"Wake up kid!"

Yao blinked as the hot sunlight hit the thin folds of his lids through the vehicle window. His eyes blurred and he rubbed at them; his skull felt as though it would burst.

Jerking his head, he realized it had been resting snugly in Alfred's lap—and what's more, his hand had apparently been clutching the American's shirt. With his jaw hanging open, he bolted upwards to a half-sitting, half-crouching position.

The large face of the American in front of him swam in and out of focus, then sharpened fantastically, like a photograph being developed in a pool of silver nitrate. "Just in time, kid. Your new home," the tall blond man was saying, smiling at him from eyes to mouth.

Outside, Yao could hear gravel crunching. Shaking, the boy peered out the window. He saw a fancy, well-kept lawn, and attendants milling about tending to it; as he glanced a little past all that, his guts turned to stone. Leading up from the lawn, the gray Victorian-manor type house that loomed over a large courtyard looked unwelcome, eerily foreboding. Horrid.

Pulling himself back inside, he could scarcely prevent himself from hyperventilating.

"I'm sorry I had to drug you," Alfred's voice came crashing onto the little Chinese boy's ears, like dull thudding bells. "but I didn't want you to hurt yourself. Besides, we got here OK."

Yao's golden eyes glittered with warm tears as a sob rose in his throat. His mind scrambled to regain some concept of time. The memories of what he had gone through earlier that day were beginning to assault his senses, and he glared in response.

"Come on," Alfred insisted, sweating as he grabbed Yao's wrist. The kid was looking positively gorgeous against the backdrop of the giant Victorian mansion. Thoughtlessly, he reached out and wiped at Yao's wet face with the sleeve of his bomber jacket.

"Take me back home," Yao said tersely as Alfred withdrew his sleeve.

"I thought you might say that. Look, this is your home now. Just be a good boy and get out of the car."

"No. Get your hands off me." Yao's eyes bulged as Alfred increased the pressure of the talon-like grip on his wrist. "Help!" he cried. "Kiku!"

"Calm down."

"Kiku! KIKU!"

The next thing Yao realized, a set of lips was crushing against his tiny mouth. Yao cried out as he opened his eyes wide, and a tongue was pushed in aggressively. Alfred's expression was dark and the Chinese boy instinctively, weakly kissed him back.

After pulling away, breaking the kiss, Alfred opened his mouth, his words coming out slowly. "I bought you. You're mine, don't you get that?"

"I'm Kiku's," Yao's voice, though low, was shrilly within an octave of hysteria. He pointedly wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "I'll never be y—"

Alfred's hands grew cold and he lifted his right one as though preparing to strike; immediately, Yao closed his mouth as his whole body shuddered, but he refused to break his glare. At the sight of the frightened little boy, the brilliant blue of Alfred's eyes softened, and he sighed.

"Look. It's been a long ride, hasn't it, little one?" Alfred tried to soften his tone, to reason with the child. "Don't you need to use the restroom?"

Yao squirmed, but what Alfred said was true. The pain in his lower abdomen was becoming unbearable.

"Just come up here for a little while and let me show you around." Glancing down at the outstretched palm on the seats, Yao's hesitant hand disappeared into Alfred's huge fist. The American's hand was so sinewy and strong, Yao felt like a rag doll within his grasp.

The minute Yao was out of the vehicle, he cried out as his arms were wrenched forward and a long, muscular arm wound hard around his slender waist. Alfred's dusky, unshaven jaw pressed against his own smooth cheek as Yao felt the American breathing against his body, and Yao crushed his fingers weakly against the hard torso as he was lifted upwards. Behind him, the door was slammed shut.

The Chinese boy cracked open an eyelid to glimpse several of the lawn attendants staring baldly at the sight of him being carried in Alfred's arms as they traipsed towards the door. Alfred seemed to be ignoring most of the looks he gathered; one or two even hastened forward as though to assist him, but the American waved them off.

"Be more careful there, Yank." Yao tensed as he heard a gruff, unfamiliar voice speak out. His ears perked up in curiosity at the sound; his senses became taut in high alertness.

Alfred didn't even turn his head to address the speaker. "What the hell are you looking at?"

"You're suffocating him, da?"

"Get back to work, Ivan. Now!"

The front door was simply nudged open as Alfred padded through the cold foyer. He paused only to wipe his feet, and then they were on the move. Up the steps of a long, winded staircase.

Yao lowered his head in the sink. The bathroom back at the studio he and Kiku shared at the Sacred Lotus was smaller and leakier and had older equipment, but it had been more properly heated than this room, as well as brighter, somehow. Everything about this house was nothing short of dingy and depressing. He hiccupped, and wiped his mouth with the tail end of his shirt, which had previously been tucked in his trousers.

A crumpled object fell out of his pocket as he tugged his shirt upwards, landing softly on the linoleum. Glancing down, Yao realized it was the tissue Kiku had stuffed there earlier that morning, when he had been tearfully protesting his own sales transaction—

He peered closer.

The "tissue" was a scrap of plain paper, with writing on it. The handwriting did not look immediately like Kiku's—it seemed it had been done in a hurry— but the script was familiar enough.

Play along & give him what he wants for now.

Be a good little peony.

Trust me.

Love, K.

Yao re-folded the scrap along its original order of creases as somebody started suddenly banging on the door.

When there was no response, Alfred simply unlocked the latch and barged in as Yao was patting down his hair in front of the mirror. Chuckling to himself, Alfred reached out, pulling the boy back outside. He scooped him up.

When they arrived at the door of what was obviously the master bedroom, Alfred abruptly set Yao down and knocked.

"Who is it?"

Yao's blood ran cold. That voice.

"Somebody is here to see you," the American replied, and at his waist, Yao suddenly clutched hard onto the American's jacket, jostling his stance in the process. Alfred peered down at Yao in pure astonishment.

The door swung open. Yao's head whipped around in time to witness Alfred being bodily shoved aside, his back colliding with the side wall, and one bony hand, smaller than Alfred's yet much larger than his own, grappling his forearm. The door slammed shut as the Chinese boy was whisked inside in one motion.