Loveless Fan Fiction ❯ Stockholm Syndrome ❯ Stockholm Syndrome ( Chapter 1 )

Loveless and all the characters are property of Yun Kouga. I am using without permission!

 

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You won't do this.

 

Ristuka stared steadily out the window, slender legs tucked up against his chest. His dark hair spilled possessively down the sides of his face. Soubi reached forward, wanting to brush the strands back, to let them slide along his fingers, wanting more than anything to touch him... just for a moment.

 

“Don't.”

 

Soubi's hand fell limply to his side, fingers trembling as though the boy had slapped him.

 

The fighter felt the eyes of those around them. He heard the whispering ladies across the aisle try to decide whether or not they should call the police. He winced, remembering the slashes down the child's arms, the bruises on his face. Funny, how people ignored the boy's injuries the day before, when he was riding with Misaki. It was never any of their business when a mother hurts her child. But today...

 

He heard the word 'kidnapping' flit through the car, and reflexively he moved closer to Ritsuka.

 

You won't force me to leave.

 

“Ritsuka...”

 

“I'm not talking to you.”

 

“But -”

 

“Shut up.”

 

It was an order, and Soubi obeyed.

 

They sat like that for two more stops: Ritsuka pressed up against the window, Soubi nearly out in the aisle.

 

'Why?' The artist glanced surreptitiously at the boy. 'Why won't he order me to take him home?'

 

“Are you alright?” A woman leaned over the seat in front of them, smiling gently at Ritsuka. “Do you need any help?”

 

The whole train seemed to lean in to listen. The woman's voice made it clear that she would not accept an answer from anyone but the boy.

 

“I...”

 

'Will you call for help Ristuka? Will you have her save you from me?'

 

“I'm fine.” Ritsuka had mastered the lie and the smile that accompanied it. “Thanks though!”

 

She didn't seem convinced, but there was nothing more she could do. The woman slid back into her seat as the conductor announced the next stop. Soubi knew he looked suspicious when he surged to his feet, pulling the boy with him. It wasn't until their feet touched the gray concrete of the station floor, until the train doors slid closed and severed the stifling glares, that Soubi allowed himself to breathe. As soon as the train moved away, Ritsuka snatched his hand back.

 

The wind that whipped Soubi's long, silver hair about also tore the words from the boy's lips, but Soubi heard it anyway.

 

I want to go home.

 

And Soubi knew he couldn't continue. With leadened feet, he moved to the platform where the return train would stop.

 

.0.0.

 

They paused outside Ritsuka's house, each feeling his own brand of fear.

 

“Soubi... thank you. For taking me home--”

 

“One more.”

 

Violet eyes narrowed in confusion. “Soubi?”

 

The college student knelt, hands gently framing the boy's face. “If there is one more drop of blood on this beautiful face I will never bring you back.”

 

Slowly, Ritsuka nodded, knowing that the fighter would not be swayed.

 

The artist watched him disappear into the house, delivered back to a mother who hurt him and a father who did not care.

 

.0.0.

 

“Ritsuka! Where is my Ritsuka! What have you done with him? Why are you wearing his face? Give my son back! RITSUKA!” Ritsuka winced at the crash that came from the other side of the door as his mother flung herself at it. “You're not my son! Where's Ritsuka?!”

 

A single crimson drop squeezed from above his eyebrow and dripped onto his trembling hands. He could hear his father comforting his mother, calming her until her screams gave way to quiet sobs.

 

“What is that boy doing here?” Misaki moaned. “Why won't he give my son back?”

 

The window, Soubi's favorite entrance, slid open, its curtains motionless. Ritsuka felt himself lifted by strong arms even though there had not even been a whisper of air to announce anyone's presence. Instinctively he buried his face into the warm chest, listening to the steady heartbeat and inhaling the familiar scent of oil paints.

 

“Under the bed,” he managed. Wordlessly Soubi knelt and pulled a knapsack from beneath the boy's bed.

 

“You have everything in here?”

 

Ritsuka nodded, never once looking up. “My camera and all my pictures.”

 

The woman's sobbing trailed off when the door swung open.

 

Ritsuka's father recovered from his surprise and glared. “Who the hell are you?”

 

“Someone,” Soubi answered quietly, “who loves Ritsuka.” Calmly he stepped around the couple and headed for the stairs.

 

“Wait!” Misaki scrambled to her feet and tottered a few steps forward. “What are you doing? Where are you taking my Ritsuka!?”

 

Smoothly, Soubi turned to face her. “This is not your Ritsuka. You said so yourself.”

 

“Soubi,” Ritsuka whimpered. “Just go. Please, just leave.” His fingers tightened on the man's shirt.

 

“I understand.” It was an order Soubi gladly obeyed.

 

“Then... then where's my son?” Her voice rose with hysteria. “Where's my Ritsuka?”

 

There was no emotion in Soubi's voice when he answered. “You killed him.”

 

Ritsuka heard when she crumpled to the floor, heard the beeps as his father dialed the police, but they were nothing more than echoes of a past life.

 

Soubi carried him out the front door, and brilliant sunlight blanketed the pair.

 

Somehow.

 

Soubi brushed a kiss across the boy's forehead, never breaking his stride. Somehow nothing else seemed to matter as much anymore.

 

Somehow the daylight seemed just a little brighter.