[Image] The White Key [Image] [Image] Prologue Well. This fic is yaoi, yes. Is it romantic? No. In fact, the subject matter of this can be extremely offensive and shocking and gruesome... Contains rape, bondage, and other not so nice things you can't curl up next to the fireplace and read... so this is not your normal yaoi fic. Just a little warning for you... The White Key by rituko [Image] /Cold/ /The air/ /So cold/ /My soul/ /I can't move.../ The child huddles in the doorway, curled into a tight little ball, trying desperately to tighten further til he doesn't exist; an infintesimal miserable speck on the face of the planet. /Alice./ /I remember Alice./ /I want to be so much like her./ People walk by. Their faces had blurred into insdistiction long ago, the dingy grays and whites and sludgy browns all fading into a monochrome; much like watercolors with too much water and too little paint. The sky darkens. The brisk wind sharpens, ripping at the child's clothes and causing his inky black hair to fall over his face and into his eyes and nose. He doesn't bother to swipe the strands away. There iss a touch of cold, just a touch, there and then fleetingly gone in an instant. Then there is another. Then another. He looks up. It is snowing. /That cake./ /Eat me./ /Shrink me./ /Kill me./ *********** I open my eyes and remain blinking at the ceiling. It's still dark. That doesn't mean much- not here, not in the winter. I remain inert. I don't feel like moving my head to check the clock. My roommate lets out a sleepy snort, then punches the underside of my bed. "Man, you're noisy." "I am?" "Yuh...zzzzz" I ignore him. After all, he snores loud enough for the both of us and then some. People next door complain about him, not me. I scoot downwards further into my bed, under the quilt, into the deep devouring darkness. What was that I was dreaming? I get the feeling I've had it before. The tick tick of my roommate's old-fashioned alarm clock is soothing. I drift off again... /blank/ "Yo! Man! Wake up! We'll be late for class! Tatsuya!", a loud annoying voice yells in my ear. My roommate. Gotta love him. I roll over and off the bunk, landing seven feet down on my feet with hardly a sound. I smile as he gives me a strange look and mutters something about cats and ninjas and I walk to the bathroom. The walk to campus is rather long, the icy wind belying the balmy blue sky above. A last few leaves are ripped away from their places in the trees and swirl around my ankles. For a change, my roommate doesn't feel like talking. He shuffles along in the leaves, watching his feet. I don't ask him what's wrong, knowing that his normally talkative self will soon surface and tell me more than I want to know. I shift my bookbag on my back and rub the back of my neck. That dream... it won't leave. It hovers over my conscious like a vaporous mist, ethereal and ungraspable, but certainly more tangible, laying like a soggy and smothering blanket. Dreams aren't supposed to last this long, are they? "Oy, Tatsuya." "...what." "...Do you think that the Chem midterm today will be hard? Did you study? How many points do you think it'll be? I studied the oxidation states but I don't think I get it at all." He twiddles the ends of his backpack straps nervously. "You didn't study, did you." "...oh, shut up. Not everyone can just sit there and absorb information. When do you do homework when all you do is draw and play music?" "I do. You just don't notice." "Hmph." He lapses into silence, breaking it periodically to sigh and grumble under his breath. The leaves scrape briskly against the pavement as they are pushed inexorably towards some unknown destination. Pretty damn depressing, once you think about it. Philosophy class. Some discussion about fate. I don't remember- I hadn't paid attention. I look at my watch. Ten more minutes til class. I begin to walk faster, leaving Hikaru to pant and puff along behind me. ********** "One of the most beautiful passages of Rousseau is that in the sixth book of the "Confessions", where he describes the awakening...." The teacher drones on and on, her soft voice rising and falling in an unending monotone. I lean my cheek against my hand and look out the window. The sky has darkened subtly into that ominous murk the color of wooly lead, portending rain. The trees whip back and forth, flailing against the wind helplessly. My eyes roam across the restless landscape, across the dingy parking lot, past the grove of skeletal trees, past the man dressed in severe black, to the cloudy grey sky. It is surreal, like a charcoal drawing- all stark colors and dark contrasts. I freeze. A man? Standing there? /A child crying helplessly, aware of his own friendless state/ /All alone/ /So dark/ My eyes snap instantly back to the tall man languidly leaning against a tree and looking into the window at me. He sees me seeing him. He smiles. The wind picks up the edges of his long black coat and pastes it against his body, revealing a long, wiry frame. The face is sleekly handsome, high cheekbones sloping smoothly downward to form a triangular face, framed with almost brutally short brown almost black hair. I know that face. /Can't move./ /Can't see./ /Spread and vulnerable./ /Humiliation. Surely there can be mercy in the midst of pain?/ /The child cries out to one he has trusted all his young life, hoping for surcease. A face looms out of the darkness, eyes him with cold distaste, then vanishes once more./ He has grown older since then, yet he hs not changed. Through the growing gloom I can't see him all that well but the proud erect bearing and the cold expression remain the same. Everything else fades into background, down into a dull throb that is my heartbeat. A familiar and hated patch of skin on my hip becomes heated and beats in sync. I am vaguely aware that I have clenched my hands so tightly that the nails are biting into the palms. They are damp. Blood, or sweat? I cannot tear my eyes away long enough to see. I swallow against a dry throat, drowning in the deep black endless pools that are his eyes. No. NO. /The child's wrists burn, all writhing and twisting only serving to make the bonds tighter. He cannot see. He is stretched out painfully, past proportions meant for such a young body. But he is flexible. The tormentor knows this./ /Burning./ /Burning, searing./ /Burning, searing, pain./ /Increasing, increasing with each movement.../ "NO!" "Yuki?" No. No. No. "Yuki-san. What's wrong?" It can't. I won't. I won't go back. "Yu-ki Ta-tsu-ya. What's wrong? Are you all right?" "Sensei, maybe we should call the nurse?" "Not yet. Maybe we can bring him around." "Look at his hands!" No. No. No. I won't go back. I am mesmerized by his eyes, inert and little more than soulless flesh, just a breathing husk. I am vaguely aware of people pushing me, prodding me, calling me. I cannot respond. *SMACK!* My face is suddenly jerked to the right, breaking the line of sight back to the classroom. "Wh- What?" Sound and feeling suddenly return, the sensation of my tingling cheek almost welcome. I blink and focus on my teacher's worried face. "Tatsuya-kun, are you all right? What happened? Look- you hurt yourself." I lift my hands, finally aware of the dull throbbing pain. But what does it matter anymore? The crimson blood flows slowly, trickling down my forearms, dripping off my elbows and onto the tiled floor. "I... I... no, I'm fine. I just need a bandage. I must have zoned out a little bit." I summon a wan smile for her benefit. Her face doesn't relax and she inspects me closely, clearly not buying it, but thankfully doesn't ask questions. She looks at my classmate. "Kazuya, could you escort Tatsuya to the nurse's office?" He nods, mutely staring at me like I am some sort of circus attraction. I look out the window again, but he is gone. Am I relieved? "Do you want to go home?", Sensei asks with a worried tone. Softly, "No." I am frightened. So very frightened. I will not go back. I would rather die. ***********