Hey, so people seemed to want this story to continue, so here we go! Thank you to everyone who reviewed or PM'd to let me know your thoughts on this, I really appreciate it :)

Also it might take me a bit longer between updates than previously as I'm getting a bit busier.

Anyway thanks, and I hope it's okay!

It had been the greatest act of his life.

.

A sordid script, connecting filthy scenes with tendrils of lies and pain, made necessary by a cruel and uncaring God.

And Yuki knew this act would never end.

For this production to succeed he would have to learn his lines... adhere to the script... never break character.

Until the curtains came thundering down on the stage of sins and the lights went out.

The end would come soon.

And he would be grateful.

.

Akito smiled a lot that day. It wasn't the gentle, charming smile he sculpted for the clients. Nor was it his dangerous sweet smile. It was something else entirely. It was victory. Triumph. Success. Without words it spoke of a great battle won. A prize rightfully restored. It was smug and crawling and self-contented. It was everything Yuki didn't want to see.
But it was what he saw, when he first opened his eyes that morning. And it was what he had to smile in response to.

That whole day was awful crawling smiles. Lies and smiles.

When Yuki woke up Akito drew him close for a long, intimate kiss.
Don't kiss me. Don't kiss me. Yuki thought. Do anything else... but please don't do that. But he didn't struggle or resist. He actually leaned forward into the kiss passionately, sending them sprawling in the wide double bed.

And it felt so wrong. So wrong.

Yuki did not go to the bench that day. He did not go to the bar that day. He collected breakfast from the dining room early, before the others awoke. He didn't want to face them. To see Haru. He didn't know if he'd be able to hold the sharp, jagged pieces inside himself together. At the moment they were balanced perfectly, held in place by ignoring them. They thrived off attention and if he gave it to them they would break apart, spearing him internally where he was most vulnerable. He couldn't afford that. They pieces had to remain unmoved and unconsidered. Besides... he didn't think he would survive that.

Instead he drank his coffee and ate his breakfast. He selected a book from Akito's shelves and practiced reading. When the afternoon drew in he showered and shaved. He dressed smartly and sat waiting for Akito's return, as though he could want for nothing more. He was a perfect doll, a perfect pet. He was the caged bird Akito had always wanted him to be.
And when Akito returned and found him happily waiting he was pleased. The smug smile crawled its way across his face.

Yuki fought the urge to scream.

They went for dinner that night, in the small lounge reserved for Akito's select clients. They ate with a well-spoken man and a woman. There was an affair between the two Akito informed Yuki, as they wound their way arm-in-arm to the room. Yuki wasn't surprised. This whole damn underworld was built on lies, debauchery and sin. Without them it would crumble. And so would he, Yuki supposed. For what else was he comprised of?

Dinner was unremarkable. The food was of a very high quality and the sexual tension of a very low quality. Yuki was rusty initially with being charming and alluring, but he took a deep breath and forced his mask on. Then he was back. The lies flowed from his tongue like water, his eyes held half-promises and his touches yielded good responses. Akito and the couple left pleased. Yuki left feeling empty.

"Don't worry sweet, you're staying with me tonight," came the whispered promise from Akito. And this was when he was meant to smile. He should be pleased, grateful. And Yuki's face twisted into its own form of the smug smile.

Yuki fought the urge to scream.

And when he stood before the mirror that night, dressed in suit and vacant expression, Yuki thought that he didn't know the man before him. He recognised features of the man, but this was definitely a stranger. This was not the same man who had eaten noodles from a single fork with Tohru in an unmade bed-

But there, he had thought of her, and a jagged piece within him shifted, piercing him swiftly. And it in turn moved another, for the pieces were tangled together like a ball of barbed wire. And now other memories came floating, unwanted, to the forefront of his mind. And each one tore him up from the inside. Slicing and slashing and stabbing until Yuki was sure there was nothing left, and that he must surely bleed out from all these injuries- but there was nothing on the surface. In the mirror the stranger still stared at him.

The stranger's eyes were distant and ambiguous and he wanted to ask- needed to ask: "Are you the monster or the hero?" Because he didn't know anymore. And he needed to know. He had to know.

But the eyes in the mirror gave no answer.

"I hope you're the hero," he muttered to the eyes, "I need you to be the hero."

Then Akito returned and called Yuki to the bed. And Yuki looked back at the stranger in the mirror. Those eyes were so cruel and cold that Yuki flinched back. He wanted to hide from them, to retreat like a crab into its shell. For those eyes had done things he could never have imagined. And they were yet to do things he could never have imagined.

Please be the hero.

He went willing to Akito's bed.

Yuki fought the urge to scream.

.

Yuki shifted closer to Akito, pressing their bodies tightly together under the duvet, as though they were stranded in the sea and he was frightened the jealous current would tear them apart. His skin crawled at the clammy contact of their skin. The first light of the day meandered slowly into the room.

Akito seemed pleased, humming tunelessly into Yuki's hair.

"Do you know what day it is, my sweet?"

Yuki feigned ignorance, looking up to Akito's eyes past his sharp jawline.

"It's the first... so time once again for you and Kyo's little competition." Akito paused but Yuki didn't respond so he continued. "I almost thought we were going to have to cancel it, what with your... lapse in judgement... but you came home. Madam Rossa was pleased to hear it would be possible."

When Akito paused this time Yuki sensed he was waiting so he murmured a demure, "I see."

"You're willing to compete, I assume?" Akito inquired.

There wasn't a moment of the day Yuki could let his guard down, could remove the mask, could stop acting. Even now, in the early hours of a new day, a performance was required.

"Of course master," he murmured, smooth and silky despite the huskiness of sleep which still draped itself over his speech. "It would be a pleasure to beat him again, for you."

Akito pressed a tender kiss into Yuki's hair.

And it was sweet. Yuki wanted so much to forget, to ignore everything else happening, everything else surrounding it, all the context. He just wanted that kiss. He just wanted someone who wanted to kiss him, tenderly, like that.

But he had destroyed that.

One of the jagged pieces twisted sharply in his gut. He was bleeding, surely he was grievously wounded for there was such pain- such sudden, sharp pain that he couldn't breathe-

-but there was nothing. He lay in Akito's arms and Akito could not see the way he was being torn apart slowly. For there was nothing to see.

.

Yuki sat outside on the ground. It was a bright, bland day. The gulls hurled their cries at the vast, uncaring sky, where they were lost forever.

Yuki thought the birds were foolish. Why waste so much effort crying? No-one would hear... no-one would answer. The huge white sky swallowed their sounds as soon as they made them. Crying did no good. It was futile and hopeless. Better to accept your place in the cage than live in naive ignorance, whilst forcing those around you to endure your cries. Not only were the birds foolish... they were cruel and selfish and free. Yuki hated them... and he envied them.

At dusk he heard his name called softly and followed it inside.

Emilia Rossa, or Madam Rossa as she preferred to be known, was waiting in the lounge. She smiled indulgently when she saw Yuki, as though he were a favourite nephew. She was, he noted as he moved slowly towards her, dressed splendidly as always. His skill of instantly appraising clients was still very much intact it seemed.

"Ahh Yuki dear!" she cooed. "I will be spending tonight with Kyo as I am sure you've heard. And tomorrow is our little catch up!"

Yuki nodded, his smile alluring and his gestures soft.

"I do hope you don't mind waiting until tomorrow Yuki dear?"

"Not at all Madam. It will only heighten my anticipation." He mimicked Akito's cadence, making the words slow and lingering. Lidded eyes, sardonic smirk, slight reveal of his collar bone... perfect.

"I look forward to it my dear. Tomorrow. It will be marvelous." She smiled slyly at him.

When she left Yuki wandered to the gardens. Absent-minded, his feet led him to the bench. He turned abruptly as soon as he registered it was sitting in front of him. He couldn't. Couldn't think of the bench. Of anything. Of Toh-

No no! He couldn't.

He walked to the other side of the garden and sank to the grass.

He couldn't think of that. This was his world now. His life.

His cruel mind forced him to recollect Madam Rossa's sly smile, Akito's ghosting touches, the venom in Haru's eyes...

And he had returned to this underworld, himself. Would it not have been so much easier to be dragged back by ferocious hell hounds than to know he had returned himself?

This awful place, this world of lies, debauchery and sin would be his kingdom until he died. And he had done that to himself.

Yuki screamed.

.

Two Weeks Previously

"I'm sorry. As suspected it's Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis."

The doctor's office was neat and organised, but bland and unoriginal. There was a faint smell of disinfectant which Yuki found unpleasant. The man's monotonous, gravelly voice was continuing to ponder on, but Yuki was hardly listening anymore.

"...thickening and scarring of alveoli... steroid medications available... stop smoking... support groups... incurable..."

incurable

incurable

The words washed over Yuki. Big words and small words, many words he didn't understand.

But he did understand one thing.

He was dying.

It was one of those times where, as the saying goes, if you don't laugh, you'll cry.

But Yuki didn't laugh.

He cried.

And his tears were bitter and angry. His sobs were raw and his whole feeble frame shook at the sheer injustice of it. He had found someone he loved, when he thought he never would, never could, and against impossible odds she loved him back.

And now this.

Oh this was a cleverly planned joke by a malicious God, and he was the punchline.

The boy from the gutter thinks he can lead a normal life? That prince of the whorehouse thinks he can have a relationship?

Let's kill him, slowly.

The doctor was uncomfortable by Yuki's sudden sobbing, awkward and unsure of how to breach the distance between them, to comfort another man. In that moment Yuki despised him for his restraint; for in that moment he had really needed a word of comfort.

The doctor was more uncomfortable however, when Yuki stopped crying. When he shakily dried his eyes, swallowed down his sobs and sat upright to face the doctor there was a determination and a cold distance to his piercing stare.

"So, exactly how long till I die?"

.

Yuki lay flat on his back on the cold grass, watching listlessly as evening drew in.

How many more evenings would there be?

Three years, the doctor had said.

Three years.

And he would be gone. Vanished in a wheezy puff. Forgotten.

And rightly so. No-one should remember him. No-one was safe from their memories; memories could destroy. And he didn't want to haunt anyone's dreams. He didn't want to cling desperately by the thin ropes of memory to the people who had known him. If he was to be gone, he wanted to be gone forever. Forever.

The doctor had offered many things. He had offered to run further tests to attempt to establish the cause of the disease. He had offered to refer Yuki to a specialist. He had offered to sign Yuki up for a course of steroid treatment. He had offered to give Yuki the contact of a local support group.

Yuki had refused all offers.

He thanked the doctor and left, not to return.

And a week later he had committed the worst sin of his short, wretched life.

With careful planning and clear intention he shattered the girl he loved into pieces. Humans were so fragile. And when she had tried to fix him she had made herself vulnerable. And now he had broken her.

The jagged pieces inside twisted and tugged, tearing mercilessly into him. And he let them. He deserved them. He deserved even more pain. Let it tear him to pieces.

But when the tears appeared in his eyes he rubbed them away angrily. Crying was pointless. Only those damn foolish birds wasted their energy crying.

He would not cry. He didn't deserve to.

He had to hold on, to focus. He couldn't think of her. Of what he had done to her. He had to hold on, for just a little longer.

There was something he had to do.

Yuki only prayed it would prove enough to justify the great wrong he had done.

But the darkness his soul had been doused in was dark as night, and he knew it was permanent. He was dammed. Wretched. Hell-bound.

Was his soul worth what he was planning? Or had he shattered her, and condemned himself... for nothing?

"I don't want to be the monster." Yuki whispered to the infinite night. The world ignored him.

.

In Trouble and Shame

I look at the swaling sunset
And wish I could go also
Through the red doors beyond the black-purple bar.

I wish that I could go
Through the red doors where I could put off
My shame like shoes in the porch,
My pain like garments,
And leave my flesh discarded lying
Like luggage of some departed traveller
Gone one knows not where.

Then I would turn round,
And seeing my cast-off body lying like lumber,
I would laugh with joy.

-D.H. Lawrence