Happy Families Are All Alike
Title: Happy Families Are All Alike
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Sakurai Sho/Matsumoto Jun
Summary: Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. - Leo Tolstoy
Notes/Warnings: For this year's je_squickfic. Please note that it includes kidnapping/child abduction; physical and mental abuse; psychological trauma; violence; blood; adult situations.
He ran for the train, smacking his hip hard against the turnstile as he rushed to the platform. It was the last one for the night, and if he was home late again he was fucked. Studying, he'd told his mom. Studying for the macro exam with Okada at the campus library.
And he had been studying, at least for the first few hours. But then Okada's girlfriend had called, and the two of them had brought their textbooks and backpacks along to meet her and her friends at the karaoke place. Sho's clothes still smelled like smoke and french fries as the train pulled up and the doors opened. He was probably going to bomb the exam on top of coming home late at this rate. He didn't know shit about macroeconomic theory, but he knew the lyrics to most of Mr. Children's back catalog.
He slicked his hand through his messy hair, hearing the cheery chime as the doors closed. He was nine stops away from being grounded, from a stupid fucking lecture from his dad about how the family had attended the university for four generations, he had to prove himself, blah blah. Sakurai Sho knew the story by now, had known it his whole life. But he was nineteen years old, almost an adult, and he still had a fucking curfew and two well-educated parents who accepted nothing less than perfection.
The car was nearly empty save for a guy his age who'd come running through the car's other door just as it closed. Probably another kid in the same boat, out with friends and trying to experience something besides equations and exam prep before losing track of time. Sho took his bag from his shoulder, flung it onto the seat at the end of the car, and sat down heavily. His companion on the train car had headphones on, bobbing his head to the beat of his music.
Sho sat forward in the seat, resting his elbows on his knees and shutting his eyes. If his dad had his way, Sho would be upper management in a company someday, one of those assholes who was never home and had heart attacks at yearly intervals while they rose through the ranks. If his mom had her way, Sho would become an academic, standing in front of a lecture hall full of sleeping students and publishing books on topics maybe three or four people understood or gave a shit about.
He was the oldest son, the legacy, the one who was supposed to do something, become something. The fact of the matter was that Sho didn't want to do it their way. He didn't have all the answers yet, he didn't pretend to, but he most definitely knew he didn't want the life his parents wanted for him. He wanted a say, an opinion. To come out of his boring but prestigious university with more than a piece of paper that screamed "my parents are wealthy."
He watched office building lights fly by out the train window, considered pulling his textbook from his bag and doing some last-minute cramming, shoving a term's worth of material into his head before he slept that night. Instead he found his attention drifting to the guy with his headphones, noticing for the first time how odd he seemed.
He was skinnier than Sho, in a ragged red hooded sweatshirt a few sizes too big, stained jeans, and threadbare sneakers. His hair wasn't brushed, his face was full of pimples, and he kept singing the lyrics of the songs to himself, revealing a set of crooked teeth every time he opened his mouth. He was a gangly mishmash of puberty at its harshest. Sho would know - he'd only just grown to a decent height in his second year of high school.
The guy looked over quickly, blushing when he caught Sho staring, and looked down again. Sho sighed, rolling his eyes and sinking back against the seat. Nobody else boarded the train, and Sho watched the hanging advertisements and plastic rings inside the train car sway aimlessly as his stop drew closer. Finally it was time to face the music, time to see how his father's disappointment would manifest itself tonight. Grounding? The shame of a hired tutor? A cut in his spending money?
He grabbed his bag, shuffling to the doors as they opened. The platform was empty and he headed for the stairs down to street level, hearing footsteps behind him. It seemed that Puberty Kid also had this stop. He made it through the turnstile, heading for the bike rack on the other side of the station.
"Hey."
Sho ignored the guy, had to get home. His voice was kind of pathetic, weak to match the rest of him.
"Hey, can you help me?"
Sho moved faster, digging in the pocket of his jeans for the key to his bike lock. There was a chill in the air. Fall was approaching fast, and the late ride home was going to be cold. It sent a shiver down his spine. The weather, he told himself, not the weird kid with the headphones.
"Please?"
He gripped his key in his hand, pulling it from his pocket as he turned around. The neighborhood was slowly shutting down for the night. Only the lights from the izakaya across from the station showed signs of life. He looked at the kid in exasperation, his key making an indent in his palm.
"What is it?"
Under the street light, the kid's face looked pale and sickly. He looked at Sho a bit strangely, cocking his head to the side. He put up the hood of his sweatshirt and seemed to sink inward, squatting down and covering his head. "I'm sorry!" the kid shouted, and that's when Sho heard one of the bikes in the rack tip over.
A figure came advancing out of the dark, and Sho only had time to turn around, to strike out uselessly with the small key. He didn't even have time to shout.
--
It was cold when he came to, and Sho was woozy. He cracked one eye open, seeing a wall of gray cinder blocks. Slowly, he rolled over, finding that he'd been placed on an old futon that smelled a bit like cat piss. The blanket that had been thrown on top of him stunk too.
He was in a small space. Four gray cinder block walls, one of the walls interrupted by a door. The space was lit by a single light bulb with a chain that suspended from the ceiling. Aside from his futon, there was another one shoved against the opposite wall. He shuddered at the sight of the other boy there, the boy in the red sweatshirt who was sitting on the futon with his back to the wall, staring at him.
"Don't scream," the boy said quickly, holding up his hand. "Please don't scream, okay?"
Despite his headache, despite everything aching, Sho slowly sat up, clutching the thin blanket around himself. He was still in the shirt and jeans and socks he'd worn upon leaving the house, but he couldn't see his sneakers anywhere. His backpack was gone too. He wasn't at the train station and he definitely wasn't home.
He mirrored the other boy's position, putting his back to the wall even though he could feel the cold seeping through. They were underground maybe, a basement probably. The boy said not to scream, but why would Sho bother if they were in a basement room with no windows? Nobody could hear him, and he supposed that was the point.
"Where is this place?"
"This place is home," the other boy explained. He was hugging his knees against his chest, rocking a bit in excitement. "Well, not home, but if we don't call it that, she'll know. So it's best you just call it home."
Sho frowned, his rage growing. Who the hell was this kid? Why were they together in here? "I don't have time for this. Tell me what's really going on." He shivered, wrapping the pathetic blanket around him tighter despite the smell. "Why was I brought here?"
"Because she needed the older one," the kid explained vaguely. "I'm the younger one, you're the older one now. I've waited a long time for someone, but I really am sorry."
Sho shut his eyes, confused by the strange answers. He wanted to punch the kid in the face. He wanted to punch the door. He wanted to just do something. But his head hurt. The person from the bike rack had done it. He'd been knocked out, brought to this place against his will. He'd been so worried about his parents and what punishment they'd dole out, but now they were probably upset for a different reason.
"Who are you?"
The kid scooted off of his futon, crawling across the floor on his hands and knees until he was close enough to touch, as though he trusted that Sho wouldn't punch him and try to run. The kid's voice dropped to a whisper. "The younger one is Yuki. So they call me Yuki. You probably should too, it'll be safer for you." He grinned. "But I remember who I really am, I do."
Sho wondered what had happened to this kid, what was wrong with him. "Yuki-kun, what do you remember?"
"I remember that I was Jun. I was Jun and I had a sister. I had a different mom and dad. But they're only safe if I'm Yuki. So if you please, continue to call me Yuki."
"I'm Sho," he replied, watching the boy watch him so eagerly. "I'm Sho, I'm 19."
Jun shook his head. "Well, Jun is probably 18 now, but since Yuki is 17, it's best that I'm 17. And you are the older one, you're Yuta. If Yuki is 17, then Yuta is 19 so I guess it's okay."
"My name is Sho," he repeated insistently, watching Jun's smile disappear. "I don't belong here. I need to go home."
Jun shook his head. "No, you don't want that. They're not safe if you don't believe this is your home."
The kid sounded absolutely crazy. Or partly brainwashed by the people who were keeping him here. He was impossible to predict, smiling like everything was okay when clearly he knew it wasn't. It was why he had apologized to Sho before he'd been brought here, it was why his voice dropped to a whisper when he revealed that he was only playing a part and knew it.
"How long have you been here?"
"I'm 17 now but I was 12 then."
Jun or Yuki? Either way, five or six years in this place would warp anyone, especially someone who'd been taken as a child. And that was the truth of it, wasn't it? The terrible clothes, the small room with the futons and the single light bulb. Little Jun, aged 12 or 13, had been abducted and forced to stay in this place. And now for some reason the kidnappers had needed another, had fulfilled that need by taking Sho.
Jun slowly got to his feet, holding out his hand. "I will remember that you are Sho. Even if they don't want us to, I will remember. It can be our secret, if you want."
"Sure," Sho said uneasily, letting the other boy haul him to his feet. He swayed a bit, still feeling a buzzing in his head from being hit. "Our secret."
--
Jun (because it was better for Sho's sanity if he thought of his companion by his real name) took him around the small basement they were now to share. Jun showed him the small bin in the room with the futons, a collection of random clothes for them to wear. The door to their "bedroom" had not been locked. Outside of it was a tiny bathroom with a toilet and cramped tub. Jun informed him that the water was always cold, but if they behaved, they could take a bath upstairs once in a while where the water was hot.
Sho shivered as Jun tugged on the chain, putting out the bathroom light. The only other space was a living room with a wooden table, two cushions, and a bookshelf. There were maybe 100 books, a handful of old manga issues. Jun told him that he'd read everything on the shelf at least four times now, "even the hard ones." The kid had been out of school for years, trapped here all alone.
"Don't you get lonely?" Sho found himself asking, poking his toe against one of the cushions on the floor.
"I get to eat dinner upstairs," Jun said. He looked a little nervous. "But you have to be on your best behavior or you get hurt. Don't try to run."
Sho swallowed at that, not wanting to learn what getting hurt might entail. As Jun showed him around the small, sad space where he'd spent his teenage years, Sho realized that if he shouted, nobody would hear him. There was another door in the living space, one that Jun said had a staircase on the other side that led "up to the house," meaning that they were in a basement here.
Hidden away where nobody could find them.
They sat together in the living room, Jun reading while Sho took a bathroom break and returned. The day passed in agonizing slowness. He was missing his exam. He was missing, period. He had no sense of time since there were no windows. It explained why Jun was so pale, kind of on the sickly side. Why had the kid never tried to escape?
Sho soon had an answer as Jun moved to grab another book from the shelf a few hours later, his shirt riding up as he stretched out a hand while on his knees on the thin rug. Sho saw the scars and burn marks scattered across the flesh of his back briefly, saw proof that Jun had tried. He'd tried more than once or had disobeyed more than once. Maybe it explained why he'd given in now, why he told Sho what to do from the outset. He didn't want to see the same thing happen to Sho. He didn't want him to get hurt.
The door to the room was suddenly unlocked. Sho's heart seemed to stop, and even if he always thought he'd be strong, always thought he could take care of himself, he found himself shrinking back against the wall while Jun cleared the books from the table as though it was a routine for him.
"It's lunch," Jun said quietly before the door opened. "It's okay."
Sho wanted to believe that he was the kind of person who would take charge, would use the open door as an opportunity to flee. To escape. But if Jun had been down here for years, he'd probably tried everything. And he'd been hurt for it. Was it worth the risk?
It wasn't, he realized as soon as the door pushed inward and a man entered bearing a tray. It was probably the man who'd hidden amongst the bikes, the man who'd knocked him unconscious and brought him here. He was large, taller than both him and Jun, and heavy. He was in coveralls, covered in grease like he worked in some kind of mechanical job or workshop.
He had cold, dark eyes and a look that made Sho's blood run cold. He set the tray down - cups with water, rice, miso soup, and a small bag of potato chips. He didn't bother looking at Jun, but he looked at Sho with an intensity that made him feel small, worthless. He was nineteen and he may as well have been six or seven, so easily cowed was he by this stranger.
The fight went out of him along with the rage about his capture, the anger of his forced imprisonment here with a strange boy. The guy didn't say a word, but nodded quickly when Jun said thank you for the food. With that, the man turned, giving Sho one last ferocious glare before closing the door after him. Sho heard a key turn in the lock and the man's footsteps disappear.
There was a small manila envelope under one of the rice bowls, and "Yuta" had been scribbled on it. Sho took the envelope, opening it up to find a series of photos, recently taken. His father leaving work, cell phone to his ear. The inside of his mother's classroom. His sister during a volleyball match, and his baby brother holding his mother's hand as they walked to the car.
It was then that he couldn't take it. It was then that he realized how hopeless this was. He had to play along or they'd do something to his family. It had been planned, his abduction. They didn't want money, they didn't want fame. They had other plans.
They're not safe if you don't believe this is your home, Jun had said earlier that day. He'd probably received the same kind of photos, sitting in this cold, friendless space. He'd done what was asked of him, and now Sho would have to do the same.
While Jun politely looked away, eating his rice with a pair of wooden take-out chopsticks that were on the tray, Sho wept. His food went cold and still he cried, his whole body shaking in anger. He stared at the photographs, of the family that had caused him what he thought had been so much trouble, knowing that he had to stay if he wanted to keep them safe. He cried until Jun went to the bedroom and returned with the stinky blanket, wrapping it around Sho and leaving him be.
--
The afternoon seemed to pass even more slowly than the morning. Sho had hidden the envelope of pictures under his futon. He would sleep in the cold cinder block room with his family as close as they'd ever be to him again. He wondered what Jun had done with the pictures of his own family, if he still kept them or if they'd been taken away as a punishment.
Jun told him that they had to look "presentable" for dinner. They didn't have much in the way of nice clothes, but they washed their hands and faces, standing side by side in the living room waiting for the door to be unlocked. "Don't try anything," Jun pleaded with him. "Just go along. I'll help you."
When the door opened again, it was the man from before. His coveralls were gone and he was in a t-shirt and khaki pants. But he was still massive, still frightening, and Sho didn't want to go near him.
He opened his mouth, and his voice was hard, as harsh as the rest of him. "It's time to have supper with Mother."
Jun tugged on Sho's wrist, and his fingers were freezing cold. He pulled Sho along past the large man, through the doorway. It was a short walk through a dim hall before concrete steps appeared. Sho could see a light shining at the top, could feel a shift in temperature. Whatever was upstairs had the heat on.
Compared to the basement where they were being held, the upstairs was almost too hot. It smelled like engine oil, probably from where the man worked. It was a cramped house, and the stairwell brought them to a landing between a messy living room and the kitchen. The people who lived here hoarded everything, not just children. The living room was a disaster area, a small TV blaring some commercial. There were two chairs, but a sofa was covered in stacks and stacks of newspapers. So were the floors.
Jun held on to him tightly, bringing him into the kitchen. It smelled slightly less musty in here, more like burnt rice, burnt coffee. There were cobwebs in the corners, filthy dishes in the sink. A dining table was set for four, and there was a vase at the center full of dying flowers in filthy water. There were three chairs, and Jun encouraged Sho to sit down in one of them. Jun then moved around the table to sit across from him, nodding gently.
The large man disappeared into a room past the kitchen, and that was when the squeaking began.
It was a wheelchair, old and rusted and desperately in need of some oil. The squeaking moved across the floor as the large man pushed in the fourth person for dinner. It was a woman about his mother's age with limp, greasy hair and a dazed expression. She looked around the room vacantly until she caught Jun's glance. The man pushed her up to the table where she grabbed a napkin, laid it down gently in her lap. The man headed to the cabinets, looking around for plates as something bubbled on the stove.
When she opened her mouth, half her teeth were missing and the ones left were brown or cracked. She looked at Jun with such love that Sho almost wanted to puke. She held out a gnarled looking hand, and Jun bravely took it, giving her a squeeze.
"Mama," Jun said, raising his voice slightly. "Isn't it nice that the whole family is here tonight?"
"Yuta?" the woman replied, licking her lips. She turned slightly in her wheelchair, setting her clouded, empty eyes on Sho. "Yuta, you've come home. I'm so happy you've come home for dinner."
Sho felt a little kick under the table, Jun's socked foot tapping at his ankle. He gave a nod that he probably thought was reassuring, but Sho wanted to run. He wanted to run out of this place and never look back.
"Yuta, you're so quiet," the woman chastised him, her hand reaching out to grip his arm. Much stronger than she seemed. Her hands were dry, cracked. Like sandpaper to Sho's skin. "Yuta, give your mother a kiss. It's been so long."
Sho panicked, pulling his hand away.
The woman's voice turned from matronly warmth to ice in a second. Her eyes sharpened, staring daggers at him. "Yuta, don't be ungrateful."
Jun interrupted, tapping on the woman's arm desperately. "Mama, Yuta-kun's just shy today...how about I give you a kiss? You know I love you, Mama..."
Sho's chair scraped noisily against the floor as he pushed away, shaking. He made it halfway into the living room when the man caught him, toppling heavily into one of the stacks of newspapers. He cried out, begging for the man to let him go, breathing heavily as the man wrestled him roughly back into the kitchen.
"It's time for dinner, Yuta," the woman argued. "Don't be ungrateful. Your father works hard to provide for this family."
"I'm not a part of your fucking family!" Sho howled. All of the warnings Jun had given him, the threat that the pictures in the envelope had promised, seemed to fly out of his head. And all Sho knew was that he wanted to be somewhere, anywhere else but in this filthy kitchen. "Let me go!"
Jun was out of his seat, pleading with the woman. "Please Mama, Yuta-kun's just upset..."
"We're going to eat as a family," the woman insisted. "Yuta doesn't have to be in a chair so long as he's with us."
Sho screamed in one last burst of desperation before the man's meaty fist found his gut, punching him hard enough to knock the wind from him, sending him to his knees. Sho gasped, curling up on the floor, trying to protect himself, trying to cover his head. All he could hear was Jun pleading for it to stop, the noisy TV in the living room drowning out the rest. He felt the man's foot, thankfully barefoot, hit his back, and he wheezed, sobbing, wanting to go home. He felt the man's foot again and again until he couldn't feel much at all.
"That's enough," Sho heard an agonizing few moments later. "Dinner's going to be cold."
Sho was left on the floor, gasping for air, as the man, the "father" dished out a stinky, foul-smelling curry onto plates. The woman, "Mama," was given her share first, then Jun. From the floor, Sho could only see Jun's stocking feet under the table, could see them shaking. He could see the wheels of the wheelchair, the edges of a filthy blanket on the woman's lap.
"Yuta is a member of this family, Yuki-kun. It's on Yuta to remember that," the man said calmly, setting a plate down on the floor right next to Sho's face. Sho could only stare at it, his body aching back and front as snot ran from his nose and he blinked back tears.
The father took his seat at the table, and Sho listened to the sounds of their spoons hitting the plates, the food being slurped down eagerly by the two parents while Jun ate more slowly. Sho did nothing, inhaling and exhaling the curry, the vegetables as he quivered in his shock on the kitchen floor.
Dinner ended soon after, and "Yuki" was ordered to join his "mother" in the living room to watch TV. Sho just lay there on the floor as his kidnapper cleared the table, scraping food into the garbage can and tossing the plates into the sink with the rest. Sho could only tremble, staring at dust in the corner, at the chipping paint on the wall of the kitchen.
TV time went on as Sho went in and out of it, wondering what he'd done to deserve this. Why he'd been chosen for something like this. Why he'd bothered to lash out, knowing something like this was going to happen. It was hopeless to fight and he knew it, but still he'd pointlessly tried.
Finally he heard the awful squeaking again, the wheelchair passing behind him as the man pushed his wife into the room past the kitchen. When he returned, he prodded at Sho with his foot.
"Get up, you're not hurt."
He was. He really was hurt, but somehow Jun was there, the weak boy helping Sho to his feet. "I'll take care of him, Papa. He just needs time, that's all. Yuta-kun needs time."
Sho nearly fell down the basement steps, nearly took Jun with him, but still the skinny boy kept them upright, kept them moving. Brought them back to the relative safety and quiet of the rooms they shared. The door at the bottom of the stairs was locked, and they were alone for the night.
Jun didn't say anything as Sho cried again, collapsing to the threadbare rug. He wanted to puke, he wanted to die. He wanted to get away from this place. But Jun just went to the sink in the little bathroom, returned with a damp cloth. It was cold as Jun wiped his face, cleaned the snot from his nose.
In that moment Sho realized how lucky he was, all things considered. Jun had been here for years, and nobody had been down here in these rooms to help him. Nobody had wiped his face or helped him down the stairs. Nobody had helped him at all.
It made Sho cry harder, making his sides and his back ache as his body was wracked with the sobbing. He wept for himself and for Jun, for poor Jun whose life had been stolen from him. Jun who play-acted to stay alive, to keep from being beaten. Who had tried to keep Sho from getting hurt even at risk to himself.
Somehow Jun got him to the cold cinder-block bedroom, tucked him in under the blanket. Sho heard the rustling of Jun's futon as he drifted into the relative safety of an exhausted sleep, heard Jun moving his futon close so he could watch over him.
--
When he woke again, he was still in pain. His head still ached, most likely because he'd barely eaten since he'd arrived. He lifted up his shirt gingerly, saw bruising on his belly and knew his back was probably worse. He turned slowly, gingerly, seeing the boy in the other futon, still right by his side. His hand had drifted over at some point during the night, resting at the edge of Sho's blanket.
He froze when the door of the other room unlocked. There was a quick announcement of "breakfast" and then the door was locked again. At that Jun stirred, giving Sho a tiny smile with his crooked teeth.
"I'll bring yours in here, don't worry."
Like the previous day, it was a long, silent morning. Sho stayed in the cold bedroom, keeping his back to the cinder blocks because the chill soothed his aching body. Jun came in, left a couple books and a granola bar for him and headed back to the living room.
It was after another plain miso and rice lunch that Jun started opening up a little. Being vague had obviously not helped Sho cope with the previous night's dinner. Not that Sho would have been prepared for it either way.
Jun still insisted on whispering, even though it was obvious they were alone. But he'd had years to grow paranoid, to grow shy, and yet he seemed willing to trust Sho immediately. Maybe it was because Sho was stuck unwillingly in the same situation now. Only Sho could really understand.
"I think Yuki and Yuta died," Jun explained. "But there's no pictures of them upstairs, there's no family altar. I think they died, but their mother...well, something went wrong with her. You can see that she's sick."
"Their sons died or ran away," Sho mumbled, still curled under his blanket. "And the first thought the husband had was to kidnap children and tell the wife it's their kids...or maybe she's so damn crazy she believes it by now." She'd certainly believed it the night before, had believed that Jun and Sho were her sons and they were one happy family.
"Maybe," Jun said. "He tried other times, tried to find a Yuta, but nobody looked like him." He stared at Sho with large, sad eyes. "I'm really sorry, you must look like him."
"How often..." Sho whispered, not really wanting to ask, but still hurting enough to just go ahead and do it. "How often does he hurt you?"
Jun shrank inwardly a bit, putting on as brave a face as he could muster. "He hasn't, not for a while. I behave now. Even when I don't want to. It's better to behave. It seems to make them happy."
Sho didn't want the two monstrous people who lived upstairs to find one shred of happiness. Not after what they'd done. He reached under his futon, ran his fingers shakily over the manila envelope. "Would he really hurt my family?"
Jun's lip trembled. "I think...yes, I think he could. He would, if you really misbehaved. Mama's in that wheelchair, she can't hurt anyone. But he can, I know he can. Maybe it'll be okay now that you're here. Now that we're all a family again."
Sho didn't bother to correct Jun, didn't bother to tell them that this was no family at all. That they weren't related. And yet, he felt a different sort of ache. Not the physical ache that his new "father" had inflicted on him. Not the ache of knowing his real family was probably worried sick, desperate to find him.
It was an ache for Jun, who said he was the younger one and that Sho was the older one. Brothers. Not by blood, but through this horrible experience that for Sho was only just beginning. It had been the younger brother caring for the older so far, the younger trying to keep him safe. Sho had been an older brother for years now. Maybe he owed it to Jun, this innocent victim of their cruelty, to watch out for him in return.
--
There was another dinner that night. This time it was carry-out chicken in paper bags soaked in grease that turned Sho's stomach when the smell of it mingled with the rest of the kitchen, with the musky sweat of the woman in the wheelchair who directed her broken toothed smile at Sho as though the previous night's beating hadn't happened. This time she smiled at him and asked him to pour some barley tea for her, and Sho obeyed.
He didn't speak, but he obeyed quietly, and he felt Jun's foot against his own, tapping in reassurance and relief.
The father's teeth bit into the chicken leg, gnashing at the greasy skin and the dark, juicy meat underneath. He licked his dirty fingers, daring Sho to get out of his chair and make another run for it. Instead Sho stayed quiet, ate his dinner, even said a hushed thank you when it was over before limping down the stairs with Jun at his heels.
It continued on in this way as Sho pretended to believe the lie. Greeting the woman with a hello, thanking them for the meals they provided. Jun's reassuring foot under the table keeping him sane, alive, as safe as he could get. A week passed, and then a second. Stale food, hard bread, more greasy take-out chicken. Sho was beaten once and only once in that time, four cracks against his bare back with the man's belt for showing up for dinner without greeting "his mother" kindly.
During TV time, Jun was asked to watch regularly with the woman in the wheelchair while Sho was expected to tidy the kitchen. There were knives, but only in a locked drawer and the man alone had a key. Sho washed the piles and piles of dishes until his hands were red and raw. He could hear the TV blaring, could hear even now that people were still looking for Sakurai Sho, the vanished university student. He heard his mother's voice, pleading for his return. He'd never heard her sound so weak before, so defeated, not once in his life.
He wanted to break all the dishes, but that would be a beating or maybe more than one.
He dried the dishes and put them in the cabinet and waited until he was down in the dark, shivering under his blanket, to cry. He behaved upstairs night after night and rewarded himself with crying, with the reminder that he was still Sho, that he wanted to go home, and that he still felt something for the life he'd been taken from.
As the days carried on, Jun's hand on his futon every morning drew closer and closer, the only comfort in a house of lies and dirty corners and cold cinder block walls. It was a month maybe, or almost two when something shifted between them. When the way Jun looked at him started changing.
Jun had always stared at him, something Sho had chalked up to his years of isolation, his lack of friends, his desperation to be loved in spite of his treatment here. But now Jun sat closer than he had to down in their basement, offering Sho his leftovers from meals. Sometimes Sho woke to find that during the night Jun had snuck into his futon, curling his skinny limbs around him, offering warmth and comfort. In their space, Jun slipped more often, his "Yuta-kun"s slowly becoming "Sho-kun"s even when he knew it was dangerous.
Sho felt something too, it was difficult not to. Jun was the only light he had in this place. The only smile that was real, the only one who wasn't going to hurt him. Upstairs they were brothers, though, so maybe it wasn't right to feel this way, even if they weren't related. And wouldn't it be taking advantage, Sho thought. Jun had been locked away here since he was a kid. It had changed him, changed his way of thinking. He wasn't necessarily mature enough for this, for what these feelings might really mean. It would be wrong.
But when he woke each morning as the weeks slipped away, felt Jun wrapped protectively around him, the only warmth in his life, Sho's resolve weakened.
--
Sho had yet to earn the privilege of bathing upstairs, not that he wanted to spend any more time there than necessary. But since his arrival, Jun's obedience was often rewarded. After all, it had been Jun that day on the train. Jun to distract him, to let Sho be abducted. Sho didn't blame him - Jun had obviously done it under threat or out of his misguided desire to keep his pseudo-family happy.
He'd lost track of time. The only evidence that autumn had turned to winter was the increased chill in the house. The clutter in the living room meant there was no kotatsu for the family to share. In the basement the walls had grown even colder, to the point that Jun and Sho now clung together for warmth in the center of the room at night, as far from the walls as they could get. He woke on some mornings to see his own breath and Jun's mingle when they pulled the chain for the light.
With the weather change and Jun's good behavior, he was rewarded with warm baths upstairs, came back down in high spirits, bragging a bit about it. On those nights they'd lay together in their living room, Jun at his side occasionally rubbing on Sho's arm to try and convey just how nice and warm his bath had been. There was a window in the bathroom, Jun usually explained. The man never went into the bathroom, so Jun was mostly free to look outside for a few minutes before getting in the tub. There'd even been snow once.
One night, Sho was reading some boring kids' popular science book after dinner. A rather awful dinner, a bitter soup where Sho had been forced to bring the spoon to the "mother's" lips over and over again because her joints were too weak that night to feed herself properly. Trying to put the dinner out of his mind, he'd turned to the book while Jun had bath privileges. But glancing down at the page numbers, he realized that Jun's bath had gone on a little too long.
There was nothing he could do, dropping the book to the floor and pacing. Had Jun tried to escape? Had something gone wrong? What had they done to him? He considered pounding on the door, demanding the man come downstairs, but it would just end in a beating and then he'd be no help to Jun at all. He waited and waited until finally he heard movement on the stairs.
The door opened roughly, and Jun was dripping wet and stark naked, shivering and crying. Sho caught sight of blood on his face as the man shoved him into the room. The door closed with a noisy thud, and it hadn't even locked all the way before Sho was already across the room, wrapping his arms around the other boy where he'd landed on the floor.
"I...I fell asleep in the bathtub, it was rude," Jun stuttered out, eyes a bit clouded over. He'd fallen asleep in the tub, the water probably lulling him into a more peaceful sleep than the basement ever allowed him. And the man hadn't even let him get dressed. Jun's nose was bloodied, probably a quick punch to the face as a rude awakening, and then he'd been deposited back in their prison.
Jun hadn't cried in so long, Sho thought he'd shed all the tears he'd had years before. He gently moved Jun onto the rug, hurrying to grab some clothes from the hamper in their room. A pair of boxers, some shorts, and a t-shirt, he dumped them at Jun's feet and tried not to look, seeing more scars, more marks from the years when Sho hadn't been there, when it had simply been a teenage boy stuck down here alone.
He ran one of their washcloths under the sink, came back with it. Jun was struggling painfully to pull the underwear on, and Sho took a deep breath, holding his hand out. "I'll help you."
He'd been the one to be hurt all of this time. And it had been terrible, but at least it had been him and not Jun. Hadn't Jun endured enough? Sho's fingers shook in anger as he brought the boxers to Jun's feet, got them in the leg holes, pulled them up his thin legs until he was fully covered. Jun could only sit there quietly crying, holding the wet washcloth to his nose as Sho struggled to get him dressed.
"I'll sleep in here tonight," Jun said, sounding woozy. "Sho-kun, I can't move. I don't want to move. I'm sorry."
Sho took the washcloth away, rinsed it out in the bathroom. Watched the dark red, watched Jun's blood wash away. He brought the washcloth back, clean again to start all over. Instead of just dragging Jun's futon into the living room, he brought his own and all of their blankets.
Once the bleeding had stopped and Jun was fairly certain his nose wasn't broken, he lay down, pulling the covers over himself as Sho turned out the light. They lay there in silence, Sho listening to quiet little wheezing sniffles beside him. The one reward Jun had, his bath nights, were probably not going to happen again. His little bit of happiness had been stolen away, and that made Sho almost as angry as the sight of Jun bleeding had. Hadn't he done enough? Hadn't he played their stupid game as best he could?
"Sho-kun should sleep. It's late," he heard Jun mumble a little while later.
"Can't."
He heard another wheezing breath. "Why?"
"Thinking."
"It gets you in trouble with them when you think too much. Go to sleep."
He took a deep breath, trying to stifle his anger, and he eventually felt Jun's thin fingers slide between his own, squeezing.
"Sho-kun...I'm sorry I worried you."
He turned onto his side, found that Jun was facing him and he reached out, pulling him close. Jun had always been the one to reach out, to try and keep him calm, controlled. Sho could only think of what horrors Jun had suffered alone for so long, how he'd endured it. Sho swore to himself in that moment that nobody would hurt Jun again, even if it meant taking the blow instead.
He was the older one. It was his job to protect Jun.
Despite all of his earlier concerns, he didn't stop Jun when he brought his hands up to Sho's face, stroked his fingers along his cheek in the dark. He'd never kissed a boy before and prior to that, not too many girls. Not that Jun's experience was any better, but somehow when the other boy's mouth, his chapped lips, slid across his own it felt right. It felt good.
"Sho-kun..."
He pulled Jun closer, feeling him wince briefly in pain. But before he could apologize for being so rough, Jun took over, moving them so Sho was on his back and Jun was on top of him. It was kind of sloppy the way Jun kissed but Sho supposed he'd only had the TV shows he'd seen as a guide. Sho groaned quietly, feeling Jun's ticklish fingers moving up and down his sides.
Now that they'd started, gone past the point where Sho ought to have put an end to it, he didn't want to stop. Despite his injuries and the traumatic night upstairs, Jun kissed him like nothing else bothered him. Jun kissed him like he'd wanted to for a very long time. It was clearly his first kiss, the first kiss of a boy who'd had his life stolen away. Sho was his lifeline, just the same as Jun was his.
Jun pushed Sho's shirt up, making him cry out quietly as he pressed soft, gentle kisses to his chest, his stomach. Jun was marking everything as his, every part he'd worked so hard to protect from day one. Sho was getting hard, an awkward but pleasurable feeling he hadn't known in so long. This place had been about surviving every day, making it to the next. But it was so good now, feeling himself harden, feeling Jun's soft little moans of pride at causing such a reaction.
Maybe some of the books in the basement here taught Jun more than Sho had even realized. In the dark, Jun curled up at his side, kissing him a few times, slowly, before shifting his hand between Sho's legs. He groaned, unashamed, feeling Jun's hand rub against him, heard Jun's breathing growing as heavy as his own.
"Can I?" Jun asked, even though Sho didn't think he even needed to answer.
"Please," he moaned, feeling Jun's breath hot against his ear. "Please..."
When Jun's hand pressed inside his boxers, took hold of him, he arched up off of the futon, putting his fist in his mouth and biting down. He only knew what it felt like with his own hand. In someone else's, all bets were off. He could hardly bear it, feeling Jun's hand around him, pumping him. He reached out a hand, found the back of Jun's head and pulled him back down.
They kissed again, Sho breaking away when it became too much, knowing he was so close. "Jun," he whispered into the darkness.
"It's okay," Jun said. "I'm here. I'm always here."
It was messy, most of it spilling onto Jun's fingers. Sho wanted to apologize, but he was feeling too good. He hadn't felt this good in so long, knowing Jun was by his side, even in this horrible house. That Jun was safe here. That Jun cared about him, that Jun understood.
He tried to kiss Jun again, but the other boy backed away. "Now sleep, okay? I'll be here when you wake up."
He wanted to protest, wanted to give Jun the same thing, wanted to touch him too, but Jun was using one of the blankets to clean his hand and Sho's stomach. And before too long Sho was asleep.
In the morning though, this time Jun was still asleep and Sho woke first. He looked peaceful, gentle. There was some bruising around his nose, but he was perfect, crooked teeth and pimples and all. He vowed then and there that they were going to escape this place, together. They'd never find the happiness they deserved here. Together they could go free.
--
Both Yuki-kun and Yuta-kun were out of favor upstairs. Dinners were awkward as the boys tried to make small talk. But they never had much to say, and their "mother" would ramble on about childhood memories the boys had experienced that Sho and Jun clearly had not.
But they endured it, he and Jun both. They were model children, even when they were spoken to harshly, when the belt cracked, when they forgot to wash their hands and were forced to sit on the kitchen floor and eat without utensils for being "dirty and disgusting," even in a cluttered, messy house. They endured it because when they were locked away, they had each other. Sho discovered that despite the way he'd been treated for so long, Jun craved contact. He craved love, affection. The door would lock and the light would turn off, and Sho would take Jun's hand and close their bedroom door, the door they could choose to open or close.
He'd close the door and listen to the sound of Jun's happiness, his shy happiness when they kissed, the sound of Jun's quickened breaths, the way he panted and begged for it when Sho took him in his hand. When Sho kept him back against the wall and worked him slowly, up and down, whispering how much he loved him, cared for him, simply whispered Jun's name, his real name, in his ear until Jun couldn't hold out any longer.
It was the sound of Jun's happiness that rang in Sho's ears when he slipped a pair of disposable chopsticks from the dinner table one night, Jun's voice that made him brave. It was Jun's unabashed happiness he thought of when he rubbed the chopsticks down, using the bookshelf, the wall, anything that provided the friction he needed. He worked on it for days, filing the chopsticks down until they were a sharp point. He kept them both for himself. Jun didn't need blood on his hands. Jun knew what he was planning, but he said nothing, watching him nervously as the days passed and Sho prepared.
In the basement rooms, he worked on control, on speed. He brought the chopstick down in an arc, imagined it piercing skin. He hid them in his pillowcase whenever meals were brought down. He took to wearing long sleeves as winter carried on, each dinner time waiting for the opportunity to best present itself, to slip one of them out of his sleeve. He only had one shot. He knew that, and so did Jun.
By day he trained himself, readied himself. By night, he had Jun curled around him, unconditional love and trust. One slip, and he lost everything. But hit the mark and they were free forever.
He waited for a dinner that included a knife and fork, when it was their "mother's" birthday and she'd wanted hamburger. The meat was undercooked, the sauce was burnt. But the knives and forks were washed and clean and ready.
Sho could feel Jun's foot tapping against his throughout the meal, begging for him to call it off. To change his mind. But Sho had a singular focus - their escape from torment.
He waited until the man, the "father" who'd loomed over them for way too long was chewing, concentrating on his food, his mind obviously wandering to work, to something else. Because surely they knew they could get the belt. His fist. His feet.
Sho had only seconds because the man was so much bigger, so much stronger. But Sho was faster. And Sho was ready. The distraction came when Sho dropped his fork, a punishable offense. The man backed up in his chair, exasperated, ready to make Sho's life hell.
But he didn't back up fast enough because Sho was out of his seat, and then there were screams, female screams of absolute horror. Sho didn't realize how good he'd done it until he felt the warmth on his face, blood spraying from the vein or artery or whatever he'd managed to strike. Even now the sharpened chopstick was embedded in the man's skin, and he flailed his hands, choking on his own blood.
He tried fumbling on the table for his fork, for his knife. Sho heard the screams muffle - Jun must have shoved his napkin in the woman's mouth to silence her protesting cries. The man crumpled to the floor, eyes rolling back in his head as the blood continued to spurt from his wound. But he'd always been strong as an ox, always able to find the strength to beat Sho a few extra times, to seemingly take pleasure in it.
Sho took the knife from the man's plate where he'd failed to reach it. There was still some sauce from the hamburger on it when Sho let out an agonized howl, dropping to his knees next to the gurgling man and plunging the steak knife into the hollow of his throat. There was more screaming, even with the napkin in her mouth, but she was next anyhow.
His hands were steady and calm as he raised the steak knife again and again. For the first dinner, when he'd been left on the floor with the wind kicked out of him. For all the times with the belt. For what Jun had gone through. For the years Jun had lived under this man's horrific shadow. The gurgling stopped, and Sho's hands and face grew sticky, his tears falling even as he kept going. Again. Again. Again.
When he finally got to his feet, he staggered and swayed. There was nothing but red, red, red where the man's neck had been. He turned, knife in hand, saw that Jun was standing stock still beside the hysterical woman in the wheelchair, just out of the reach of her flailing hands. She was still gagged with the napkin, her eyes full of tears.
"Not that way," Jun said quietly. "Please, not that way."
Sho blinked a few times, stared down at the knife. It had almost become an extension of his arm, and his hand throbbed out of gripping it so tightly.
"Please Sho," Jun repeated. "Not that way."
He couldn't let Jun down. He couldn't act against his wishes. He came back to himself a bit, felt the knife slip from his fingers and hit the tile.
"She kept you prisoner. She kept me prisoner," Sho said, squeezing his sticky fingers into fists, whole body shaking.
But Jun only shook his head. "Not that way."
--
They opened the front door. Sho didn't bother to clean himself up. They left the woman in the wheelchair in the kitchen with her dead husband. Jun seemed unafraid to walk with him, even holding his hand as they ventured outside for the first time since Sho had been taken.
The house was at the end of a street full of other houses. Cookie cutter, the same as most others. But there were differences. The street light in front flickered. There were weeds in the garden. The house next door was for sale. Nobody had ever come over. Nobody had ever interfered. Nobody had ever been curious.
There was a police box several blocks away, and the officer inside dropped his can of soda on the ground in shock at the sight of Sho and Jun walking inside.
Sho gathered his courage, felt Jun squeeze his hand. "We were both kidnapped. I'm here to confess that I've murdered the man who kidnapped us."
--
When the woman, Miyajima Noriko-san, was questioned, she only screamed about Yuki and Yuta, her sons. About her now dead husband, Kaito-san, who owned a small auto repair shop around the corner from the house. Miyajima Yuki and his older brother Miyajima Yuta had died during a family trip in the mountains eight years prior. Their canoe had overturned and the river current had carried them away to their deaths.
Miyajima Noriko had never recovered, and the newspapers claimed that her husband, consumed with his own grief and anger, wanted to replace their lost sons. Wanted to restore them to his mentally unstable wife, who'd attempted suicide multiple times since the deaths.
Matsumoto Jun had disappeared from Toshima Ward at the age of thirteen. There'd been no note, no request for money. He'd simply vanished after a soccer game one day. Facially, he was almost a perfect match for Miyajima Yuki. Five years later, Sakurai Sho, a dead ringer for Miyajima Yuta, was also taken.
Their faces were kept from the newspapers, a combination of their age (even though Sho had turned 20 during his captivity) and the Sakurai family's money. Reunions with family were short. They were kept in the same hospital for the better part of a year. Miyajima Noriko was deemed unfit to stand trial, was committed to an institution. "Not that way," Jun had pleaded, saving the unstable woman's life.
Sho did what the doctors told him, attended sessions with a therapist with and without Jun at his side. The doctors said his feelings for Jun were a product of his environment. They weren't what he really thought. He nodded and smiled. "Of course. In such a stressful situation, it's understandable why it happened," he replied politely. They told Jun the same thing, but more delicately, more gently. They thought he was fragile, they thought he was weak, just as Sho had on the train that night.
They both nodded and smiled. "Of course, doctor." They were used to playing roles, of saying what others wanted to hear by now.
His father didn't say a word about university, but his mother enrolled him in correspondence courses. Doing homework, writing essays, it killed the hospital boredom as the months went on. He wasn't going to become a CEO or an academic, but he found work far away from Tokyo upon his release. Driving a delivery truck in Matsuyama where nobody really knew his name or bothered to look him up. Against his family's wishes, Jun joined him there. Sho turned 25. And then later he turned 30.
Sometimes they still had nightmares. Sometimes he remembered the feeling of the belt on his back. Sometimes Sho caught Jun looking at himself in the mirror, counting his scars. They'd gotten better jobs, better pay, but still they lived in a simple apartment.
They slept on two futons pushed together in the center of the room. Sho was the older one, and Jun was the younger.
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Sakurai Sho/Matsumoto Jun
Summary: Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. - Leo Tolstoy
Notes/Warnings: For this year's je_squickfic. Please note that it includes kidnapping/child abduction; physical and mental abuse; psychological trauma; violence; blood; adult situations.
He ran for the train, smacking his hip hard against the turnstile as he rushed to the platform. It was the last one for the night, and if he was home late again he was fucked. Studying, he'd told his mom. Studying for the macro exam with Okada at the campus library.
And he had been studying, at least for the first few hours. But then Okada's girlfriend had called, and the two of them had brought their textbooks and backpacks along to meet her and her friends at the karaoke place. Sho's clothes still smelled like smoke and french fries as the train pulled up and the doors opened. He was probably going to bomb the exam on top of coming home late at this rate. He didn't know shit about macroeconomic theory, but he knew the lyrics to most of Mr. Children's back catalog.
He slicked his hand through his messy hair, hearing the cheery chime as the doors closed. He was nine stops away from being grounded, from a stupid fucking lecture from his dad about how the family had attended the university for four generations, he had to prove himself, blah blah. Sakurai Sho knew the story by now, had known it his whole life. But he was nineteen years old, almost an adult, and he still had a fucking curfew and two well-educated parents who accepted nothing less than perfection.
The car was nearly empty save for a guy his age who'd come running through the car's other door just as it closed. Probably another kid in the same boat, out with friends and trying to experience something besides equations and exam prep before losing track of time. Sho took his bag from his shoulder, flung it onto the seat at the end of the car, and sat down heavily. His companion on the train car had headphones on, bobbing his head to the beat of his music.
Sho sat forward in the seat, resting his elbows on his knees and shutting his eyes. If his dad had his way, Sho would be upper management in a company someday, one of those assholes who was never home and had heart attacks at yearly intervals while they rose through the ranks. If his mom had her way, Sho would become an academic, standing in front of a lecture hall full of sleeping students and publishing books on topics maybe three or four people understood or gave a shit about.
He was the oldest son, the legacy, the one who was supposed to do something, become something. The fact of the matter was that Sho didn't want to do it their way. He didn't have all the answers yet, he didn't pretend to, but he most definitely knew he didn't want the life his parents wanted for him. He wanted a say, an opinion. To come out of his boring but prestigious university with more than a piece of paper that screamed "my parents are wealthy."
He watched office building lights fly by out the train window, considered pulling his textbook from his bag and doing some last-minute cramming, shoving a term's worth of material into his head before he slept that night. Instead he found his attention drifting to the guy with his headphones, noticing for the first time how odd he seemed.
He was skinnier than Sho, in a ragged red hooded sweatshirt a few sizes too big, stained jeans, and threadbare sneakers. His hair wasn't brushed, his face was full of pimples, and he kept singing the lyrics of the songs to himself, revealing a set of crooked teeth every time he opened his mouth. He was a gangly mishmash of puberty at its harshest. Sho would know - he'd only just grown to a decent height in his second year of high school.
The guy looked over quickly, blushing when he caught Sho staring, and looked down again. Sho sighed, rolling his eyes and sinking back against the seat. Nobody else boarded the train, and Sho watched the hanging advertisements and plastic rings inside the train car sway aimlessly as his stop drew closer. Finally it was time to face the music, time to see how his father's disappointment would manifest itself tonight. Grounding? The shame of a hired tutor? A cut in his spending money?
He grabbed his bag, shuffling to the doors as they opened. The platform was empty and he headed for the stairs down to street level, hearing footsteps behind him. It seemed that Puberty Kid also had this stop. He made it through the turnstile, heading for the bike rack on the other side of the station.
"Hey."
Sho ignored the guy, had to get home. His voice was kind of pathetic, weak to match the rest of him.
"Hey, can you help me?"
Sho moved faster, digging in the pocket of his jeans for the key to his bike lock. There was a chill in the air. Fall was approaching fast, and the late ride home was going to be cold. It sent a shiver down his spine. The weather, he told himself, not the weird kid with the headphones.
"Please?"
He gripped his key in his hand, pulling it from his pocket as he turned around. The neighborhood was slowly shutting down for the night. Only the lights from the izakaya across from the station showed signs of life. He looked at the kid in exasperation, his key making an indent in his palm.
"What is it?"
Under the street light, the kid's face looked pale and sickly. He looked at Sho a bit strangely, cocking his head to the side. He put up the hood of his sweatshirt and seemed to sink inward, squatting down and covering his head. "I'm sorry!" the kid shouted, and that's when Sho heard one of the bikes in the rack tip over.
A figure came advancing out of the dark, and Sho only had time to turn around, to strike out uselessly with the small key. He didn't even have time to shout.
--
It was cold when he came to, and Sho was woozy. He cracked one eye open, seeing a wall of gray cinder blocks. Slowly, he rolled over, finding that he'd been placed on an old futon that smelled a bit like cat piss. The blanket that had been thrown on top of him stunk too.
He was in a small space. Four gray cinder block walls, one of the walls interrupted by a door. The space was lit by a single light bulb with a chain that suspended from the ceiling. Aside from his futon, there was another one shoved against the opposite wall. He shuddered at the sight of the other boy there, the boy in the red sweatshirt who was sitting on the futon with his back to the wall, staring at him.
"Don't scream," the boy said quickly, holding up his hand. "Please don't scream, okay?"
Despite his headache, despite everything aching, Sho slowly sat up, clutching the thin blanket around himself. He was still in the shirt and jeans and socks he'd worn upon leaving the house, but he couldn't see his sneakers anywhere. His backpack was gone too. He wasn't at the train station and he definitely wasn't home.
He mirrored the other boy's position, putting his back to the wall even though he could feel the cold seeping through. They were underground maybe, a basement probably. The boy said not to scream, but why would Sho bother if they were in a basement room with no windows? Nobody could hear him, and he supposed that was the point.
"Where is this place?"
"This place is home," the other boy explained. He was hugging his knees against his chest, rocking a bit in excitement. "Well, not home, but if we don't call it that, she'll know. So it's best you just call it home."
Sho frowned, his rage growing. Who the hell was this kid? Why were they together in here? "I don't have time for this. Tell me what's really going on." He shivered, wrapping the pathetic blanket around him tighter despite the smell. "Why was I brought here?"
"Because she needed the older one," the kid explained vaguely. "I'm the younger one, you're the older one now. I've waited a long time for someone, but I really am sorry."
Sho shut his eyes, confused by the strange answers. He wanted to punch the kid in the face. He wanted to punch the door. He wanted to just do something. But his head hurt. The person from the bike rack had done it. He'd been knocked out, brought to this place against his will. He'd been so worried about his parents and what punishment they'd dole out, but now they were probably upset for a different reason.
"Who are you?"
The kid scooted off of his futon, crawling across the floor on his hands and knees until he was close enough to touch, as though he trusted that Sho wouldn't punch him and try to run. The kid's voice dropped to a whisper. "The younger one is Yuki. So they call me Yuki. You probably should too, it'll be safer for you." He grinned. "But I remember who I really am, I do."
Sho wondered what had happened to this kid, what was wrong with him. "Yuki-kun, what do you remember?"
"I remember that I was Jun. I was Jun and I had a sister. I had a different mom and dad. But they're only safe if I'm Yuki. So if you please, continue to call me Yuki."
"I'm Sho," he replied, watching the boy watch him so eagerly. "I'm Sho, I'm 19."
Jun shook his head. "Well, Jun is probably 18 now, but since Yuki is 17, it's best that I'm 17. And you are the older one, you're Yuta. If Yuki is 17, then Yuta is 19 so I guess it's okay."
"My name is Sho," he repeated insistently, watching Jun's smile disappear. "I don't belong here. I need to go home."
Jun shook his head. "No, you don't want that. They're not safe if you don't believe this is your home."
The kid sounded absolutely crazy. Or partly brainwashed by the people who were keeping him here. He was impossible to predict, smiling like everything was okay when clearly he knew it wasn't. It was why he had apologized to Sho before he'd been brought here, it was why his voice dropped to a whisper when he revealed that he was only playing a part and knew it.
"How long have you been here?"
"I'm 17 now but I was 12 then."
Jun or Yuki? Either way, five or six years in this place would warp anyone, especially someone who'd been taken as a child. And that was the truth of it, wasn't it? The terrible clothes, the small room with the futons and the single light bulb. Little Jun, aged 12 or 13, had been abducted and forced to stay in this place. And now for some reason the kidnappers had needed another, had fulfilled that need by taking Sho.
Jun slowly got to his feet, holding out his hand. "I will remember that you are Sho. Even if they don't want us to, I will remember. It can be our secret, if you want."
"Sure," Sho said uneasily, letting the other boy haul him to his feet. He swayed a bit, still feeling a buzzing in his head from being hit. "Our secret."
--
Jun (because it was better for Sho's sanity if he thought of his companion by his real name) took him around the small basement they were now to share. Jun showed him the small bin in the room with the futons, a collection of random clothes for them to wear. The door to their "bedroom" had not been locked. Outside of it was a tiny bathroom with a toilet and cramped tub. Jun informed him that the water was always cold, but if they behaved, they could take a bath upstairs once in a while where the water was hot.
Sho shivered as Jun tugged on the chain, putting out the bathroom light. The only other space was a living room with a wooden table, two cushions, and a bookshelf. There were maybe 100 books, a handful of old manga issues. Jun told him that he'd read everything on the shelf at least four times now, "even the hard ones." The kid had been out of school for years, trapped here all alone.
"Don't you get lonely?" Sho found himself asking, poking his toe against one of the cushions on the floor.
"I get to eat dinner upstairs," Jun said. He looked a little nervous. "But you have to be on your best behavior or you get hurt. Don't try to run."
Sho swallowed at that, not wanting to learn what getting hurt might entail. As Jun showed him around the small, sad space where he'd spent his teenage years, Sho realized that if he shouted, nobody would hear him. There was another door in the living space, one that Jun said had a staircase on the other side that led "up to the house," meaning that they were in a basement here.
Hidden away where nobody could find them.
They sat together in the living room, Jun reading while Sho took a bathroom break and returned. The day passed in agonizing slowness. He was missing his exam. He was missing, period. He had no sense of time since there were no windows. It explained why Jun was so pale, kind of on the sickly side. Why had the kid never tried to escape?
Sho soon had an answer as Jun moved to grab another book from the shelf a few hours later, his shirt riding up as he stretched out a hand while on his knees on the thin rug. Sho saw the scars and burn marks scattered across the flesh of his back briefly, saw proof that Jun had tried. He'd tried more than once or had disobeyed more than once. Maybe it explained why he'd given in now, why he told Sho what to do from the outset. He didn't want to see the same thing happen to Sho. He didn't want him to get hurt.
The door to the room was suddenly unlocked. Sho's heart seemed to stop, and even if he always thought he'd be strong, always thought he could take care of himself, he found himself shrinking back against the wall while Jun cleared the books from the table as though it was a routine for him.
"It's lunch," Jun said quietly before the door opened. "It's okay."
Sho wanted to believe that he was the kind of person who would take charge, would use the open door as an opportunity to flee. To escape. But if Jun had been down here for years, he'd probably tried everything. And he'd been hurt for it. Was it worth the risk?
It wasn't, he realized as soon as the door pushed inward and a man entered bearing a tray. It was probably the man who'd hidden amongst the bikes, the man who'd knocked him unconscious and brought him here. He was large, taller than both him and Jun, and heavy. He was in coveralls, covered in grease like he worked in some kind of mechanical job or workshop.
He had cold, dark eyes and a look that made Sho's blood run cold. He set the tray down - cups with water, rice, miso soup, and a small bag of potato chips. He didn't bother looking at Jun, but he looked at Sho with an intensity that made him feel small, worthless. He was nineteen and he may as well have been six or seven, so easily cowed was he by this stranger.
The fight went out of him along with the rage about his capture, the anger of his forced imprisonment here with a strange boy. The guy didn't say a word, but nodded quickly when Jun said thank you for the food. With that, the man turned, giving Sho one last ferocious glare before closing the door after him. Sho heard a key turn in the lock and the man's footsteps disappear.
There was a small manila envelope under one of the rice bowls, and "Yuta" had been scribbled on it. Sho took the envelope, opening it up to find a series of photos, recently taken. His father leaving work, cell phone to his ear. The inside of his mother's classroom. His sister during a volleyball match, and his baby brother holding his mother's hand as they walked to the car.
It was then that he couldn't take it. It was then that he realized how hopeless this was. He had to play along or they'd do something to his family. It had been planned, his abduction. They didn't want money, they didn't want fame. They had other plans.
They're not safe if you don't believe this is your home, Jun had said earlier that day. He'd probably received the same kind of photos, sitting in this cold, friendless space. He'd done what was asked of him, and now Sho would have to do the same.
While Jun politely looked away, eating his rice with a pair of wooden take-out chopsticks that were on the tray, Sho wept. His food went cold and still he cried, his whole body shaking in anger. He stared at the photographs, of the family that had caused him what he thought had been so much trouble, knowing that he had to stay if he wanted to keep them safe. He cried until Jun went to the bedroom and returned with the stinky blanket, wrapping it around Sho and leaving him be.
--
The afternoon seemed to pass even more slowly than the morning. Sho had hidden the envelope of pictures under his futon. He would sleep in the cold cinder block room with his family as close as they'd ever be to him again. He wondered what Jun had done with the pictures of his own family, if he still kept them or if they'd been taken away as a punishment.
Jun told him that they had to look "presentable" for dinner. They didn't have much in the way of nice clothes, but they washed their hands and faces, standing side by side in the living room waiting for the door to be unlocked. "Don't try anything," Jun pleaded with him. "Just go along. I'll help you."
When the door opened again, it was the man from before. His coveralls were gone and he was in a t-shirt and khaki pants. But he was still massive, still frightening, and Sho didn't want to go near him.
He opened his mouth, and his voice was hard, as harsh as the rest of him. "It's time to have supper with Mother."
Jun tugged on Sho's wrist, and his fingers were freezing cold. He pulled Sho along past the large man, through the doorway. It was a short walk through a dim hall before concrete steps appeared. Sho could see a light shining at the top, could feel a shift in temperature. Whatever was upstairs had the heat on.
Compared to the basement where they were being held, the upstairs was almost too hot. It smelled like engine oil, probably from where the man worked. It was a cramped house, and the stairwell brought them to a landing between a messy living room and the kitchen. The people who lived here hoarded everything, not just children. The living room was a disaster area, a small TV blaring some commercial. There were two chairs, but a sofa was covered in stacks and stacks of newspapers. So were the floors.
Jun held on to him tightly, bringing him into the kitchen. It smelled slightly less musty in here, more like burnt rice, burnt coffee. There were cobwebs in the corners, filthy dishes in the sink. A dining table was set for four, and there was a vase at the center full of dying flowers in filthy water. There were three chairs, and Jun encouraged Sho to sit down in one of them. Jun then moved around the table to sit across from him, nodding gently.
The large man disappeared into a room past the kitchen, and that was when the squeaking began.
It was a wheelchair, old and rusted and desperately in need of some oil. The squeaking moved across the floor as the large man pushed in the fourth person for dinner. It was a woman about his mother's age with limp, greasy hair and a dazed expression. She looked around the room vacantly until she caught Jun's glance. The man pushed her up to the table where she grabbed a napkin, laid it down gently in her lap. The man headed to the cabinets, looking around for plates as something bubbled on the stove.
When she opened her mouth, half her teeth were missing and the ones left were brown or cracked. She looked at Jun with such love that Sho almost wanted to puke. She held out a gnarled looking hand, and Jun bravely took it, giving her a squeeze.
"Mama," Jun said, raising his voice slightly. "Isn't it nice that the whole family is here tonight?"
"Yuta?" the woman replied, licking her lips. She turned slightly in her wheelchair, setting her clouded, empty eyes on Sho. "Yuta, you've come home. I'm so happy you've come home for dinner."
Sho felt a little kick under the table, Jun's socked foot tapping at his ankle. He gave a nod that he probably thought was reassuring, but Sho wanted to run. He wanted to run out of this place and never look back.
"Yuta, you're so quiet," the woman chastised him, her hand reaching out to grip his arm. Much stronger than she seemed. Her hands were dry, cracked. Like sandpaper to Sho's skin. "Yuta, give your mother a kiss. It's been so long."
Sho panicked, pulling his hand away.
The woman's voice turned from matronly warmth to ice in a second. Her eyes sharpened, staring daggers at him. "Yuta, don't be ungrateful."
Jun interrupted, tapping on the woman's arm desperately. "Mama, Yuta-kun's just shy today...how about I give you a kiss? You know I love you, Mama..."
Sho's chair scraped noisily against the floor as he pushed away, shaking. He made it halfway into the living room when the man caught him, toppling heavily into one of the stacks of newspapers. He cried out, begging for the man to let him go, breathing heavily as the man wrestled him roughly back into the kitchen.
"It's time for dinner, Yuta," the woman argued. "Don't be ungrateful. Your father works hard to provide for this family."
"I'm not a part of your fucking family!" Sho howled. All of the warnings Jun had given him, the threat that the pictures in the envelope had promised, seemed to fly out of his head. And all Sho knew was that he wanted to be somewhere, anywhere else but in this filthy kitchen. "Let me go!"
Jun was out of his seat, pleading with the woman. "Please Mama, Yuta-kun's just upset..."
"We're going to eat as a family," the woman insisted. "Yuta doesn't have to be in a chair so long as he's with us."
Sho screamed in one last burst of desperation before the man's meaty fist found his gut, punching him hard enough to knock the wind from him, sending him to his knees. Sho gasped, curling up on the floor, trying to protect himself, trying to cover his head. All he could hear was Jun pleading for it to stop, the noisy TV in the living room drowning out the rest. He felt the man's foot, thankfully barefoot, hit his back, and he wheezed, sobbing, wanting to go home. He felt the man's foot again and again until he couldn't feel much at all.
"That's enough," Sho heard an agonizing few moments later. "Dinner's going to be cold."
Sho was left on the floor, gasping for air, as the man, the "father" dished out a stinky, foul-smelling curry onto plates. The woman, "Mama," was given her share first, then Jun. From the floor, Sho could only see Jun's stocking feet under the table, could see them shaking. He could see the wheels of the wheelchair, the edges of a filthy blanket on the woman's lap.
"Yuta is a member of this family, Yuki-kun. It's on Yuta to remember that," the man said calmly, setting a plate down on the floor right next to Sho's face. Sho could only stare at it, his body aching back and front as snot ran from his nose and he blinked back tears.
The father took his seat at the table, and Sho listened to the sounds of their spoons hitting the plates, the food being slurped down eagerly by the two parents while Jun ate more slowly. Sho did nothing, inhaling and exhaling the curry, the vegetables as he quivered in his shock on the kitchen floor.
Dinner ended soon after, and "Yuki" was ordered to join his "mother" in the living room to watch TV. Sho just lay there on the floor as his kidnapper cleared the table, scraping food into the garbage can and tossing the plates into the sink with the rest. Sho could only tremble, staring at dust in the corner, at the chipping paint on the wall of the kitchen.
TV time went on as Sho went in and out of it, wondering what he'd done to deserve this. Why he'd been chosen for something like this. Why he'd bothered to lash out, knowing something like this was going to happen. It was hopeless to fight and he knew it, but still he'd pointlessly tried.
Finally he heard the awful squeaking again, the wheelchair passing behind him as the man pushed his wife into the room past the kitchen. When he returned, he prodded at Sho with his foot.
"Get up, you're not hurt."
He was. He really was hurt, but somehow Jun was there, the weak boy helping Sho to his feet. "I'll take care of him, Papa. He just needs time, that's all. Yuta-kun needs time."
Sho nearly fell down the basement steps, nearly took Jun with him, but still the skinny boy kept them upright, kept them moving. Brought them back to the relative safety and quiet of the rooms they shared. The door at the bottom of the stairs was locked, and they were alone for the night.
Jun didn't say anything as Sho cried again, collapsing to the threadbare rug. He wanted to puke, he wanted to die. He wanted to get away from this place. But Jun just went to the sink in the little bathroom, returned with a damp cloth. It was cold as Jun wiped his face, cleaned the snot from his nose.
In that moment Sho realized how lucky he was, all things considered. Jun had been here for years, and nobody had been down here in these rooms to help him. Nobody had wiped his face or helped him down the stairs. Nobody had helped him at all.
It made Sho cry harder, making his sides and his back ache as his body was wracked with the sobbing. He wept for himself and for Jun, for poor Jun whose life had been stolen from him. Jun who play-acted to stay alive, to keep from being beaten. Who had tried to keep Sho from getting hurt even at risk to himself.
Somehow Jun got him to the cold cinder-block bedroom, tucked him in under the blanket. Sho heard the rustling of Jun's futon as he drifted into the relative safety of an exhausted sleep, heard Jun moving his futon close so he could watch over him.
--
When he woke again, he was still in pain. His head still ached, most likely because he'd barely eaten since he'd arrived. He lifted up his shirt gingerly, saw bruising on his belly and knew his back was probably worse. He turned slowly, gingerly, seeing the boy in the other futon, still right by his side. His hand had drifted over at some point during the night, resting at the edge of Sho's blanket.
He froze when the door of the other room unlocked. There was a quick announcement of "breakfast" and then the door was locked again. At that Jun stirred, giving Sho a tiny smile with his crooked teeth.
"I'll bring yours in here, don't worry."
Like the previous day, it was a long, silent morning. Sho stayed in the cold bedroom, keeping his back to the cinder blocks because the chill soothed his aching body. Jun came in, left a couple books and a granola bar for him and headed back to the living room.
It was after another plain miso and rice lunch that Jun started opening up a little. Being vague had obviously not helped Sho cope with the previous night's dinner. Not that Sho would have been prepared for it either way.
Jun still insisted on whispering, even though it was obvious they were alone. But he'd had years to grow paranoid, to grow shy, and yet he seemed willing to trust Sho immediately. Maybe it was because Sho was stuck unwillingly in the same situation now. Only Sho could really understand.
"I think Yuki and Yuta died," Jun explained. "But there's no pictures of them upstairs, there's no family altar. I think they died, but their mother...well, something went wrong with her. You can see that she's sick."
"Their sons died or ran away," Sho mumbled, still curled under his blanket. "And the first thought the husband had was to kidnap children and tell the wife it's their kids...or maybe she's so damn crazy she believes it by now." She'd certainly believed it the night before, had believed that Jun and Sho were her sons and they were one happy family.
"Maybe," Jun said. "He tried other times, tried to find a Yuta, but nobody looked like him." He stared at Sho with large, sad eyes. "I'm really sorry, you must look like him."
"How often..." Sho whispered, not really wanting to ask, but still hurting enough to just go ahead and do it. "How often does he hurt you?"
Jun shrank inwardly a bit, putting on as brave a face as he could muster. "He hasn't, not for a while. I behave now. Even when I don't want to. It's better to behave. It seems to make them happy."
Sho didn't want the two monstrous people who lived upstairs to find one shred of happiness. Not after what they'd done. He reached under his futon, ran his fingers shakily over the manila envelope. "Would he really hurt my family?"
Jun's lip trembled. "I think...yes, I think he could. He would, if you really misbehaved. Mama's in that wheelchair, she can't hurt anyone. But he can, I know he can. Maybe it'll be okay now that you're here. Now that we're all a family again."
Sho didn't bother to correct Jun, didn't bother to tell them that this was no family at all. That they weren't related. And yet, he felt a different sort of ache. Not the physical ache that his new "father" had inflicted on him. Not the ache of knowing his real family was probably worried sick, desperate to find him.
It was an ache for Jun, who said he was the younger one and that Sho was the older one. Brothers. Not by blood, but through this horrible experience that for Sho was only just beginning. It had been the younger brother caring for the older so far, the younger trying to keep him safe. Sho had been an older brother for years now. Maybe he owed it to Jun, this innocent victim of their cruelty, to watch out for him in return.
--
There was another dinner that night. This time it was carry-out chicken in paper bags soaked in grease that turned Sho's stomach when the smell of it mingled with the rest of the kitchen, with the musky sweat of the woman in the wheelchair who directed her broken toothed smile at Sho as though the previous night's beating hadn't happened. This time she smiled at him and asked him to pour some barley tea for her, and Sho obeyed.
He didn't speak, but he obeyed quietly, and he felt Jun's foot against his own, tapping in reassurance and relief.
The father's teeth bit into the chicken leg, gnashing at the greasy skin and the dark, juicy meat underneath. He licked his dirty fingers, daring Sho to get out of his chair and make another run for it. Instead Sho stayed quiet, ate his dinner, even said a hushed thank you when it was over before limping down the stairs with Jun at his heels.
It continued on in this way as Sho pretended to believe the lie. Greeting the woman with a hello, thanking them for the meals they provided. Jun's reassuring foot under the table keeping him sane, alive, as safe as he could get. A week passed, and then a second. Stale food, hard bread, more greasy take-out chicken. Sho was beaten once and only once in that time, four cracks against his bare back with the man's belt for showing up for dinner without greeting "his mother" kindly.
During TV time, Jun was asked to watch regularly with the woman in the wheelchair while Sho was expected to tidy the kitchen. There were knives, but only in a locked drawer and the man alone had a key. Sho washed the piles and piles of dishes until his hands were red and raw. He could hear the TV blaring, could hear even now that people were still looking for Sakurai Sho, the vanished university student. He heard his mother's voice, pleading for his return. He'd never heard her sound so weak before, so defeated, not once in his life.
He wanted to break all the dishes, but that would be a beating or maybe more than one.
He dried the dishes and put them in the cabinet and waited until he was down in the dark, shivering under his blanket, to cry. He behaved upstairs night after night and rewarded himself with crying, with the reminder that he was still Sho, that he wanted to go home, and that he still felt something for the life he'd been taken from.
As the days carried on, Jun's hand on his futon every morning drew closer and closer, the only comfort in a house of lies and dirty corners and cold cinder block walls. It was a month maybe, or almost two when something shifted between them. When the way Jun looked at him started changing.
Jun had always stared at him, something Sho had chalked up to his years of isolation, his lack of friends, his desperation to be loved in spite of his treatment here. But now Jun sat closer than he had to down in their basement, offering Sho his leftovers from meals. Sometimes Sho woke to find that during the night Jun had snuck into his futon, curling his skinny limbs around him, offering warmth and comfort. In their space, Jun slipped more often, his "Yuta-kun"s slowly becoming "Sho-kun"s even when he knew it was dangerous.
Sho felt something too, it was difficult not to. Jun was the only light he had in this place. The only smile that was real, the only one who wasn't going to hurt him. Upstairs they were brothers, though, so maybe it wasn't right to feel this way, even if they weren't related. And wouldn't it be taking advantage, Sho thought. Jun had been locked away here since he was a kid. It had changed him, changed his way of thinking. He wasn't necessarily mature enough for this, for what these feelings might really mean. It would be wrong.
But when he woke each morning as the weeks slipped away, felt Jun wrapped protectively around him, the only warmth in his life, Sho's resolve weakened.
--
Sho had yet to earn the privilege of bathing upstairs, not that he wanted to spend any more time there than necessary. But since his arrival, Jun's obedience was often rewarded. After all, it had been Jun that day on the train. Jun to distract him, to let Sho be abducted. Sho didn't blame him - Jun had obviously done it under threat or out of his misguided desire to keep his pseudo-family happy.
He'd lost track of time. The only evidence that autumn had turned to winter was the increased chill in the house. The clutter in the living room meant there was no kotatsu for the family to share. In the basement the walls had grown even colder, to the point that Jun and Sho now clung together for warmth in the center of the room at night, as far from the walls as they could get. He woke on some mornings to see his own breath and Jun's mingle when they pulled the chain for the light.
With the weather change and Jun's good behavior, he was rewarded with warm baths upstairs, came back down in high spirits, bragging a bit about it. On those nights they'd lay together in their living room, Jun at his side occasionally rubbing on Sho's arm to try and convey just how nice and warm his bath had been. There was a window in the bathroom, Jun usually explained. The man never went into the bathroom, so Jun was mostly free to look outside for a few minutes before getting in the tub. There'd even been snow once.
One night, Sho was reading some boring kids' popular science book after dinner. A rather awful dinner, a bitter soup where Sho had been forced to bring the spoon to the "mother's" lips over and over again because her joints were too weak that night to feed herself properly. Trying to put the dinner out of his mind, he'd turned to the book while Jun had bath privileges. But glancing down at the page numbers, he realized that Jun's bath had gone on a little too long.
There was nothing he could do, dropping the book to the floor and pacing. Had Jun tried to escape? Had something gone wrong? What had they done to him? He considered pounding on the door, demanding the man come downstairs, but it would just end in a beating and then he'd be no help to Jun at all. He waited and waited until finally he heard movement on the stairs.
The door opened roughly, and Jun was dripping wet and stark naked, shivering and crying. Sho caught sight of blood on his face as the man shoved him into the room. The door closed with a noisy thud, and it hadn't even locked all the way before Sho was already across the room, wrapping his arms around the other boy where he'd landed on the floor.
"I...I fell asleep in the bathtub, it was rude," Jun stuttered out, eyes a bit clouded over. He'd fallen asleep in the tub, the water probably lulling him into a more peaceful sleep than the basement ever allowed him. And the man hadn't even let him get dressed. Jun's nose was bloodied, probably a quick punch to the face as a rude awakening, and then he'd been deposited back in their prison.
Jun hadn't cried in so long, Sho thought he'd shed all the tears he'd had years before. He gently moved Jun onto the rug, hurrying to grab some clothes from the hamper in their room. A pair of boxers, some shorts, and a t-shirt, he dumped them at Jun's feet and tried not to look, seeing more scars, more marks from the years when Sho hadn't been there, when it had simply been a teenage boy stuck down here alone.
He ran one of their washcloths under the sink, came back with it. Jun was struggling painfully to pull the underwear on, and Sho took a deep breath, holding his hand out. "I'll help you."
He'd been the one to be hurt all of this time. And it had been terrible, but at least it had been him and not Jun. Hadn't Jun endured enough? Sho's fingers shook in anger as he brought the boxers to Jun's feet, got them in the leg holes, pulled them up his thin legs until he was fully covered. Jun could only sit there quietly crying, holding the wet washcloth to his nose as Sho struggled to get him dressed.
"I'll sleep in here tonight," Jun said, sounding woozy. "Sho-kun, I can't move. I don't want to move. I'm sorry."
Sho took the washcloth away, rinsed it out in the bathroom. Watched the dark red, watched Jun's blood wash away. He brought the washcloth back, clean again to start all over. Instead of just dragging Jun's futon into the living room, he brought his own and all of their blankets.
Once the bleeding had stopped and Jun was fairly certain his nose wasn't broken, he lay down, pulling the covers over himself as Sho turned out the light. They lay there in silence, Sho listening to quiet little wheezing sniffles beside him. The one reward Jun had, his bath nights, were probably not going to happen again. His little bit of happiness had been stolen away, and that made Sho almost as angry as the sight of Jun bleeding had. Hadn't he done enough? Hadn't he played their stupid game as best he could?
"Sho-kun should sleep. It's late," he heard Jun mumble a little while later.
"Can't."
He heard another wheezing breath. "Why?"
"Thinking."
"It gets you in trouble with them when you think too much. Go to sleep."
He took a deep breath, trying to stifle his anger, and he eventually felt Jun's thin fingers slide between his own, squeezing.
"Sho-kun...I'm sorry I worried you."
He turned onto his side, found that Jun was facing him and he reached out, pulling him close. Jun had always been the one to reach out, to try and keep him calm, controlled. Sho could only think of what horrors Jun had suffered alone for so long, how he'd endured it. Sho swore to himself in that moment that nobody would hurt Jun again, even if it meant taking the blow instead.
He was the older one. It was his job to protect Jun.
Despite all of his earlier concerns, he didn't stop Jun when he brought his hands up to Sho's face, stroked his fingers along his cheek in the dark. He'd never kissed a boy before and prior to that, not too many girls. Not that Jun's experience was any better, but somehow when the other boy's mouth, his chapped lips, slid across his own it felt right. It felt good.
"Sho-kun..."
He pulled Jun closer, feeling him wince briefly in pain. But before he could apologize for being so rough, Jun took over, moving them so Sho was on his back and Jun was on top of him. It was kind of sloppy the way Jun kissed but Sho supposed he'd only had the TV shows he'd seen as a guide. Sho groaned quietly, feeling Jun's ticklish fingers moving up and down his sides.
Now that they'd started, gone past the point where Sho ought to have put an end to it, he didn't want to stop. Despite his injuries and the traumatic night upstairs, Jun kissed him like nothing else bothered him. Jun kissed him like he'd wanted to for a very long time. It was clearly his first kiss, the first kiss of a boy who'd had his life stolen away. Sho was his lifeline, just the same as Jun was his.
Jun pushed Sho's shirt up, making him cry out quietly as he pressed soft, gentle kisses to his chest, his stomach. Jun was marking everything as his, every part he'd worked so hard to protect from day one. Sho was getting hard, an awkward but pleasurable feeling he hadn't known in so long. This place had been about surviving every day, making it to the next. But it was so good now, feeling himself harden, feeling Jun's soft little moans of pride at causing such a reaction.
Maybe some of the books in the basement here taught Jun more than Sho had even realized. In the dark, Jun curled up at his side, kissing him a few times, slowly, before shifting his hand between Sho's legs. He groaned, unashamed, feeling Jun's hand rub against him, heard Jun's breathing growing as heavy as his own.
"Can I?" Jun asked, even though Sho didn't think he even needed to answer.
"Please," he moaned, feeling Jun's breath hot against his ear. "Please..."
When Jun's hand pressed inside his boxers, took hold of him, he arched up off of the futon, putting his fist in his mouth and biting down. He only knew what it felt like with his own hand. In someone else's, all bets were off. He could hardly bear it, feeling Jun's hand around him, pumping him. He reached out a hand, found the back of Jun's head and pulled him back down.
They kissed again, Sho breaking away when it became too much, knowing he was so close. "Jun," he whispered into the darkness.
"It's okay," Jun said. "I'm here. I'm always here."
It was messy, most of it spilling onto Jun's fingers. Sho wanted to apologize, but he was feeling too good. He hadn't felt this good in so long, knowing Jun was by his side, even in this horrible house. That Jun was safe here. That Jun cared about him, that Jun understood.
He tried to kiss Jun again, but the other boy backed away. "Now sleep, okay? I'll be here when you wake up."
He wanted to protest, wanted to give Jun the same thing, wanted to touch him too, but Jun was using one of the blankets to clean his hand and Sho's stomach. And before too long Sho was asleep.
In the morning though, this time Jun was still asleep and Sho woke first. He looked peaceful, gentle. There was some bruising around his nose, but he was perfect, crooked teeth and pimples and all. He vowed then and there that they were going to escape this place, together. They'd never find the happiness they deserved here. Together they could go free.
--
Both Yuki-kun and Yuta-kun were out of favor upstairs. Dinners were awkward as the boys tried to make small talk. But they never had much to say, and their "mother" would ramble on about childhood memories the boys had experienced that Sho and Jun clearly had not.
But they endured it, he and Jun both. They were model children, even when they were spoken to harshly, when the belt cracked, when they forgot to wash their hands and were forced to sit on the kitchen floor and eat without utensils for being "dirty and disgusting," even in a cluttered, messy house. They endured it because when they were locked away, they had each other. Sho discovered that despite the way he'd been treated for so long, Jun craved contact. He craved love, affection. The door would lock and the light would turn off, and Sho would take Jun's hand and close their bedroom door, the door they could choose to open or close.
He'd close the door and listen to the sound of Jun's happiness, his shy happiness when they kissed, the sound of Jun's quickened breaths, the way he panted and begged for it when Sho took him in his hand. When Sho kept him back against the wall and worked him slowly, up and down, whispering how much he loved him, cared for him, simply whispered Jun's name, his real name, in his ear until Jun couldn't hold out any longer.
It was the sound of Jun's happiness that rang in Sho's ears when he slipped a pair of disposable chopsticks from the dinner table one night, Jun's voice that made him brave. It was Jun's unabashed happiness he thought of when he rubbed the chopsticks down, using the bookshelf, the wall, anything that provided the friction he needed. He worked on it for days, filing the chopsticks down until they were a sharp point. He kept them both for himself. Jun didn't need blood on his hands. Jun knew what he was planning, but he said nothing, watching him nervously as the days passed and Sho prepared.
In the basement rooms, he worked on control, on speed. He brought the chopstick down in an arc, imagined it piercing skin. He hid them in his pillowcase whenever meals were brought down. He took to wearing long sleeves as winter carried on, each dinner time waiting for the opportunity to best present itself, to slip one of them out of his sleeve. He only had one shot. He knew that, and so did Jun.
By day he trained himself, readied himself. By night, he had Jun curled around him, unconditional love and trust. One slip, and he lost everything. But hit the mark and they were free forever.
He waited for a dinner that included a knife and fork, when it was their "mother's" birthday and she'd wanted hamburger. The meat was undercooked, the sauce was burnt. But the knives and forks were washed and clean and ready.
Sho could feel Jun's foot tapping against his throughout the meal, begging for him to call it off. To change his mind. But Sho had a singular focus - their escape from torment.
He waited until the man, the "father" who'd loomed over them for way too long was chewing, concentrating on his food, his mind obviously wandering to work, to something else. Because surely they knew they could get the belt. His fist. His feet.
Sho had only seconds because the man was so much bigger, so much stronger. But Sho was faster. And Sho was ready. The distraction came when Sho dropped his fork, a punishable offense. The man backed up in his chair, exasperated, ready to make Sho's life hell.
But he didn't back up fast enough because Sho was out of his seat, and then there were screams, female screams of absolute horror. Sho didn't realize how good he'd done it until he felt the warmth on his face, blood spraying from the vein or artery or whatever he'd managed to strike. Even now the sharpened chopstick was embedded in the man's skin, and he flailed his hands, choking on his own blood.
He tried fumbling on the table for his fork, for his knife. Sho heard the screams muffle - Jun must have shoved his napkin in the woman's mouth to silence her protesting cries. The man crumpled to the floor, eyes rolling back in his head as the blood continued to spurt from his wound. But he'd always been strong as an ox, always able to find the strength to beat Sho a few extra times, to seemingly take pleasure in it.
Sho took the knife from the man's plate where he'd failed to reach it. There was still some sauce from the hamburger on it when Sho let out an agonized howl, dropping to his knees next to the gurgling man and plunging the steak knife into the hollow of his throat. There was more screaming, even with the napkin in her mouth, but she was next anyhow.
His hands were steady and calm as he raised the steak knife again and again. For the first dinner, when he'd been left on the floor with the wind kicked out of him. For all the times with the belt. For what Jun had gone through. For the years Jun had lived under this man's horrific shadow. The gurgling stopped, and Sho's hands and face grew sticky, his tears falling even as he kept going. Again. Again. Again.
When he finally got to his feet, he staggered and swayed. There was nothing but red, red, red where the man's neck had been. He turned, knife in hand, saw that Jun was standing stock still beside the hysterical woman in the wheelchair, just out of the reach of her flailing hands. She was still gagged with the napkin, her eyes full of tears.
"Not that way," Jun said quietly. "Please, not that way."
Sho blinked a few times, stared down at the knife. It had almost become an extension of his arm, and his hand throbbed out of gripping it so tightly.
"Please Sho," Jun repeated. "Not that way."
He couldn't let Jun down. He couldn't act against his wishes. He came back to himself a bit, felt the knife slip from his fingers and hit the tile.
"She kept you prisoner. She kept me prisoner," Sho said, squeezing his sticky fingers into fists, whole body shaking.
But Jun only shook his head. "Not that way."
--
They opened the front door. Sho didn't bother to clean himself up. They left the woman in the wheelchair in the kitchen with her dead husband. Jun seemed unafraid to walk with him, even holding his hand as they ventured outside for the first time since Sho had been taken.
The house was at the end of a street full of other houses. Cookie cutter, the same as most others. But there were differences. The street light in front flickered. There were weeds in the garden. The house next door was for sale. Nobody had ever come over. Nobody had ever interfered. Nobody had ever been curious.
There was a police box several blocks away, and the officer inside dropped his can of soda on the ground in shock at the sight of Sho and Jun walking inside.
Sho gathered his courage, felt Jun squeeze his hand. "We were both kidnapped. I'm here to confess that I've murdered the man who kidnapped us."
--
When the woman, Miyajima Noriko-san, was questioned, she only screamed about Yuki and Yuta, her sons. About her now dead husband, Kaito-san, who owned a small auto repair shop around the corner from the house. Miyajima Yuki and his older brother Miyajima Yuta had died during a family trip in the mountains eight years prior. Their canoe had overturned and the river current had carried them away to their deaths.
Miyajima Noriko had never recovered, and the newspapers claimed that her husband, consumed with his own grief and anger, wanted to replace their lost sons. Wanted to restore them to his mentally unstable wife, who'd attempted suicide multiple times since the deaths.
Matsumoto Jun had disappeared from Toshima Ward at the age of thirteen. There'd been no note, no request for money. He'd simply vanished after a soccer game one day. Facially, he was almost a perfect match for Miyajima Yuki. Five years later, Sakurai Sho, a dead ringer for Miyajima Yuta, was also taken.
Their faces were kept from the newspapers, a combination of their age (even though Sho had turned 20 during his captivity) and the Sakurai family's money. Reunions with family were short. They were kept in the same hospital for the better part of a year. Miyajima Noriko was deemed unfit to stand trial, was committed to an institution. "Not that way," Jun had pleaded, saving the unstable woman's life.
Sho did what the doctors told him, attended sessions with a therapist with and without Jun at his side. The doctors said his feelings for Jun were a product of his environment. They weren't what he really thought. He nodded and smiled. "Of course. In such a stressful situation, it's understandable why it happened," he replied politely. They told Jun the same thing, but more delicately, more gently. They thought he was fragile, they thought he was weak, just as Sho had on the train that night.
They both nodded and smiled. "Of course, doctor." They were used to playing roles, of saying what others wanted to hear by now.
His father didn't say a word about university, but his mother enrolled him in correspondence courses. Doing homework, writing essays, it killed the hospital boredom as the months went on. He wasn't going to become a CEO or an academic, but he found work far away from Tokyo upon his release. Driving a delivery truck in Matsuyama where nobody really knew his name or bothered to look him up. Against his family's wishes, Jun joined him there. Sho turned 25. And then later he turned 30.
Sometimes they still had nightmares. Sometimes he remembered the feeling of the belt on his back. Sometimes Sho caught Jun looking at himself in the mirror, counting his scars. They'd gotten better jobs, better pay, but still they lived in a simple apartment.
They slept on two futons pushed together in the center of the room. Sho was the older one, and Jun was the younger.