Chapter Twenty-Three

This chapter is for Rosalyn Angel. Nearly this entire chapter is Yutou-centric. I don't recommend skipping it, because I think it's really good, but…(shrugs) if you hate Yutou, I guess you could.

oooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooo

Outwardly, he looked fine. A little glazed, perhaps, but that was only to be expected. He was well-practiced in the art of hiding, he'd had so many opportunities to test his skills. His breathing was perfectly normal, his muscles relaxed; his eyes slid in and out of focus, but they weren't wide with fear. Actually, he looked rather like he had had a bad night's sleep. Nothing that a nap couldn't cure.

Inside, though…inside he wasn't even aware of what was going on around him. He wasn't him anymore, he wasn't the cold, cruel man he'd been for years. He was a child again, small and scared and hiding in the closet under the stairs, nestled amid dusty old coats and a battered foxfur his mother had worn in her younger days.

He liked this closet. It was warm and tiny and secret, and when he hid here no one knew where he'd gone for hours. He was always careful to sneak out and allow himself to be found in some ridiculously obvious hiding place, because if anyone knew he hid here, he was sure that next time he needed to be alone it would be locked, bolted, and stapled shut. And without his closet, he had nowhere to go. His bedroom wasn't safe, he didn't even have a lock on his door, and it was so open that there was nowhere to hide. He didn't fit under his bed (it was low to the ground, a hybrid between a futon and a Western-style bed), the toybox was too small to conceal him, and if he tried to fit into the closet, he couldn't shut the doors. His room was bad. He only went in there when he had to, because he couldn't forget everything that happened there. He wanted to, but…every time he set foot in the doorway, he'd remember the Voice hissing in his ear, the hands wandering his young body, and it scared him.

The Voice most of all.

There were good days and bad days. On good days they were like a normal family—he would come home from school and curl up in a corner with his homework, his mother would hum happily as she bustled around the kitchen, cooking dinner, and they'd all sit down to eat together, once his father had come home. Yutou could always tell good days from bad days, because of where Daddy would park his car. On good days, he would pull it cleanly into the garage, get out, close the garage door and spend a few minutes chatting with the neighbours. He'd come inside to eat with them, he'd talk with his wife, and after dinner he'd play chess with Yutou, because it would teach him "strategy," whatever that was. He would smile and joke and speak in that deep, gentle rumble that Yutou liked so much.

Bad days, though, on bad days, he'd leave the car parked sloppily in the driveway, he'd stomp up the front walk and Yutou would be waiting for him by the door to hang up his jacket, just like he was supposed to. He would receive a blow to the head, perhaps for not hanging up the coat properly, and then Daddy would use the Voice and Yutou would hang his head and try not to cry.

The Voice ranged from anywhere to a low, hissing whisper to the roars of fury Yutou received when he got bad marks on his tests. The Voice wasn't like his father at all, it wasn't gentle or kind or…or…any of those. It was furious, dangerous, and Yutou stepped carefully to avoid setting it off. The Voice had become a separate entity to him, something that possessed his father, like the demons in those stories Mommy used to tell him at bedtime. So Yutou didn't blame his father for anything, simply because it wasn't him. But sometimes he'd dream about the Voice and he'd wake up crying, although he never let Daddy see that. Daddy didn't like weakness, he thought crying was too girly.

Good days and bad. Good days and bad.

"Where the hell are you, boy?"

Today was bad.

"He can't find me," Yutou whispered to himself as he burrowed further under his mother's foxfur. "He doesn't know where I am. He won't find me." Heavy footsteps thudded across the upstairs hall, a door opened and slammed shut, and then Yutou heard a woman scream. "He can't find me, he can't find me, he can't find me—"

"I don't know where he is!" A sharp slap echoed and Yutou whimpered, screwing his eyes shut and clamping his teeth down on his tongue. "Heiji, stop it! I don't know where he is!"

"Boy! You'd better get out here if you want your mother back in one piece!"

"Heiji, stop it! Let me—aah!"

"You hear me, Yutou?"

Before he could quite register what he was doing, Yutou had thrown the closet door open and was dashing up the stairs frantically. "Let her go!" he cried, grabbing his father around the waist and trying to pull him away. "Let go of Mommy!" He cried out when a heavy fist thudded into the side of his face, but he didn't bother trying to get up—Daddy had let go of Mommy and that was all that mattered. She gave a low, pitiful keen and made as if to pick him up, but Heiji grabbed her and pulled her back.

"Don't you dare," he warned. "Get in the bedroom." He threw her towards their bedroom door. "Now." She obeyed, and the click of the lock echoed in Yutou's head. Mommy couldn't help him. He was all alone. He tried not to shiver as his father's hand slowly ran the length of his cheekbone, though he did close his eyes and tuck his head towards his chest. "I can't believe you," the Voice hissed. "You think you can hide from me?" Rough hands jerked at his hair, pulling his head up as if he was about to have his throat cut. Yutou went obediently limp, although it hurt immensely to have so much strain on his scalp. "You think you can hide from me, brat? Any other father would have put you out in the street by now. I never did that, did I?"

"Why, Daddy?" Yutou already knew the answer to the question, but he was expected to say it. How many thousands of times had he asked this? The answer was always the same.

"You're such a bad boy, I'm the only one who loves you enough to keep you." Yutou could have recited along with the Voice, but he'd done that once and the memory was enough to stop him. He settled on a vague nod and politely-downcast eyes.

"Thank you, Daddy."

"Maybe someday you'll be good, right Yutou? Someday."

Yutou nodded again, wincing at the pain in his scalp.

"But I have to teach you how to be good, don't I? If I punish you for being bad, you'll learn." Another pained nod. "I'm the only one that loves you enough to punish you."

Yutou's mind fuzzed out then, as it always did. He was only vaguely aware of the hands on him, ridding him of his clothing, and he didn't honestly care. He was used to this, it wasn't anything new. Daddy was right. He was bad. He deserved this.

Somehow he was in his own bed (he didn't remember Daddy picking him up, so he must have walked), and he stared blankly up at the stars painted on his ceiling. He loved stars, loved watching them at night. His father would laugh and ask what he expected them to do, but in truth, their serenity was what attracted him. The stars watched people scurrying around, going about their lives, but they never had to move. They were beautiful, majestic, regal, almost. He liked to think that when people died, they got to go live on the stars, and they too could watch the world as it carried on. Maybe someday, if he was ever good enough, he would be up there, watching.

He jumped slightly when demanding teeth closed on his lower lip, but he opened his mouth, just like he was expected to do, and a wet, insistent tongue forced its way down his throat. He frowned; he couldn't see the stars anymore. So he settled for closing his eyes as his father's weight settled over him. He winced a little when his father entered him—it hurt, but he knew he wouldn't properly feel in until later, when Daddy had finished and gotten dressed and left Yutou to hug himself and try not to cry from the pain.

He was so tired…but the bed was creaking now, and he couldn't fall asleep, not with the way he was rocking back and forth with the force of the thrusts. He tried, yes, but every time he was just about to drift off, Daddy would do something that hurt so badly it jolted him back to reality. Sharp teeth bit at his neck and Yutou scowled; he really didn't want to have to wear his collar completely buttoned tomorrow, it was getting too hot for that. But he would anyways, because the last thing he wanted to do was to get Daddy in trouble.

His father shuddered and groaned out something that might have been his name, and Yutou smiled. He was done—finally!—and Yutou would go to sleep. "Good night," Heiji whispered, and it was him again, not the Voice. Soft fingers stroked his cheek and he leaned over to press a kiss to his son's forehead. "I love you, Yutou. You've been very good."

"Thank you, Daddy," Yutou said with a yawn. Heiji bent over and picked up Yutou's well-loved stuffed rabbit and handed it to him. Yutou accepted the bunny with a grateful grin and nestled into his pillows. Heiji pulled the covers up over him and patted him on the shoulder before he left. "Good night," Yutou murmured, eyes sliding closed. "I love you, Daddy."

(A/N: Did I just write that? Man, was that f-ed up. (sighs))

He'd been thirteen before he realized that something in his life wasn't normal. He'd always hidden the marks; he didn't know why, it was just something Daddy wanted him to do, and Yutou didn't question Daddy anymore. He knew better. It had been a warm spring day and his class had been jogging around the field when—

"Damn, Kamimura! What happened to your neck?" It was Shoji, a tall, black-haired boy Yutou had never liked. He took every chance he could to torture Yutou; he'd play on the boy's quiet nature and fear of other people in minor ways, little things that no teacher would ever give him detention for, but it was enough to scare Yutou out of his wits. He'd never complained, but it seemed like Shoji knew, knew how badly he frightened Yutou, and he relished in it.

Yutou slid his hand along the back of his neck and blushed where he felt raised teeth marks and furious chafing left behind by last night's punishments. He couldn't wear a turtleneck in this weather, and he'd already skipped P.E. so many times this year that he was in danger of getting his first C on his report card. If he'd missed a class, Daddy would have gotten mad at the low grade—either way, Yutou couldn't win. "N-nothing," he stammered, dropping his gaze down to his sneakers. The shorts were too short for him to feel comfortable in, reminded him too much of the outfits he was supposed to wear around the house when Daddy's friends were over, because Daddy liked showing him off. He stared at his long legs and wondered why Daddy's friends always commented on how pretty he was. He didn't think he was pretty, he was ugly. Ugly and dirty.

"Yeah, right," Shoji laughed, slinging an arm around Yutou. Yutou flinched automatically and Shoji's grin widened. "You got yourself a girlfriend, blondie?" He snickered and flicked a lock of Yutou's sandy-blonde hair away from his face. "Or maybe a boyfriend?"

Yutou pulled away, cheeks blazing crimson. "Please don't touch me," he whispered quietly. "You're not allowed to do that."

Shoji gave him a mock-hurt look. "Oh, but you're just so cute." He tugged on Yutou's wrist, and before the blonde could react, strong arms were wrapped around the small of his back, pressing his hips into Shoji's thighs. "I can't help touching you." He slid his hand over the back of Yutou's neck and smirked. "Tell me what happened, koi. Every—last—detail—" he punctuated each word by rolling his hips against Yutou's and the blonde cowered away, flinging his arms up over his head.

"Stop it!"

Shoji shot a glance at his friends, three boys all as tall (or taller) as him, but Yutou couldn't for the life of him remember their names. "Yutou's shy," he said in a childlike voice. "Poor baby doesn't want us to know what he was doing last night."

"Please stop it," Yutou whimpered, dropping his head.

"Fight me, if you're so disgusted!" Shoji planted both hands firmly on Yutou's shoulders and the smaller blonde boy fell back on his ass with a yelp. "C'mon, wimp! Stand up for yourself!"

"I hate this kind of joking," Yutou pleaded. "Please, just leave me alone! I didn't do anything to you!" Shoji raised a fist and Yutou ducked, although the black-haired boy hadn't taken a swing.

"Tell me where you got the hickey and I won't smash your face in, how about that?" He faked another punch and Yutou cringed.

"Stop it!"

"Are you going to tell me?" A real kick this time, right to the soft part of his stomach. Yutou retched and curled into a ball.

"I don't want to!"

Another kick. "Stop!"

"Tell me, koi. Tell me where you got the hickey." Kick.

"My dad! My dad gave it to me, alright? Stop kicking me!"

The kicks stopped and Yutou curled into a tighter ball, blushing miserably. Shoji was laughing. He chanced a glance up—no, wait. Shoji's friends were laughing. Shoji was staring down at him with a mix between shock and horror spreading across his face. "Stop it, assholes," Shoji snapped at his friends, and they did. "I don't think he's kidding." He crouched down next to Yutou. "You're not serious, are you? Your dad gave you that?"

Yutou nodded and buried his face in the crook of his elbow.

"That's sick."

Yutou gave a pitiful sob and shrunk further away from Shoji. "Just…just go away, alright? I'm not sick, don't judge me."

"No, I didn't mean you…your dad. Your dad's sick."

"What?"

No one had ever told him that before. No one had ever blamed his father, and it took him completely by surprise. His father's fault? That didn't make sense…did it?

No, no, it was him, it had to be. He was bad, that's why he had to be punished. He was a bad boy. He whimpered and tucked his head between his arms again. "Go away," he pleaded. "I told you, now go away." Bad, bad, bad. He'd told. Yutou let out a fresh moan and tried to curl up tighter. He was in trouble. Bad, bad, bad.

"What's going on over here? Are you picking on Kamimura again?" Yutou couldn't chance a glance up, but he recognized the PE teacher's voice and heard Shoji's hair swish against his cheek as he shook his head.

"Nah, coach. He's sick, I think. Can I take him to the nurse's office?"

"What's wrong?" The teacher put a hand on Yutou's shoulder and he screamed, jerking away so violently that he landed in Shoji's arms. He buried his face in Shoji's chest, because the warmth was all he cared about right now, he was so terrified. "Is he alright?"

"He'll be fine. Can I take him to the nurse's office?"

"Ah…sure, that sounds like a good idea…"

Shoji nodded and stood up, pulling Yutou with him. "C'mon," he said. "We're leaving."

"I don't want to," Yutou whispered. "I don't want to go anywhere with you."

"I'm not that bad, am I?" Shoji asked lightly.

Yutou made no reply, just hung his head and walked alongside Shoji silently, wishing he hadn't said what he had. His cheeks were crimson with shame, his heart was pounding, and he was trembling. Shoji made no mention of it, however, not until—

"Why did you stop them?"

"Hunh?" Shoji looked down at Yutou, and for the first time Yutou noticed how extraordinarily tall he was. "Stop who?"

"Your friends. You stopped them from laughing at me."

Shoji shrugged. "Things like that aren't funny. They're not my friends, anyways. They're people my parents expect me to hang out with."

"What do you mean?"

"Ah, y'know. Rich kids. Upper-class snobs." Shoji grinned at him. "I'd like to see their reaction if I took you home."

Yutou bristled. "I'm not poor."

"You obviously haven't met my parents. If you don't have your own yacht, you're poor. Don't worry about that, though—you're nice, they'll like you."

"What?"

"I know I've been a jerk and all," Shoji began, looking uncomfortable. He stopped and turned to face Yutou. "But, y'know, I just couldn't get you out of my head. And you're so withdrawn, I thought that was the only way to bring you out of your shell. I like you."

"L-like me?" Yutou flushed. "What do you mean, like me?"

"You're beautiful," Shoji mumbled, trailing his fingers down the side of Yutou's face. "You remember when I transferred here from Osaka? You were the first person I noticed, with that hair of yours, and those eyes…I thought you were the prettiest girl in the class. Of course—" he laughed "—then I realized you were a guy, and…well…let's just say you're the one that convinced me I'm gay."

"Don't change anything for me," Yutou whispered. "Please, I don't…you're…I'm not…" He clutched his pounding heart and stared down at his shoes. "I'm not worth all that. What would happen if your parents found out?"

"Then they'd scream and rant and throw things." Shoji shrugged. "They won't care after a while."

"I can't." Yutou turned away. "I'm sorry, I can't."

"You're straight, aren't you?" Yutou glanced at Shoji and the naked terror on his face was heart-wrenching…it must have been so hard for him to say all that, not knowing if he would be rejected… "God, I'm sorry." He laughed wryly and ran a hand through his messy black hair. "I seem to have a knack for saying the wrong things. Let's just get you to the nurse, she'll let you lie down or something." He made a move, as if to leave, and Yutou grabbed hold of his sleeve. Shoji paused, looked down. "What is it?"

Blushing furiously and still not knowing quite what had come over him, Yutou wound his fingers into the soft hairs at the nape of Shoji's neck, went up on his tiptoes and pressed his lips gently to Shoji's. The taller boy stiffened in shock and Yutou jerked back. "No," he mumbled. "No, I'm not straight."

Shoji laughed. Yutou panicked, thinking that maybe all of this had been an elaborate scheme to humiliate him, and he looked around desperately for somewhere to hide, or maybe to see if Shoji's friends had been watching. But the hallway was completely empty, and Yutou couldn't for the life of him imagine where Shoji could hide a tape recorder in that uniform. Shoji was down on the ground, knees pulled to his chest, giggling insanely and it wasn't malicious laughter, he seemed…relieved. "God," he managed, after a few minutes of this. "Do you know how long I've wanted to hear that from you?" He burst into a fresh fit of giggles and Yutou, in spite of himself, found himself sitting across from Shoji, chuckling. And then all of a sudden the amusement was gone, because Shoji had pulled Yutou into his arms and kissed him—not a gentle kiss but a pleading, demanding kiss than made Yutou's insides turn to ice. He whimpered into Shoji's mouth and went obediently limp in his arms—surely he wouldn't…not here, not now…

"I'm sorry. I'll take it slow." Shoji broke the kiss and buried his face in Yutou's hair. "We won't do anything you don't want, okay? I'll take care of you. I promise."

Take care of him? Shoji didn't…didn't…oh, this was too confusing. What did Shoji want? Yutou hadn't ever had to deal with anyone but his father, he didn't know what to expect from this new intrusion into his routine.

And Shoji never failed to surprise him. They became friends quickly, although Yutou never quite understood what Shoji saw in a skinny, underfed boy with enough emotional problems to drive any therapist crazy. But Shoji never made any indication that he minded being around Yutou—he was affectionate and kind and funny, and before Yutou knew quite what was happening, he'd fallen in love with his former tormentor.

Yutou had never been in love, but he'd also never had a friend, a confidante he could trust, and he sometimes wondered if what he was feeling was really love or if he'd just grown attached to the idea of someone caring for him. He didn't like to think that, but sometimes he couldn't help it…although the way it felt when Shoji kissed him had absolutely nothing to do with friendship, he was fairly certain of that.

They avoided Yutou's house, preferring the spacious solitude of Shoji's…well, manor, Yutou couldn't think of anything else to call it. It was enormous, and Shoji's parents were very rarely home, so they'd spend their time lounging on the couch watching TV or curl up on Shoji's bed and talk. It didn't matter, every moment away from home was bliss to Yutou. At least that was what he'd thought in the beginning…after a while, he began to realize that it wasn't being away from his father than made him happy, it was being with Shoji. And it scared him sometimes, how safe he felt with the black-haired boy.

Then, about five months after the two had begun their odd relationship, Shoji got detention for fighting with another student. Now, Shoji wasn't naturally violent, but he did have a bit of a temper where Yutou was concerned, and the boy he'd fought had been making passes at Yutou. Needless to say, this made Shoji rather unhappy, and before Yutou had been able to stop him, Shoji had hurled himself at the other boy and began pummeling him.

It frightened Yutou, to see how violent Shoji was capable of being. He supposed it should mean something that the violence had all been to protect him, but all he could see while he walked dazedly back to his house was the rage on Shoji's face, the way he bared his teeth and snarled like an animal. Yutou repressed a shiver; he hoped he never incurred Shoji's wrath. He was scary.

"Hey. Yutou, right? C'mere a minute, I need to talk to you." Yutou's head snapped up. Someone was talking to him? Yes, there he was. One of Shoji's acquaintances, but Yutou didn't know him very well. He was a little shorter than Shoji but still at least a head taller than Yutou, with bleached hair and a wolf-like smile. He was surrounded by more of Shoji's nameless friends, but they were all smiling at him. Friendly, Yutou thought.

"Me?" Yutou asked.

"Yeah. C'mere." The middle boy gestured to him and Yutou obediently trotted over to where the bleach-blonde was leaning against the alley wall. "It's about Shoji."

"What about him?"

"You two are dating, right?"

Yutou knew his cheeks were bright red, but he shook his head frantically. "No, nothing like that. Just friends."

"That's not what he said. I thought he was lying, you know, landing a pretty thing like you." Yutou ducked his head, embarrassed. Had Shoji really told them? He wasn't sure how he felt about that—somewhere between horror and pride, he supposed. "Hey, relax. I know Shoji's gay, it doesn't matter. I just thought I'd ask you myself." He glanced at a brunette next to him. "I told you Shoji was lying. There's no way Yutou would date trash like that."

"He's not trash!" The words were out of Yutou's mouth before he could stop them; how dare they insult Shoji! "And he's not lying! We are dating, and I think he's beautiful, so you can just—" he stopped. Something was wrong. The blonde was smiling again—no, not smiling. Leering. At him. Arms shot out and grabbed him around the wrists, wresting his arms behind his back and the blonde cupped Yutou's cheek with a manicured hand.

"You're so easy to play, Yutou. Shoji didn't tell me a thing." Yutou whimpered and tried to turn away but the grip on his jaw tightened until close-cut fingernails were digging into his face, not enough to break skin but enough to hurt. "Shoji hates me." Yutou thought Shoji was a good judge of character; he didn't like the way the blonde was looking at him. "He's pretty, isn't he? You said it yourself." Yutou nodded dumbly, not trusting himself to speak. "And if you hadn't gotten in my way, he'd be mine."

"In your way?"

"I've wanted him longer than you've even known he existed, whore. And you're going to take his place, how about that? We wouldn't want Shoji getting hurt, now would we?" Yutou shook his head.

He wanted to fight, he really did. But years of being trained to lie still and take it, of being ordered to stay silent and be good, well…Yutou was paralyzed and he couldn't so much as cry, let alone fight the boys off of him. He could feel his mind blanking out, retreating into its own reality and he let it—he didn't want to think about what the boys were doing to him, about the way they laughed when his body responded to theirs. He didn't want to remember their eyes, their voices, the way their hands roamed his chest and held his legs apart and how much it hurt.

He closed his eyes and the boys were gone, and he could just barely feel what was happening. They weren't as bad as his father had been, and he guessed he was grateful for that. He didn't think he was bleeding, and none of them had hit him yet, so what was the problem? There wasn't one, he'd done this before. No use getting torn up about it, it was just the way things went with him. He smiled to himself, eliciting another wave of jeers from the boys and another stab of barely-there pain. This was okay, really, if it kept Shoji safe. He was alright with it.

The pain had stopped and he could hear fingers fumbling with zippers and belt buckles as his attackers cleaned themselves up. The blonde pried his hand open and stuffed something into it. Yutou, dazed, glanced down and saw his fingers curled around a twenty-dollar bill—American money. "For services rendered," the blonde whispered, kissing him for the first time since their encounter had started. He got up, brushed the dirt off of his knees and turned to leave. "You'd better clean yourself up, whore."

Yutou lay there staring up at the sky for a good ten minutes before he felt okay enough to move. He pulled his pants back up around his hips and looked around for his shirt and jacket—there they were, over on the other side of the alley. At least his clothes had remained unscathed, for the most part. Just dirt, nothing a good washing wouldn't cure.

He pushed himself to his feet, wincing a little at the ache in his ass, and began the slow trek home. Every step stung, but fortunately he wasn't too far away from his house. His hand was beginning to ache—he still had the money, he realized. Hm. Twenty bucks for ten minutes, that wasn't bad at all.

"Where the hell have you been?" Yutou closed the door behind him, stuffing the money in his pocket. His father had a suitcase under one arm, his briefcase under the other, and Yutou's blood went cold—was he leaving? "Your mother's in the hospital," he snapped in reply to Yutou's questioning glance. "Nervous breakdown. It's your fault, boy. If you didn't worry her so much—"

"Is she going to be okay?"

"I don't know, but she's running up a hell of a hospital bill. I don't know how we're gonna pay this one." He scrubbed a hand through his graying hair, suddenly looking old and worn-out. "You," he said, stabbing and finger in Yutou's direction "are going to start earning your keep around here. Food and board aren't free anymore. You're seventeen, you pay rent, you buy your own clothes, you pay for food. Got that?"

"But…school rules, they say I can't work."

"You find a way to get me that money or your mother's going to die, you hear me? If we can't pay for her bill, she'll die. Do you really want that on your conscience?"

"No," Yutou whispered, shaking his head. He pulled the money out of his pocket, stared at it for a few minutes, and then held it out to his father. "Here. It's all I have."

His father snatched it and gave him a suspicious look. "Where'd you get American money?" Yutou flushed and looked away. His father laughed and pocketed the money. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter. It's a good start, Yutou. I suppose you aren't completely worthless."

"Thank you," Yutou said dully. "I've got a lot of homework."

And with that anticlimactic conversation, Yutou's life went straight to hell. He'd never gotten any sort of reward for spreading his legs for his father, so he went to work, lounging on street corners, watching old men try not to stare at the lean, young body and pretty face. For the first time he understood why people said he was beautiful; dressed in leather, eyes darkened with kohl, lips painted with shimmering gloss, he felt needed, felt wanted. People would pay him outrageous amounts of money for him to share their bed—he could pay his father's rent and still have enough left over for clothes, books, video games, things he'd never been able to buy himself. He was saving to get a place of his own, away from drunken rapes and broken beer bottles. Away from Heiji.

He began to garner a reputation within a few months. He was adventurous, they said, willing to try anything and with an almost masochistic level of pain tolerance. Male, female, he'd do anything with money, it didn't matter to him. A whore with no inhibitions.

Of course, Shoji had found out.

Yutou cringed, curled up a little tighter with the memory of the disgust on Shoji's face—how could he explain this away? He couldn't and he didn't, and Shoji left. Walked out on him, disappeared, never spoke to him or wrote to him again. But Shoji had loved him, he'd told him that before he left. And there was no doubt Yutou had loved him—it tore him apart, losing Shoji like that. He couldn't mourn, it had been his own fault…his own fault he lost the one person who'd ever cared about him.

He staggered to the bathroom with the intent of washing the dried tears and sweat off of his face, maybe taking a shower. But he sopped dead when he met his reflection—his father stared back at him. The cold, dead eyes, the scowl, the handsome, tired face—oh God, he hated it. He hated himself, hated his own face, wanted himself dead. He wanted to die because he'd become his father, he'd done to another boy what had been done to him. He was just like Heiji.

Just like Heiji.

He roared and swung his fist into the glass. It didn't hurt, nothing could hurt as badly as he did inside. He deserved every mark, every gaping, bleeding wound. He'd as good as killed Seto, the poor boy—he was a monster, he didn't deserve to live anymore! And he was screaming, crying, beating the hell out of the mirror and slashing the hell out of his own body, reaching up with bloodied fingers to drag shards of glass along his own face and neck and shoulders while he howled like an animal and slowly ripped himself apart.

"Let this be the end," he whispered. "Please, just let this be the end."