desolate domain.

AND IT STARTED

Yoichi? Never heard of em.

i.

Comic books aren't real life, Shutsu's never going to be some kickass vigilante that stops crime and saves orphans. 

He's stuck here, where it's suffocatingly warm.

The heat sticks to his bones, cuts his skin off and wraps around his throat. The walls are concrete in his sad, little, white room. His stomach burns with bile. Shutsu feels lead in his mouth instead of a tongue―tear tracks sting over his cheeks. His hands are shaking and his lungs ache with something uncomfortable. Everything is turning to madness and mayhem the more he looks at it.

The walls swirl around him. His world tips to ink and blurred photographs. Shutsu won't eat though. He knows the food is drugged, he just knows. It's not the first time his brother has done something that bad. Fear swelters under his skin, Shutsu hates when his mind is cloudy. He hates a lot of this.

He hates the color white, too.

Shutsu hates white, and the drugs in his food; he hates his brother and how he thinks that he's protecting when he's only driving Shutsu to insanity.

What Shutsu hates most is how scared he is.

When the door opens Shutsu does not have the energy to flinch back. His brothers shoes are the only thing he can see. They're black and slick with something corrosive. Something stings his nose, it smells like pennies.

Oh kami.

"Oh you poor thing," Shutsu's ears are distorted. Or maybe it's just his brothers voice, maybe his eyes are broken along with his ears (maybe he's hallucinating―he's only ever gotten that sick before once. It's stuffy here though, hot and stuffy). "you've gotten so thin."

He wants to snark: and whose fault is that?

"I've got something for you, though. Maybe this will make you reconsider."

Shutsu feels his shoulders stiffen under the fear.

White burns his eyes in. Black follows, shortly after.

(He really hates how scared he is.)

_

"Shu-chan, you're awake!"

"N'n-no―g'way."

His entire body feels like bricks and coal―like his been dressed in concrete lines and wrapped in telephone wires. His throat is burning with regret.

The shoes come closer and the stinging gets worse. He's going up, his body is so weak now. There's a warm hand carding through his hair. He's never liked it long, but it helps hide his face, helps differ him from the monster that's holding him.

(Shutsu hates that, the ugly was his brother uses his hands.)

It's a bitter desire, to enjoy something that makes his stomach roll in disgust. But they longer he holds his brother, the better his head feels―its less downturned.

It smells like poison and bleach. It tastes like spiked candy.

"M'sorry nii-san. 'M sorry, I wanna go h-home."

"Oh foolish, lovable Shu-ototo," His voice sends fear down Shutsu's spine. Into his wheatgrass heart and lemon scented ribs, over his rose colored eyes dipped in radioactive chemical vaults. "this is home. I'll keep you safe here."