001: Home?

Somehow, he imagined a warmer reception upon his arrival.

Looking back on it, he wondered why such an idiotic thought had occurred to him in the first place.

Before his semi-hooded gaze stood a house that he’d seen only in magazines—those dream-homes kids fantasized about having when they pictured a smiling family and a golden Retriever barking its jolly head off in greeting when you came from school. Whilst not exactly in the middle of nowhere, it was just outside the loud, noisy metropolis of belching carhorns and random screaming fans who had nothing better to do than squeal their days away in order to achieve their aspirations of becoming a deaf-mute before their early thirties. The shrubbery within the brick-wall gave a homey feel—although the brick fence gave the illusion of an elaborate prison—and the porch was nice and big; were it not so empty, it might’ve looked picturesque.

Throughout the grassy field of the estate, a few trees littered the otherwise flawless grounds, their thick trunks and dense branches promising shade during those awful heatwaves in the Summer. Perfect for swings, a casual observer might have noted, but it seemed this was a manor that did not take kindly upon the “fun” or the “happy”, in spite of its appearance.

Taking a single gold key with a piece of paper tagged onto it, he unlocked the door, took off his shoes, and stepped inside, remembering what the lawyer—Katsuhito Marron-san—had told him; seeing as he would be expected, he needn’t ring the doorbell, but go right in. Hefting the straps of his two duffelbags onto his shoulders, he bent to pick up a suitcase, carrying all of it into the large manor; along the way, he noted how sparely decorated the inside was—whatever wasn’t essential was simply not there. Even several of the lights were off, giving the feeling of an abandoned building. There were rugs here and there—but the color was just as dreary as everything else.

“Need help there, little man?”

Startled—the place was much too silent for his already frazzled nerves—he almost tripped on the edge of a rug, catching himself in time. His wide violet eyes looked up at the speaker, who stood atop the uppermost step on the staircase, his midnight hair shadowing his eyes a little. Although the coloring was off, this man—who looked barely older than he—resembled the picture a great deal. Was this him? The last time he’d seen the aforementioned man, he’d been twelve—five years ago. That was definitely enough time to change someone. “A-are you—”

“Nah—I’m Tatsuha. Uesugi Tatsuha” said the smiling stranger, his amber eyes warm—nothing like the man in the picture. He found his own lips twitching in an answering grin, relieved to have found a welcoming face in this dungeon of a home. “You’re Shuichi, right?” The boy nodded, his hat nearly toppling off of his head. “The person you’re looking for is Aniki—I’ll help you with those and then I’ll take you to him, whaddya say?” Without needing an answer, he took a duffelbag and the suitcase, leading the younger boy up the stairs and down a darkened corridor. After a moment or two of Tatsuha forgetting which room was which, they walked to the very last room door. Tatsuha opened the door for him and he smiled in gratitude, placing his things on the large bed set against a corner and under a window.

“Welcome to your new room,” said the ebony-haired teenager. “Pretty big, ne? It’s one of the biggest in the house; Aniki told me to give you this one—I know there’s not much in it, but you’re free to decorate it as you please.” He set down the bags by the others on the mattress, brushing his hands off out of reflex. He stared at the younger boy for a full minute before asking, “How old are you?”

“Seventeen,” he answered softly, his voice oddly quiet—it had been that way for a couple of days, and he knew exactly why.

It had been a cold, rainy day—as most days are when bad things happen—and he’d been running home after his weekend sleepover at his best friend Hiro’s. His mood contradicted the weather perfectly, a smile plastered onto his jovial face as he remembered the awesome time he’d had at a concert by his idol, Ryuichi Sakuma. Euphoria could never come close to what he’d felt; each step felt lighter than air and he began to skip, uncaring that he splashed more water onto his already cold and drenched pants. He’d come home laughing, taking off his shoes and opening the door as he hummed a song that never seemed to leave his ever-wandering mind.

“Kaa-san! Otou-san! Tadaima! Nee-chan!” As usual, he was loud and overly-bubbly upon his homecoming, his greeting reflecting just how great his weekend had been. He’d tossed off his sandals and thrown off his hat, letting his dripping pink-tipped hair air-dry—he’d forgotten to ask Hiro to re-dye his hair, and now the black had almost completely grown in, bar the very ends. Frowning, the violet-eyed boy walked into the living room, wondering why no one answered with the customary “Okaeri.” Even if their parents were at work, nee-chan—Maiko—was usually always home.

His clumsy nature in all its glory reared its ugly head, Shuichi tripped awkwardly and managed to fall face-first into something soft and squishy. Eyes closed, he made a face, something warm and sticky splashing him. “Ew—what did I spill that smells so horrible?” It smelled of rotten eggs and rust—wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt, he opened his eyes, sitting back on his rear.

And screamed.

Like a scared pup, he yelped, scurrying backwards on all fours. He went into full panic mode, screaming his frightened head off; it wasn’t until the paramedics and police officers—who had been called by concerned neighbors—snapped him out of his stupor that he actually stopped screaming and shaking, and even then, he was a twitchy bundle of nerves and sobs. That night, he stayed over Hiro’s until, a week or two later, the family lawyer had paid him a visit, informing him of what was written on a will that he’d never known about—which included a relocation and a new guardian for him.

“Hey, you’re only two years younger than me!” Said Tatsuha, snapping him out of his brief reverie. Even though his mood was effectively drenched due to his own meandering thoughts, he forced a smile for his gracious host, silently thanking him for being so cheery and warming when the past month had been nothing but solemn faces, empty apologies, and silent tears for him. “I’ve always wanted a little brother!” Tatsuha smile could light up a room, but his words had inadvertedly hit a chord and Shuichi remembered a different time. . .

“Itouto-kun!” Maiko’s big cerulean eyes were alight with pride, her long chestnut tied back in a braid. “You did it! I’m so proud of you—you baked the cake all by yourself!”

“I made it for your birthday, nee-chan!” A five year old boy with large amethyst eyes giggled, grinning as he gazed upon his accomplishment. True, the kitchen resembled a war-zone and there was something vaguely resembling pocky aflame on top of the counters, but amidst the horrible disaster that had once been the Shindou kitchen was a huge, fluffy, chocolate-covered cake. It was perfect, it was delicious—and it was the first thing he’d ever cooked without burning down the house. When his nee-chan hugged him and praised his work, he gushed and danced, celebrating his deed-well-done. “It’s a wonderful present, itouto-kun. I love it.”

In an effort to focus on the here and now, Shuichi decided to switch the subject a little. “You live here too?”

“Unfortunately no—I live back in Kyoto with my dad. I’m gonna be around for a while though; I gotta job with N-G studios and so I’m allowed to roam around here for a good long time.” He smirked. “I like buggin’ aniki, so I visit a lot. My rooms in the next hall if you need me, so don’t hesitate to shout if you need me, kay?” At Shuichi’s nod, he headed towards the door. “C’mon—best introduce you to aniki before you start unpacking. I’ll help you afterwards, kay?”

“Thank you—you’re very kind, Uesugi-san.”

“Hey—none of that.” He casually slung and arm over the smaller boy’s shoulders as they walked out of the room. “Like I said—even though you’ll be more like a nephew, I’ve always wanted a little brother. You can call me aniki if you want, but until you feel comfortable, Tatsuha will be fine—and no ‘-san’,” he said, before Shuichi could say anything. Feeling a little better, Shuichi smiled, letting the older teen guide him to wherever his new caretaker would be—trepidation grasped him in a vise, but he tried to let Tatsuha’s good mood consume him; he so badly wanted normalcy right now.

After a good deal of walking—the manor was huge—Tatsuha knocked on a door and, when there came no reply, he opened the door, finding an eerily empty room and a glowing laptop screen.

“I’m down here, Tatsuha.”

The deep, cultured voice sent a shiver down Shuichi’s spine—if the person was as cold as his timbre . . . he suddenly felt like running away. Where? Anywhere—Hiro’s most likely. He just wanted out. Of there. Tatsuha must have caught on to Shuichi’s tense frame because he ruffled the boy’s hair and led him to the balcony that overlooked the first floor. “Aniki, this is Shuichi. Shuichi—Eiri.”

Looking up at him with emotionless eyes was a tall blonde, his complexion fair and his hair streaked with platinum as if kissed by the sun. Sunflower yellow eyes contradicted how cold they were—they seemed to be made for smiling, but instead they seemed to hold nothing but ice within their sunny depths. It was obvious he probably rarely ventured out into the world, and his clothes, although obviously of the at-home variety, seemed to cost more than Shuichi’s entire outfit, in spite of the fact that Shuichi’s parents had been very wealthy people. In his long fingered hand was a glass of amber liquid—most likely alcohol of some sort—and a lightly smoking cigarette held between extended index and middle fingers. The other tendony limb was hidden in his oversized slacks, managing to look casual and distant at the same time.

Together, the two teens walked down the steps, Shuichi staying a few steps behind. Once they reached the imposing Lord of the Manor—as Shuichi saw him—he bowed politely, even though his parents had once told him to bow to no one, for he was beneath no one. “Arigatou, Uesugi-san, for having me,” he replied, his words oddly dead. There was no feeling behind them—he wanted to go home. His home. Where there were warm-colored walls and fluffy rugs. Where there were smiling faces and the lights were always on. Where there were people that loved him and cared for him—

No—he was being stupid. Nothing was there—no one was there. Those smiling faces would never smile again—loving eyes would never see again. Those people that had loved and cared for him were gone. ‘Slaughtered and butchered like fucking cattle—’ He quietly let out a shaky breath, standing upright and keeping his eyes to the floor. Inside, he shook, images flashing through his mind like some sick horror flick—only this one was real.

His hands balled into shivering fists.

“There wasn’t much choice,” replied his new guardian, who took a swig of that amber liquid swirling around in that glass of his. Again, his timbre never changed—Shuichi wished he would at least show some kind of emotion. “I didn’t get the chance to tell you at the funeral—but I am sorry for your parents.” He certainly didn’t sound it. He wanted to throw something at the blonde. He wanted to scream and cry and shout—to tear down these horribly gloomy walls and paint everything in the crimson waterfall that had decorated the walls in his own home that fateful day.

He wanted to go home.

“Why are you sorry?” Shuichi found himself asking, his voice just as dead—just as hollow. Why pretend to feel anything? He was nothing—just a shell of pain. Why he was still alive, he still couldn’t figure out—but God did he wish it weren’t so. There would be no one to miss him if he were gone. Not anymore. “People die everyday—there’s no point in feeling sorry for them.” His eyes looked up of their own accord, meeting yellow ones so different from his own. “You should feel sorry for the living, because they can’t join them.” He bowed once more, turning and heading towards the steps before either of the Uesugi brothers could answer, his voice a whisper when he spoke. “I am sorry for being a burden—perhaps I’ll fix that one day.” Whether they heard him or not, he did not know, but he didn’t stay to find out.

He went to his room, the urge to unpack suddenly great.