[Yami no Matsuei] "Sins of the Father" (PG)
Author's Note: Written for 
fic_promptly's Any, Any, You just hate me for being born / You just hate me for being me / You just hate me for knowing you / As I do Featuring a young Muraki and his father (whom I've named Yuri Shidou, since he goes unnamed in canon; also, I suspect dear father married into the Muraki family and took his wife's name because lower on the social ladder). Warning for parental abuse of an adolescent child (Muraki and his father don't get along very well...)
He knew the man who had fathered him had taken his (Kazutaka's) mother's name at their marriage, a sign that the man came from a lower rank than his wife. Kazutaka did not even consider that as he stood before Yuri Shidou's desk, the day the man called him into his office, but he could not avoid the reminders, the way the man looked at him, like he spoke to a patient who would not heed his advice.
"What's this I've heard about something going on between the Mibu boy and you?" his mother's husband asked. He might share some of the man's genetics, but he barely considered the man as his father.
Getting straight to business, he had to give credit to the man for not mincing words. "We're study partners and we share a room in the dormitory," Kazutaka replied. "He found me when some other students... gave me trouble at my locker.
"But according to what I've heard, you've been sharing more than a dorm: you've been sharing a bed," his mother's husband said, disapproving.
Kazutaka felt a soft, annoyed sound escape his lips unbidden. "Who told you that?"
"The class representative has been keeping an eye on the both of you," his mother's husband said. "You keep yourself physically closer to him than you do with anyone else in your class."
"She hasn't told you about Ukyou Sakuraijii?" Kazutaka cut in.
"Please tell me you aren't using Sakuraijii's daughter as a scrim for what's really going on?"
"No. Oriya introduced us: he was seeing her before I started seeing her," Kazutaka replied.
Yuri gave him a cruel smirk, as if trying to mimic the sort of smirks Grandfather gave when something amused him in a cruel way or he had come up with a cutting remark for someone who had earned one. "So he let you have one of his cast offs?" he asked.
"Like you never cast off a woman for another and left your forsaken mistress to some hanger on of yours?" Kazutaka said, with a smirk of his own. If he could parry the man's jabs with anything, he could do it with words and knowledge.
Yuri's smirk vanished and his hands tightened on each other; from the way his lips twitched as he replied, he clearly fought within himself to contain his hatred. "How did you know that?"
"I've heard my mother's ravings: sometimes the mad tell the truth better than the sane. They don't have the filters and masks that the sane toss up to protect themselves from the truth and the pain it can cause," Kazutaka said.
"That old man told you..." Yuri rasped, his anger barely contained.
"No, your wife, my mother did," Kazutaka said, lifting one hand in a disarming shrug.
Yuri rose to his feet and reaching across the desk, slapped Kazutaka across the face. "I won't have you lying."
Kazutaka clutched his cheek, feeling it burn from the blow. "You wanted to do that. You can't raise your hand to your wife, so you raise it against me, the son she gave you."
"Be quiet, boy: don't forget that I am still your father, and a son should respect his father," Yuri snarled, a fleck of spit flying from his lips, his dark eyes blazing.
"And fathers should respect their sons in return," Kazutaka said, taking a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his cheek.
"Get out of my sight and go to your room," Yuri snapped. "And don't come out till I send a servant for you."
"If you wanted to punish me, you'd make me stay with you," Kazutaka said, turning to leave. "I know you hate me: why else do you ignore me and my mother as much as you do?"
"Go!" Yuri shouted.
Kazutaka bowed his head. "Yes, father," he replied, trying to sound meek and failing on purpose. With that he went out, feeling the adrenalin ebb from his limbs, leaving them quivering, though he fought to hide it till he got out the door and into the hall.
Sakaki, the son of his grandfather's manservant, found him there, making his way back to his room, trying to hide the tears that welled up.
"That doesn't look good, young master," the servant replied, his eye on the bruise Kazutaka felt blossoming on his cheek.
"I hit the door on the way out," Kazutaka replied, dissembling, and knowing the servant saw through this.
"Shall I fetch an ice pack for it?" Sakaki asked, going along with the fabrication.
"Yes, and some acetaminophen while you're fetching it," Kazutaka replied.
fic_promptly's Any, Any, You just hate me for being born / You just hate me for being me / You just hate me for knowing you / As I do Featuring a young Muraki and his father (whom I've named Yuri Shidou, since he goes unnamed in canon; also, I suspect dear father married into the Muraki family and took his wife's name because lower on the social ladder). Warning for parental abuse of an adolescent child (Muraki and his father don't get along very well...)
He knew the man who had fathered him had taken his (Kazutaka's) mother's name at their marriage, a sign that the man came from a lower rank than his wife. Kazutaka did not even consider that as he stood before Yuri Shidou's desk, the day the man called him into his office, but he could not avoid the reminders, the way the man looked at him, like he spoke to a patient who would not heed his advice.
"What's this I've heard about something going on between the Mibu boy and you?" his mother's husband asked. He might share some of the man's genetics, but he barely considered the man as his father.
Getting straight to business, he had to give credit to the man for not mincing words. "We're study partners and we share a room in the dormitory," Kazutaka replied. "He found me when some other students... gave me trouble at my locker.
"But according to what I've heard, you've been sharing more than a dorm: you've been sharing a bed," his mother's husband said, disapproving.
Kazutaka felt a soft, annoyed sound escape his lips unbidden. "Who told you that?"
"The class representative has been keeping an eye on the both of you," his mother's husband said. "You keep yourself physically closer to him than you do with anyone else in your class."
"She hasn't told you about Ukyou Sakuraijii?" Kazutaka cut in.
"Please tell me you aren't using Sakuraijii's daughter as a scrim for what's really going on?"
"No. Oriya introduced us: he was seeing her before I started seeing her," Kazutaka replied.
Yuri gave him a cruel smirk, as if trying to mimic the sort of smirks Grandfather gave when something amused him in a cruel way or he had come up with a cutting remark for someone who had earned one. "So he let you have one of his cast offs?" he asked.
"Like you never cast off a woman for another and left your forsaken mistress to some hanger on of yours?" Kazutaka said, with a smirk of his own. If he could parry the man's jabs with anything, he could do it with words and knowledge.
Yuri's smirk vanished and his hands tightened on each other; from the way his lips twitched as he replied, he clearly fought within himself to contain his hatred. "How did you know that?"
"I've heard my mother's ravings: sometimes the mad tell the truth better than the sane. They don't have the filters and masks that the sane toss up to protect themselves from the truth and the pain it can cause," Kazutaka said.
"That old man told you..." Yuri rasped, his anger barely contained.
"No, your wife, my mother did," Kazutaka said, lifting one hand in a disarming shrug.
Yuri rose to his feet and reaching across the desk, slapped Kazutaka across the face. "I won't have you lying."
Kazutaka clutched his cheek, feeling it burn from the blow. "You wanted to do that. You can't raise your hand to your wife, so you raise it against me, the son she gave you."
"Be quiet, boy: don't forget that I am still your father, and a son should respect his father," Yuri snarled, a fleck of spit flying from his lips, his dark eyes blazing.
"And fathers should respect their sons in return," Kazutaka said, taking a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his cheek.
"Get out of my sight and go to your room," Yuri snapped. "And don't come out till I send a servant for you."
"If you wanted to punish me, you'd make me stay with you," Kazutaka said, turning to leave. "I know you hate me: why else do you ignore me and my mother as much as you do?"
"Go!" Yuri shouted.
Kazutaka bowed his head. "Yes, father," he replied, trying to sound meek and failing on purpose. With that he went out, feeling the adrenalin ebb from his limbs, leaving them quivering, though he fought to hide it till he got out the door and into the hall.
Sakaki, the son of his grandfather's manservant, found him there, making his way back to his room, trying to hide the tears that welled up.
"That doesn't look good, young master," the servant replied, his eye on the bruise Kazutaka felt blossoming on his cheek.
"I hit the door on the way out," Kazutaka replied, dissembling, and knowing the servant saw through this.
"Shall I fetch an ice pack for it?" Sakaki asked, going along with the fabrication.
"Yes, and some acetaminophen while you're fetching it," Kazutaka replied.