut tight as he felt hands on his back.
His mind went blank. Totally empty. Complete darkness engulfed him. Thoughts fled from his mental vision as a force came closer and closer to him. Words were whispered in his ears, hands gently caressed his shoulders, lips toyed along his hairline. All the while Ken tried desperately to ignore it – and ignore the coming pain.
And less than a mile away, in a second, less lavish apartment complex, Ran blasted awake as a throbbing pain screamed through his thighs and waist.