Note: Hi, anybody know me? I've been on a long hiatus... I don't know if I'll pick up my other story, guys. I'm thinking of deleting them, actually. I don't know, tell me what you think. I've missed you.

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to The Wallflower, which belongs to Tomoko Hayakawa whom- in my humble opinion- is milking this series dry. Get those two together already, huh?

I don't own Tudou University or the Japan Times

Title: Stockholm Syndrome

0: Stockholm Syndrome


It's hard when you look back at things. If you just keep moving forward, then your memories can't hurt you. The past can't touch you.


The way things ended were regrettable... No, let me rephrase that. The ending fucking sucked. We all graduated from that shit-hole together, sure... But by that time things in the house were so bad that the graduation ceremony was the first time I'd so much as glimpsed any of my housemates in three months. And then that time was over. Three years, that was what we had. Somehow, we managed to fuck things up pretty badly.

So we all grew up. We went our separate ways. It's like we all chose a different path, and kept walking, walking, walking blindly...

Right now, I feel like I'm stuck in a never-ending tunnel. It's stretching so far I can't find the light at the end of it.

I'm a greedy, selfish, conniving worm. I'm a handsome, suave, clever devil. I'm a coward. I'm a savior, and a captor.

I'm starting to regret. I'm starting to look back.

I've fucked things up quite royally. And at this point in my life, I'm battling with myself. I should fix things, but do I have the strength?


I've taken over my family's business. Right now, I'm a twenty-four year-old multi-millionaire. I'm not the richest man I know, but I'm definitely well-off. Owning more than 80% of Japan's best hotels kind of sets you apart from the common man.

Every morning I wake up to a beautiful cityscape, through tinted windows a continuous 60 meters long. I head into my nearly 3000 square-meter walk-in closet and pick out my suit for the day, located mainly on the right-hand side, then meticulously separated by designer: Armani, Hickey Freeman, Ralph Lauren, Calvin Klein, Mondo Uomo... Am I boring you?

I shower before I dress, but I don't like to anymore because she never wants to join me. She prefers to prepare breakfast, and wait for me whilst watching whatever new cult films she was able to buy off of 'Takeppi,' the part-time bellhop who always- somehow- ends up carrying all of her random toys to our place, the penthouse... She likes him... Or at least she manages to be particularly nice to him. I know it's because his nickname reminds her of someone from the past...

Did I mention we're living in one of my dad's hotels? It makes sense, I mean, why not?

I head to work and... This will bore you, I'll skip it.

Every night for the past two years, I've been coming home to her. My work hours start one hour earlier and end two hours later. Usually, she's cooking dinner in the kitchen, her back to me. I'll give her a kiss on the cheek and she'll respond with a sigh, "welcome home."

She is always relieved to see me. The truth is, she can't stand being without me. I know that the weekdays are torture for her, and secretly, I revel in it. Before her, I'd have a different woman home literally every night. They never needed me, just wanted me. They didn't latch on to me the way her eyes did when they reached me.

She does not love me. She just needs me. After everything started to go sour, those six years ago, her soul just kind of... separated from her body. The anger left her heart, but took her fighting spirit with her.

When we met again, I learned that she had spent all that time in college, at Tudou. Almost immediately following, she was hired by the Japan Times. Now she's the soft-copy editor. She came here saying that she'd seen an article about me at work and decided to look me up. Somehow, we were able to jump right back to how we were... Well, certainly more maturely, but we were more or less the same people. We'd meet maybe twice a week (whenever I was free) for about a month before I suggested she move in with me. The apartment she'd been living in was in a really shady little neighborhood, and some punks had broken in while she'd been out for work and somehow managed to make her home inhabitable within the span of about 68 hours. Ever since then, she's been living with me.

You ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome? It's a psychological response sometimes seen in abducted hostages, in which the hostage shows signs of loyalty to the hostage-taker, regardless of the danger or risk in which they have been placed.

Right now I am in bed with her. We don't have sex every night, just whenever I'm really in the mood, because she never refuses me. Tonight we did it twice, and I was kind of rough. It's because I thought of the past again. I glanced behind me, looking to see if I could find the entrance of this damned tunnel... And all I can feel is agitation, and then I take it out on her.

I think she kind of enjoys it, though. Not in a M way. Let me explain: she hates it when we have sex. Every time, after we're (well, after I'm) done, she'll lie next to me totally motionless. She tries to hide it, but the look in her eyes... It's agony. But if I'm gentle, she won't shed a tear, because she doesn't think for a minute that I've caught on to the way things really are. But I do know, maybe better than she does. So when I'm rough, I think... This is a sick thing to say out loud, but I think I' helping her.

Right now, at this very moment, she is in my arms. My head is propped up by pillows and hers is in my chest. Her tears are cold and when they hit my bare skin it prickles all over. She plays it off like she's only crying about how rough I was. But her cries are too rocking and haggard to be about a pain between her hips. I just listen.

"I'm sorry... Sunako, I'm sorry," I coo into her ear, stroking her gorgeous raven hair, as black as I remember it.

And she cries out my name. She never climaxes when I'm making love to her, but she cries out my name afterward, if I can get her to cry, that is.

"Ranmaru!" But it sounds more like a cry for help to me.

You ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome?


Note: Just a little experiment, guys... I could do a disney- or at least more Hayakawa-like version if you want. I actually wrote kind of like the treatment for this down in the back of a notebook two years ago. Pulling it out now... Tell me if you like it, okay?

Don't worry, guys, I will make it Suna/Kyou in the end... Probably. The thing is, though, I'm gonna take this slow. Not with updating! Well, maybe with that, too... But I mean things are going to happen slowly. Anyway, tell me what you think! Just don't flame the current... Pairing.

Later Days,