Archive of Our Own ^beta

Shidou had been reasonably curious when he first met you. 

He couldn’t understand why but it was something insidious. That gnawing compulsion to both adore and destroy, to hold something beautiful in his hands just to see how easily it could be undone.

It didn’t help that Giraud Dabadie, Itoshi Sae’s ever-panicked manager, made the fatal mistake of singling you out the moment you walked in. “Control yourselves!” Giraud barked, his flailing arms forming an X as though that could restrain anyone when the current U-20 team eyed you from afar. “She’s Sae-chan’s little sister, so you all better be on your best behavior! No funny business!”

But Shidou was never good at following orders or controlling himself. Giraud’s shrill warnings were nothing more than white noise as he sauntered toward you, his lips curling into a smirk that was as mischievous as it was predatory. The poor manager’s pleas fell on deaf ears.

“Oi, Itoshi.”

You turned, and Shidou stopped in his tracks

Holy fuck. What a treat you are.

All the Itoshis had pretty faces, but it was almost criminal how good-looking you were, teal eyes framed by lashes so long they looked almost otherworldly, dark green hair cascading like velvet, and a body that had his eyes lingering far longer than they should have. 

Rin-Rin’s sister was a total babe.

But then there it was, he realized that glaring resemblance to Rin—a face so similar, yet softened by femininity.

Fuck, it was too bad you were a spitting image of the bastard because seeing you made him want to jab his fingers into your scleras and watch you bleed.

Strange enough though, he didn’t know whether he wanted to hit you or worship you. Maybe both.

He strolled closer, that wicked grin never leaving his face. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doin’ in a place like this, huh?”

“I just wanted to see what Aniki was up to is all,” Your voice seemed all the more sweet now that he was this close to you, your eyes briefly meeting his before quickly shooting elsewhere. “He never has the time to come home anymore and Rin’s gone for Blue Lock, too.” There was something so disarming about the way you spoke—so honest, so unguarded.

Shidou leaned in, resting his cheek against his fist, his gaze unwavering. “Is that so?” he murmured, voice low and playful. “A cutie like you doesn’t have a boyfriend to spend time with?”

The way your cheeks flushed and your laugh spilled out, high and light, from those soft-looking lips, was enough to send a thrill straight through him. It had him biting down on his bottom lip and shifting his legs. It probably isn’t a good thing he’s dressed in a tracksuit. 

“No way! My brothers would kill me. Rin especially—despite the way he looks, my twin would flip.”

Twinsies.

So on top of being an arrogant son of a bitch, Rin was also a siscon? He had to be one. What a damn freak. That thought almost made Shidou laugh out loud. Of course, Rin would be the possessive type. 

He couldn’t hold back his smirk.

“So he’s scary outside of Blue Lock, too? Mean ol’ Rin-Rin won’t let you have a boyfriend?”

Your grin widened, your eyes sparkling as you reached out, fingers brushing against his forearm in a gesture so innocent it made his pulse quicken. To make it worse, you gave him the sweetest smile he’s ever laid his eyes on. “You know Rin-chan? Is he doing well? He hasn’t gotten hurt, right?”

Rin-chan. To think the prick threatened to kill him when he called him that.  

Shidou smiled, all teeth and lies. “Actually, he kicked me in the nose,” he said, adding a dramatic wince for effect. “Hurt like a bitch. Had to shove a tissue up my nostril just to stop the bleeding.” Your gasp was so genuine, so filled with concern, it was almost funny. You fussed over him like he was made of glass, promising to scold Rin the next time you saw him, without knowing he wanted nothing more than to bludgeon your brother to death, unaware of how many knives he carried on him and even oblivious to the fact that he gave Rin a bloody nose that had to be well nursed.

He talked to you for a while, his eyes drinking in every little expression you made—the way your nose scrunched when you laughed, the way you bit your lip when you were flustered. He liked how easy it was to get a reaction out of you, how clueless you were to the danger standing right in front of you. When you finally left, Giraud was on him in seconds, face red and panicky.

“Sae-chan’s going to get really, really angry when he finds out you were talking to his sister! I told you to stay away from her! He doesn’t want his family involved in any of his work.”

Shidou didn’t bother responding. He just walked away, Giraud’s voice fading into the background as he made his way to Sae. The older Itoshi didn’t mince words when they finally met. “Keep your hands to yourself and stay away from her,” he said, voice cold and cutting. “If you know what’s good for you.”

Sae told him to stay away if he knew what was good for him.

Shidou had merely smirked. So he was playing the overly protective big brother role, huh? And on top of that, he knew that Rin and Sae weren’t on good terms with each other, but he was doting over you, almost like he had to keep you away. Maybe he was protecting you from the chaos. Maybe Rin wasn’t the only one with a little sibling complex.

Shidou’s grin turned feral. This was going to be fun.

He dreamed of you often, far too often. Each night, his mind conjured vivid scenes where you were pleading for his touch after a match, your voice trembling as you begged him to make you feel alive. Other nights, he saw dreams where he skillfully lured you out of your clothes with just a few words and bent you over.

No matter, the result was always the same. He had fucked the living daylights out of you. Hard and fast. Whether you wanted it or not.

Your soft moans echoed in his head, so sweet, so helpless. He could still hear your voice, calling his name, filled with a lust he knew you’d feel one day. 

He could hardly keep himself from pouncing on you whenever he saw you.

Shidou Ryuusei had always been impulsive, ruled by whatever desire burned brightest in him at the moment. And when it came to you, that desire was all-consuming. Every time he saw you, his body tensed and his thoughts teetered on the edge of something primal.

Despite Sae’s cold warnings to keep his distance, Shidou couldn’t help himself. He befriended you. Or rather, he forced himself into your orbit. It started innocently enough—an unexpected meeting here, a casual conversation there. But beneath the surface, it was anything but innocent. It took him less than a week to learn your routine, and once he did, he was relentless.

Shidou followed you everywhere.

He started showing up at your favorite spots—a booth at the little diner you frequented, leaning against the shelves at your go-to bookstore, or even casually jogging past the park where you went to read. You thought it was coincidence at first, smiling at him and teasing him for always popping up. He smiled back, but his eyes were calculating, memorizing the way your lips moved, the delicate tilt of your head, the way you seemed so blissfully unaware of his intentions. When you weren’t around, he’d hang back in the shadows, observing. He learned how you walked, how your fingers fidgeted with the strap of your bag when you were deep in thought. He took note of the times you’d check your phone, the way your gaze softened when you stared at the screen—probably at a message from Rin since you kept telling him how close the two of you were.

He hated that softness.

The nights were the worst. He knew where you lived, had watched you unlock your door and disappear inside more times than he cared to admit. Once or twice, he caught a glimpse of you through the window, bathed in the soft glow of your bedroom light. It was an image burned into his mind—a picture-perfect moment of vulnerability he wanted to ruin.

Whenever you met up with him, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. His gaze was heavy, unrelenting, tracing every curve and movement as if committing them to memory. He hung onto every word you said, feigning interest in your mundane stories while his thoughts ran wild. Sometimes, his fingers twitched at his sides, the urge to touch you almost unbearable.

And then there was the way he’d lean too close. Too close for comfort, though you never seemed to notice the predatory glint in his eyes. He’d use any excuse to brush against you—a hand on your arm when he laughed, a shoulder bump when you walked side by side.

It wasn’t enough. It never would be.

When he watched you walk away at the end of the day, he seethed with jealousy. The world got to have you to itself, but he wanted all of you. He wanted to carve out every piece of your life until there was nothing left for anyone else. Until you were his entirely.

When he closed his eyes at night, it was your face he saw—your smile, your laugh, and the way your voice would catch in your throat when he finally stopped holding back.

It had to be a miracle when he got a certain idea on how to make you his.

The soft sound of the shower fades behind you as you step into your room, the damp warmth clinging to your skin. You rub the towel through your hair absentmindedly, your mind elsewhere. The U-20 Vs Blue Lock is tomorrow, and it’s all anyone’s been talking about. You can practically hear the commentary in your head already—how they’ll praise your brothers, how their talent will be on full display.

3:00 P.M. You smile faintly to yourself. 12 hours from now.

The towel slips from your hand as a faint beep cuts through the quiet. Your phone is lying on the bed, the screen glowing faintly in the dim light. Without thinking, you move toward it, wiping your hands on your pajama pants as you grab the phone and check the message.

It’s from Rin.

I love you.

You freeze, blinking down at the screen. Rin’s never been one to say something like that. Sure, you’re close—closer than most siblings—but this? It’s so out of character. The words sit there, simple but jarring, gnawing at the back of your mind.

Your thumb hovers over the screen, and before you can even think of how to respond, another message pings through.

So fucking much.

Your chest tightens. There’s something wrong about it—something that prickles under your skin. The way the message lingers in the darkened room, the way it’s phrased. A chill creeps up your spine, and suddenly the warmth from the shower feels far away, like it’s been drained from the air.

You try to convince yourself it’s nothing, that you’re overthinking it, that maybe he’s just being uncharacteristically sentimental before the big game. You decide to return the favour.

I love you too.

The message sends, but you don’t feel any better. In fact, the room feels colder, and your unease settles in deeper. Your eyes stay glued to the screen, waiting for something more. Part of you wants to put the phone down, to not know what comes next, but another part—the part tangled in fear—keeps you staring.

Your breath catches in your throat as your phone vibrates again. 

I love you.

The message stares back at you, unnerving in its simplicity. Before you can react, another vibration.

I love you.

Your fingers tighten around the phone, knuckles white. A cold sweat beads at your temples, and a shiver crawls down your spine. This doesn’t feel right. Something’s wrong.

The third message buzzes through.

I love you.

Each one separate, spaced out like they’re meant to punctuate the growing silence around you. 

You don’t know why, but you can’t bring yourself to reply anymore. Your hands shake, but you keep staring at the screen, waiting for more—dreading more. Each message repeats in your head, I love you. I love you. I love you, like a chant, like a warning.

Just as the tension peaks, another message pops up, cutting through the heavy atmosphere.

Go to bed, blockhead.

You blink, reading the words twice as a wave of relief washes over you. A genuine smile breaks across your face, the weight in your chest finally easing. Your heart slows its frantic rhythm, the warmth of familiarity returning. You can almost picture Rin, that glint in his eye when he calls you names. The thought brings a warmth back to the room, melting away the icy grip of fear that had settled in your bones.

You type back quickly, your fingers moving with a newfound urgency.

Do your best. I’ll be rooting for you tomorrow!

A moment later, the screen lights up again with his reply:

Thank you.

Your brows knit together once more as you stare at the message. He never writes that. 

Something about it feels off but you shake your head and attempt to dispel the thought, setting your phone back on the bedside table with a soft thud.

You don’t know why, but you can’t shake the feeling that something’s coming, something bad, and it’s already too late to stop it.

Life comes crashing down. The peace of your slumber is shattered by the harsh buzz of your phone, jerking you awake at 6:00 A.M.— an hour earlier than usual. The rain taps insistently against the window, a constant reminder of the cold creeping into your room, biting at your skin beneath the covers. You feel it, that deep, gnawing chill—not just from the weather, but from something far worse.

Your eyes catch the photo on your dresser, except it isn’t standing anymore. The frame of you and Rin has been knocked over, lying flat on its face like it’s hiding. 

Three missed calls. Sae’s name. It must be serious since he never bothers calling.

There’s also a single notification. When you open it, your hands turn cold and tremble.

Rin’s gone.

It’s blunt, like an unfinished sentence, as though your older brother couldn’t—or wouldn’t—write more. The message sits on your screen, staring back at you with a weight you don’t know how to process. The rain outside grows louder, each drop now a dull, hollow echo in your head. There’s something terrifying about the stillness that follows—a suffocating silence that promises nothing good.

The screen blurs in front of your eyes as you scroll through your contacts, desperately searching for your brother’s name. Every tap feels sluggish, as if your body is moving underwater. Finally, your thumb lands on your celebrity brother’s contact and you hesitate—just for a moment—before hitting the call button.

You need to know it isn’t as bad as you think, that you’re overthinking, that it means something else entirely.

The phone rings once, twice. You can hear your pulse pounding in your ears, a deafening throb that drowns out the sound of the rain outside. A third ring. Your breath is shallow, your throat tight. A fourth ring. The dread twists in your gut, sharp and cold. A fifth.

Finally, just as the line is about to cut off, he answers.

“Sae-nii…” Your voice cracks, but he cuts you off before you can say anything else.

“Rin’s missing.”

Your mouth falls open, but no sound comes out. There’s something terrifying about how calm he sounds, how detached he is from the nightmare unfolding. You want to say something, scream, demand more from him, but all that escapes is a shallow gasp. You stare blankly at the photo of Rin on your dresser, still lying face down, and a hollow emptiness spreads through your chest. 

“...What do you mean? Why is Rin missing? How — What the hell happened?” There’s a long pause on the other end. You can practically feel Sae thinking about what to tell you and what not to tell you through the phone, and it only makes the knot in your chest tighten. He doesn’t rush to answer, and the silence stretches on until you think he might hang up. “Aniki, please.”

“He didn’t show up for the warm-up this morning,” he finally says, his voice level, unaffected. “His coach called me. Said Rin’s a no-show. They’ve been looking for him.”

You blink, your mind struggling to process his words. Your twin would never miss a game. Especially not the U-20 vs Blue Lock. This was what he wanted; a showdown with Sae and beat him. It doesn’t make sense.

“No,” you mumble, your throat tightening even more. “Rin wouldn’t do that. You know he wouldn’t.” The words come out quickly, nearly stumbling over each other, but you don’t care. There’s a pressure building behind your eyes, and you’re dangerously close to tears.

Sae’s voice cuts through your panic, flat and cool. “Word is he had a fight with a teammate last night. No one’s seen him since.” 

The insinuation in his tone is subtle, but you catch it. He’s hinting at something, suggesting Rin did this on purpose. As if Rin’s disappearance could be explained away by some petty argument. The idea gnaws at you, and your breath hitches.

You grit your teeth, shaking your head even though he can’t see you. “Cut the bullshit,” you snap at him. “Rin wouldn’t just disappear because of a fight. That’s not like him!”

But Sae is quiet on the other end, his silence louder than any response. It’s infuriating, his calm, his detachment—like this isn’t tearing you apart from the inside. You clutch the phone tighter, your heart racing in your chest. He doesn’t say anything else, and you’re left drowning in the quiet.

Rin doesn’t come back.

The Blue Lock vs. U-20 match goes on as scheduled, but you can’t bring yourself to watch. The thought of seeing the team on the field—without Rin, your twin, your other half—is unbearable. He should be out there, standing under the stadium lights, fighting for his dream. Without him, the game feels empty, hollow. You know it would tear something inside you to witness it, so you don’t.

You don’t even know who won. You didn’t care. You couldn’t care.

Sae doesn’t come home, either. He never did, even when Rin was around.

The house has grown quieter than ever, your parents move in ghostly silence, as if speaking would make the ache more real. They’ve always been reserved, but now, it’s like they’re locked inside their own heads, drowning in their mourning. They leave a plate for Rin at the table, some nights without even realizing it, and when they notice, it’s as if they’re brought back to the brutal reality that he’s gone. Sometimes you think they look at you and see him instead. When your mother’s gaze lingers on you for a moment too long, you can see the pain in her eyes, as though she’s staring into a memory she can’t bear to relive.

You don’t blame them; you’re Rin’s mirror image, a living reminder of the son they’ve lost, and the way they look at you now is different. 

Every room feels haunted by Rin’s absence; his favorite mug that matches yours still sits by the sink, his sneakers are still by the door, untouched, like he might walk in any moment to grab them.

He doesn’t. 

You were never a religious person and yet whenever you come home, you go straight to the little corner your family set up with the kami-dana. It’s become your only ritual, the one place where you can feel some semblance of connection, a small hope that someone—or something—might hear you. You drop your bag by the door, not even caring to unpack or settle down before you go there. Kneeling in front of the small shrine, you fold your hands together tightly, fingers trembling slightly as you bow your head. Every day, you find yourself praying, begging with a desperation that’s started to feel more like pleading. “Please,” you whisper softly, voice nearly breaking. “Please send him back. Bring Rin home. Please don’t take him away from me.”

You sit there for minutes, sometimes hours, just talking to him in your mind, as if he’s somehow listening. It’s hard to tell if your prayers are for Rin, or if they’re selfishly for yourself—just to hold onto that thin thread of hope that somehow, your twin brother will return, that the emptiness will fade, that this will all stop feeling like a nightmare.

Pictures of Rin—his face captured at various ages, his trophies and medals—had all disappeared from the walls, removed without explanation, like they were erasing him from existence. 

Even the picture of you and Rin as babies—your absolute favorite—was missing. It had been a small photo, tucked into a corner of the living room shelf, one that only your family really noticed. In it, you and Rin were side by side in the nursery crib, tiny chubby hands curled tightly around each other’s fingers. You remembered how much it had meant to you, that picture, as if it symbolized the bond you’d shared since the very beginning, a closeness that never needed words.

That photo had been a silent promise, a little piece of proof that he’d always been there with you, that he was more than just your twin—he was a part of you.

Now, every time you walked through the hallway or sat in the living room, it was only Sae’s image staring back. 

And yet, Sae was never here. He was away, living his life, too absorbed in his career to even come home or notice the changes. 

As if to make things worse, everyone has begun to talk about Rin in past tense. Even your parents, like you mentioned before, though they don’t say much, their eyes say it all. They look at you with a grief that’s impossible to put into words, as if they’re mourning two losses—Rin and whatever part of you was tethered to him.

You share too many pieces of him—the same dark hair, the same intense eyes, and those long underlashes that people always said made you both look sharp and serious beyond your years. 

Rin and you used to be known as Sae’s siblings; Rin as the rising rival and you as the quiet girl in the background. Now, people murmur when you pass, nudging each other and whispering things they think you can’t hear. In the school hallways, on the streets, even in the grocery store—you catch fragments of it everywhere.

​​​​​It’s even worse with your teachers, who watch you with eyes full of pity and unease. They fumble over words around you, stammering as if they’re afraid one wrong word will shatter you completely. And maybe they’re right. It’s getting harder to hold it all together, knowing everyone sees you as the girl whose twin went missing and ultimately died, the girl who might as well have lost half of herself.

You start forgoing having lunch in the school’s cafeteria in favour of eating under the stairwell where you won’t hear poorly concealed whispers and have eyes on you. Being alone in the shadows feels safer, away from the rumors, away from the prying eyes that dig into your pain.

Shidou transferred to your school shortly after things finally settled down. How he managed to shift schools with finals so near was beyond you, but you’re too drained to question anything. 

You only think about Rin.

You can’t shake the feeling that Rin’s somewhere out there, waiting for you, calling for you, yet completely unreachable. The possibility gnaws at you constantly, the hope that maybe he’ll walk through the door one day or show up at school like nothing happened. And every night, that hope is what keeps you awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if somehow, somewhere, he’s trying to reach you too.

You refuse to cry.

To shed a single tear would be to acknowledge that Rin might really be gone, and that thought is more terrifying than anything you can bring yourself to face. It would mean accepting that he’s not coming back, that every hope you hold onto is just an illusion, a fantasy that you’re too stubborn or too desperate to let go of. 

Your sandwich had gone cold ten minutes ago and your water bottle was untouched. Your eyes remained unblinking as they watched the latest news report.

Itoshi Rin, 16, younger brother of Itoshi Sae, reported missing two months ago. Last seen leaving Blue Lock facility on October 18th, the day before the anticipated U-20 Vs Blue Lock match. He has not been in contact with family or team members. His current whereabouts continue to remain unknown. Vanished without explanation.

The screen flickered as they cut to the sports anchor, his tone biting as he leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Itoshi Rin,” he said, letting the name hang in the air with a sneer. “Here’s a player who’s supposed to be the future of Japan’s soccer, right? The next prodigy, the next big thing, the one to watch. And then…what does he do? He vanishes. Not injured, not sidelined by anything anyone can see—he just disappears.”

The panelists around him murmured, some nodding, others shaking their heads. One of them—a retired coach, with a look of utter disdain on his face—chimed in, “After Sae, I always thought the kid was too good to be true. All that talent, but you know what they say, it’s the ones who shine too brightly that burn out first. Maybe this was his way of ducking out, avoiding the pressure.”

The anchor jumped on that, eyes glinting. “Oh, absolutely. Itoshi Sae—Japan’s pride, the living legend. How must he feel right now, seeing his younger brother fall apart like this? They say blood runs thicker than water, but clearly, talent doesn’t.”

You inhaled shakily.

The older coach jumped in again, “Sae fought his way to the top, earned his way into the spotlight. And what did Rin do? Ran scared. It’s almost insulting, more so embarrassing. Sae is an example to follow, a real player, and Rin…well, maybe Sae got all the talent in the family.”

You could feel bile rising in your throat. Embarrassing? Insulting?

“Honestly,” another panelist added with a scoff, “if he’s that weak, maybe it’s for the best he’s out of the game. Japan doesn’t need a player who can’t even handle showing up.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Rin isn’t weak.

Your teeth ground together, a word slipping from your lips, barely more than a hiss. “Die.” The screen felt too bright, the words and their faces blurring together. 

“Right,” the anchor concluded, leaning back with a satisfied look. “Let’s face it, this was his legacy—a player who couldn’t take the weight, who disappeared at the last second. Mark my words, Japan will find someone better. And soon enough, we’ll forget he ever existed—”

“The worst kind of trash, am I right?”

Your head snaps up and away from the screen to the owner of that voice.

“Shidou?”

Shidou leans against the wall, the corners of his mouth curving into a smile as he watches you fumble with your smartphone and cross away the video. The way you held yourself—shoulders slumped, head down—made his heart swell with an unsettling mix of affection and possessiveness. You were so angry yet so fragile, like glass, and he could sense the cracks that had formed since Rin had disappeared. 

Oh, he really felt so sorry for you. You needed someone to protect you, to love you, someone who understood your pain.

It’s easy to have found you under the stairwell of the art wing, the place where you eat lunch now. You’d ask how he knows but you already have the inkling that he’s known for a very, very long time. Perhaps since the day he transferred here and first looked at you with that lively expression. He sits down next to you, his own lunch in hand.

“Heya, Itoshi.” He greets. You nod in response, setting your phone down and chewing on your food. He continues to watch you, not touching his own.

You’re a lot more quiet now, he notes. You don’t go out as much anymore and you’ve left the soccer club. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you to eat with me, though I was kinda expectin’ you’d say no, so I took charge instead. I hope that was okay.” He says. He unwraps the meatbun he got from the cafeteria. Rin liked having that. “I worry about you, y’know.”

“Why?” You study him.

“I can’t explain it.” He says. It’s like he’s studying you right back. 

You tilt your head away from him and take another bite of your lunch. The bread of your sandwich is positively stale today. You chew thoughtfully but you don’t taste it.

“Itoshi.”

“Yes?”

“I would do anything for you.”

You stopped eating and pause momentarily, slowly turning your head to him. The way he said it, the confidence in his tone, made your movements stutter.

Crazily enough, it was hard to ignore the way he made you feel whenever he was beside you, despite everything—like maybe he was the only one who truly saw you, saw your pain.

“Why?”

“Because you’re you.” His hand found its way to your wrist, gentle yet firm, the kind of touch that was meant to reassure but felt heavy. “I can help you. I can make you feel better. You just have to let me in.”

He could see you, see the cracks you were desperately trying to hide, and he was more than willing to exploit them.

“How?”

And instead of a small smile, you’re rewarded with a full-blown grin. 

In the fifth month of his disappearance, the bags under your eyes are dark and like bruised crescents that seem to deepen each day. Your scleras are red, bloodshot from too many restless hours, too many nights blinking back tears you’ve sworn you’ll never shed. 

Your skin has paled, a shade or two lighter, like the life has been slowly drained from you. People have noticed, though they don’t say much. They don’t have to. Their glances are enough—wide eyes that take in the hollows of your cheeks, the thinness of your wrists, the way your clothes hang loosely on your frame now, as if you’re shrinking into yourself, hollowing out.

Each time you walk into the police station, you feel the weight of their glances as well, heavy with irritation, like an unspoken reprimand for not knowing your place. They sigh, exchange tired looks, the same routine every time you step through the doors. You’re depressed but not naïve; you see the flickers of frustration in their eyes, the way some of them tense the moment they notice you approaching the desk.

“Still no news,” they say. “We’ll call if anything changes.”

You know they won’t. They haven’t called once. And deep down, you’re starting to suspect that they won’t ever.

At first, they were sympathetic, even kind. They promised they’d do everything they could in their power to find your brother, assured you that cases like these just took time and that you should never lose hope. But now, months later, they only see you as a nuisance, an annoyance that keeps dragging Itoshi Rin’s case back into a spotlight they seem desperate to dim.

Maybe it would’ve been different if Sae was next to you.

He was Japan’s greatest treasure, the prodigy who had everything handed to him while the rest of the world was just stepping stones in his wake.

You don’t even remember the last time he looked at either of you like you mattered. When he came back from abroad, he treated you both like you were inconvenient parts of his life that he didn’t need. Like a nuisance to his perfection.

Sometimes, you hated him. The way he ignored you, the way he barely acknowledged Rin’s pain, how he treated the family like it was something beneath him, how he never contacted you. But you hated yourself too. Hated how you still tried so desperately to reach out, to hold on to the idea of him being the brother you thought he could be, the one who would protect you when things fell apart. 

He never did.

Sae will always be Sae—cold, indifferent, too busy being Japan’s greatest treasure to notice anything or anyone else.

Being his sister means nothing.

For Shidou, on the other hand, loving you is as easy as breathing.

The stairwell near the art room was dim, the smell of paint and chalk clinging to the air. You stood there, leaning against the cold wall, your body unresponsive, almost detached from the moment. Shidou’s lips trailed along your neck, hot and persistent, his hands roaming freely over your body. You didn’t move. You didn’t flinch. Your eyes were locked somewhere in the distance, staring blankly at a chipped part of the wall.

He moved with practiced ease, guiding your limp hands up to rest on his shoulders, but you didn’t respond, your fingers barely grazing his skin. His touch was invasive, persistent, but your mind was elsewhere—on the bullying that had become a daily nightmare since. Whispers and stares had evolved into something darker, more sinister. They said you were behind his disappearance, that you had something to do with your own twin’s fate.

And now, here he was again, staying close, like always. Too close.

Shidou’s fingers moved deftly, popping open the first button of your uniform, then another. He let out a low, satisfied hum as his tongue dragged across your exposed skin. A hand slipped down to your thigh, creeping slowly, deliberately, up your skirt.

That’s when something inside you jolted, just for a moment. A brief return to reality.

“S-Shidou, wait — ” your voice came out small, fragile, barely above a whisper.

Shidou froze for a second, biting his lip so hard it threatened to bleed. His breath was heavy, almost ragged. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you, though you refused to meet his gaze. You couldn’t.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, his voice smooth, calm—too calm. He held up his hands as if surrendering, his eyes glued to your face. “It’s okay, baby, I won’t do anythin’ you don’t want me to. I promise.”

But there was something behind his words, something you couldn’t ignore. His hands were still trembling, and the air between you felt thick, suffocating. His restraint was only surface-level. You could feel the tension in him, the frustration. He had been waiting for so long.

He thinks he’ll go insane if you don’t let him fuck you soon.

Still, he waits.

And waits.

And keeps waiting.

His jaw tightens, his hands clenching at his sides before he relaxes them, forcing a smile. He’s been so nice to you, hasn’t he? Always there, always protecting you. So why don’t you give him what he wants?

His eyes search your face, pleading silently, though the desperation leaking through his voice isn’t something you can ignore.

He’s been patient. Too patient.

Shidou graduates before you, being a third year, leaving an odd sense of relief in his absence. The day the bell rings on his last day, you think it’s over—that he’ll move on, drift out of your life as effortlessly as he came in.

Turns out, it’s not that easy.

In your final year of highschool, he’s always outside waiting for you, his usual grin in place, and you force yourself to meet it with empty eyes.

He takes you to that old cafe, the one you and Rin used to visit together after his practice. You sit by the window, the same booth where you’d talk with your brother and argue over who’d foot the bill. But now, Shidou is here, holding your hand across the table as if you’re like any other couple and you aren’t in pain.

He orders two strawberry sodas without asking. It twists your stomach. You used to love strawberry soda.

Shidou’s hand holds yours tighter on walks back, and you force yourself not to pull away. His hand is rougher, his grip almost possessive, but you let him, convincing yourself it’s easier this way. At least he won’t let go.

The first time he ruffles your hair, you’re surprised by the sharpness of it—the way it dredges up a moment you’d buried deep, a day after Rin’s big middle school game. You’d raced down from the stands, practically leaping from the bleachers to tackle him in a hug. He’d scoffed, trophy in one hand, rolling his eyes as he muttered, “Stop being so clingy, blockhead.” But his other hand had lingered on the back of your head, gentle despite his words. 

When Shidou’s hand drops from your head, you don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath, struggling against a tightness in your throat that refuses to go away.

Every night, you glance at the old picture of you and Rin still on your dresser. It’s the only one left—every other trace of him in the house erased, hidden away like a secret no one is supposed to know. Your mother insists you throw it out, says it’s time to move on. She tells you it’s unhealthy, that clinging to a ghost won’t bring him back. But you won’t. You can’t. You clutch the frame tightly, holding it to your chest as though it’s all that keeps him close.

The sixth time Shidou tries to bed you, you can’t stop it.

On your childhood bed, his touch has grown more insistent, his fingers pressing into your wrists like he might leave marks there, like he wants to. Though his mouth covers yours in what’s meant to be a kiss, it feels more like something he’s taking than something he’s sharing.

He’d been in a good mood when he came over, something about a recent achievement he was proud of—but now, it slips away. You can't even remember what it was, the details fading as soon as he’d muttered them. All you know is the weight of him above you, the intensity in his eyes that makes you feel both trapped and completely alone.

When his hands drift lower, toying with the button on your jeans, a jolt of instinct makes you press your hands over his, a silent refusal as you shake your head. For a second, he goes still, the air thickening around you both. Then, he inhales sharply through his nose, a harsh sound as his jaw clenches, and you see something shift in his gaze—an edge of irritation, his patience thin as a thread.

There’s something in his expression you can’t fully interpret, a mix of frustration, disappointment, and something darker, almost resentment. He doesn’t bother hiding it; the look twists his face, leaving you with the feeling that you’ve done something wrong, that you’re somehow at fault. His fingers tighten just slightly as he leans close, and you brace yourself, barely breathing.

“Don’t be selfish.” 

The entire night, he doesn’t pay attention if you’re a virgin or not and your cries of pain are muffled by his hand when he thrusts his entire length inside of you in one push.

And though he apologizes later by sending you flowers for a week, you don’t remember allowing him to touch you like that ever again.

On Seijin No Hi, the Coming of Age ceremony, your boyfriend takes charge, pulling you into shops as he helps you pick out your furisode. You’d eyed a deep, calming green, a color that feels right to you. Shidou, on the other hand, insists on pink, saying it’s more traditional, more feminine, and it matches his eyes; you let him win. When the night ends, he gives you a kiss, one that lingers too long, and then leans in close, whispering that now you’re finally legal, finally old enough to marry him. 20 and 18. You force yourself to look away, unwilling to face the eagerness in his eyes. The silence between you grows heavy.

Then comes your high school graduation in March. The ceremony hall is filled with laughter, proud families embracing their children, flashes of phones and cameras capturing moments that feel like they’ll last forever. There’s no one there for you. Not your parents, who’ve grown even more distant. Not Sae, who remains as unreachable as ever. 

You picture your twin beside you, standing in his cap and gown, giving that familiar unimpressed look as everyone else cheered and laughed. He’d probably make a snarky comment about how tedious it all was, maybe smirk if you gave him a nudge and take you out for ice cream.

Shidou is there, instead, slipping through the crowd with a grin that he wears like a badge. He congratulates you, and you almost want to feel grateful and tell yourself it’s enough, that he’s here and that should count for something.

Yet his words wash over you like background noise. Your thoughts remain anchored elsewhere, lost in the image of your other half who should have been here, celebrating with you.

To everyone around you, Shidou became the dream. Eccentric but charming, successful, endlessly supportive—and that was the story he’d carefully crafted for both of you. Every time he kissed your neck or complimented you in public, it felt like an affirmation, like he was showing everyone you were the perfect couple. And when he looked at you with that possessive gleam, his praise barely a whisper, he trained you to believe he was everything you could want. He was your prince, your king, and somehow it seeped into your mind that serving him was inevitable, like your life had always been leading to this.

As his soccer career soared, moving to Kitaaoyama felt like the final seal on that narrative. It was the kind of life everyone envied—a luxurious apartment in a beautiful neighborhood, an address to be proud of. Your parents had no objections to the both of you living together, and neither did his.

If anything, your parents were glad you moved out.

You started attending university and you got a part-time job, hoping to contribute to your own expenses. Shidou always laughed it off, reminding you that he could cover it all easily. You insisted to have this—it was all you had to feel like you weren’t entirely bound to him. The least you could do was manage some of the chores when he got home.

Even with the bustling city around you, the sense of isolation grew. Memories of Rin lingered, and the empty space where his future should have been gnawed at you. You often wondered where he’d be now, which university he would have chosen, how he might have teased you for the path you took. The thought always tightened in your chest, and bit by bit, you felt yourself retreating further inward. Friendships, even casual acquaintances, became harder to maintain, as if every connection outside of Shidou felt increasingly insubstantial.

Years had passed and yet, you felt like you were still waiting for Rin to return. Waiting in an endless silence, in a beautiful apartment that felt nothing like home.

One day, Shidou steps through the door on a very foggy evening. Normally, he’d hear you in the kitchen, or see you curled up on the couch, maybe even pacing the room if you’d had one of those restless days at university. Tonight, there’s nothing. For a while, his stomach knots with a flash of anger mixed and an unsettling fear that you’re not here at all. Has he been too lenient with you? You ungrateful fucking bitch. He starts picturing the ways he’ll make you regret leaving, every punishment lined up in his mind, meticulous and unforgiving.

Maybe he’ll make you choke on his dick this time and take you unprepared again. He bet you’d love that.

But then he spots you on the balcony. You’re standing out there, gripping the railing, your lips quivering. His irritation vanishes, replaced by something sharper and hotter—possession, laced with a flicker of something like pity.

He thinks for a second you’re like a bird with clipped wings, trapped in his hands. Anyone who tried to hurt you would be torn apart; he’d make sure of it. He’ll rip their flesh out and chew on it. 

When he steps onto the balcony, he bends to your level, scanning every inch of you for signs of harm and asks what happened. If someone had dared to touch you, they’d be dead before the day was out. 

As if the universe wants to play with him, you shake your head with the faintest smile breaking through your otherwise pale face. “Sae-nii called and said he wants to see me tomorrow. He...He’s coming to see me.” The words are soft, and that smile—you’re actually smiling. A real smile, the kind that makes you glow from the inside out, a look he’s never seen directed at him.

What. The. Fuck.

Shidou’s blood pressure spikes. The brother who’d barely given you the time of day wants to see you, and you’re...happy? His grip on his sanity starts to slip, a crack spidering out in his mind, twisting into something dark and vicious. You’re his, and yet you’ve never looked at him with that smile, never once been this soft, this open, this free.

You selfish incestuous bitch.

Still, he smooths his face into an expression of calm and tells you he’s happy for you. 

And the next day, he watches with satisfaction as the world unravels.

The headline flashes across the screen in bold, jarring letters: Tragic Murder: Soccer Star Itoshi Sae Found Dead.

You’re a crumpled mess on the living room floor, staring at the TV screen with wide eyes, your body shaking uncontrollably as Sae’s name rolls across the headlines.

“Aniki...Aniki...Nii-chan...”

He was supposed to be invincible, larger than life, untouchable. Now, he’s just gone, just like Rin.

You’ve lost them both. Both of your brothers—gone, as if someone reached into your life and tore away the only people who ever felt like everything to you.

Across the room, your boyfriend watches with a soft, twisted smile, something almost triumphant in his eyes as he takes in the sight of you. It takes everything in him not to laugh.

The red jacket Sae wore that night is hidden now, the bloodstains were still on the fabric and now it was a keepsake tucked away to remind him of his handiwork. 

Shidou steps toward you, keeping his expression soft, careful, like a concerned lover. You barely register his presence as he crouches down beside you and scoops your trembling frame in his arms. He presses a kiss on the crown of your head; every detail of last night still feels fresh, the memory of Sae’s blood on his hands felt like a secret thrill under his skin. 

“...Guess he wasn’t as untouchable as everyone thought,” he mutters under his breath, just quiet enough that you barely catch it. 

The trip back to Sendai wasn’t long—just six hours, but it felt like an eternity. Every second in the monorail was filled with the relentless echo of Sae’s name in your mind, how you hadn’t heard his voice in so long. You’d barely seen him. Now you never would again.

Walking out of the station, hand clasped tightly in Shidou’s, your eyes wandered to the digital screens along the walls, unable to look away. The reporter’s face was solemn, her voice carrying that clinical detachment that made every word hit harder.

“Known for his prodigious talent and dedication to the game, Sae’s sudden and brutal death has sent shockwaves through both the sports community and the nation as a whole,” she reported, each word like a needle. “Friends and family are expected to release statements in the coming days, and fans have already gathered at memorial sites across the city, leaving flowers, letters, and jerseys as they mourn this devastating loss.”

You could feel eyes on you, whispers buzzing from strangers nearby, pointing fingers as they recognized you. Your heart twisted, and you instinctively tried to pull your hand away from Shidou’s, but his grip only tightened. His fingers dug in, just enough to make you wince, sending a clear message. You don’t get to let go unless he does.

By the time you arrived home, Shidou had left for his own place to get ready for the funeral, giving you a rare moment of solitude. But when you walked through the door, the silence greeted you like a wall. Your parents didn’t say a word as you came in. No questions, no comfort. Just the faint sounds of the evening news coming from the living room. It was like they’d gone numb, and the emptiness stretched through the house. You looked around and realized, with a hollow pang, that every trace of Sae had been scrubbed away, just like Rin’s had. No photos, no mementos. It was as though he had never existed, as though their son had been erased before he was even gone.

You barely had the time to think until the time for the funeral came. When you stepped outside, the air felt thick with grief, stifling. Crowds lined the streets, people you’d never met, faces streaked with tears as they mourned your big brother. His fans, gathered by the thousands, sobbed openly, clutching onto posters, photographs, jerseys, and flowers. Some chanted his name in soft reverence; others held virgil candles.

You watched them, numb, as they poured out their hearts in a way you couldn’t. Because no matter how much you wanted to—how much you needed to—no tears came. Just a sick, yawning emptiness, as if a part of your soul had been hollowed out and left to ache.

You hadn’t cried for Rin. And now, here you were, unable to cry for Sae either. Instead, a dark thought took root in the hollow place inside you. A quiet, terrible wish to simply disappear, to follow them and leave behind the pieces of this shattered life.

You stop talking.

You hadn’t spoken in two weeks. Shidou was far from pleased. Not with the silence, not with the way you’d withdrawn, not with the thin barrier you’d managed to build between yourself and his suffocating presence.

So here you were, sitting in a sterile office with Shidou beside you, his hand never leaving the small of your back, a constant, possessive anchor. Your therapist sat across from you, calm and collected, but his fingers twitched, glancing nervously at Shidou as if anticipating what might come next.

It doesn’t take long for Shidou’s patience to snap. His voice cuts through the quiet, sharp and hostile. “Are you doing anything here? Why the fuck isn’t my girl talkin’ yet?” He leans forward, hands slamming onto the table so forcefully your shoulders jump, a tiny gasp escaping before you can hold it back. His fingers dig into the table’s edge, white-knuckled, as he glares at the therapist, voice dripping with menace. “I thought I was paying you for results!”

You can barely breathe, heart hammering in your chest, but the therapist remains calm, explaining gently but fearfully that recovery can’t be forced—that you’re going through a process.

Shidou’s lip curls with a mix of irritation and contempt.

He casts a quick look at you, as if daring you to say something, then turns back to the therapist with a look that could kill. “And if I hear a word of this to anyone outside this fucking room, I’m going to bash your head into that wall.”

In the fourth week, for your therapist’s sake, and for your own, you force yourself to speak again. Each syllable feels like a betrayal of the only sanctuary you had left. Shidou smiles, satisfied, and leans back, a hand on your shoulder as if rewarding you.

When you try to return to university, everything feels foreign, your classmates already miles ahead in their coursework. You’re drowning in deadlines, your part-time job has long since let you go, and every evening is a struggle against the weight of everything that’s slipping through your fingers. 

He tells you to drop out of university. He always says things like that with such ease, as if your life should only orbit his. His arm slips around you, pulling you in, fingers brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as he leans in to kiss your forehead. It’s soft, almost tender—if only it didn’t make your skin crawl.

Every night, Shidou kisses you goodnight, murmuring words he wants so desperately for you to echo back. And every night, you stare up at the ceiling, lips parted but silent, unable to force yourself to say the words.

He tells himself he’s being a good boyfriend. So then why aren’t you reciprocating? It makes him want to break your wrists and watch you cry.

And then, he thinks he might go completely insane.

“Ryuusei, we need to talk.”

The kitchen’s still warm from the dinner you’ve prepared, but there’s something cold in the air between you. You only call him Ryuu now since he told you to, but Ryuusei means it’s serious, and that alone sets off an alarm in his head. He looks up from where he’s sitting, glancing at you over the top of his phone.

Shidou hasn’t had the best luck in the dating department but he knows it means trouble when a girl wants to talk about something after a hearty meal.

“What’s going on, beautiful?” The nickname slips easily from his lips, his voice sweet and dismissive, trying to maintain control over the conversation. He can’t hide there’s a wariness behind his eyes as he watches you.

You hesitate, looking around the room like you’re lost for words, your gaze flickering anywhere but at him. His brow furrows. He’s already piecing it together, but he won’t show his hand yet. He sits up straighter as you close the distance and sit next to him, suddenly tentative. Your hand shakes as it reaches for his, and he raises an eyebrow, surprised. You never initiate touch.

He doesn’t pull away though, not yet.

You take a breath, and with your eyes on the ground, you speak the words that seem to hang in the air for eternity: “I want to leave.”

Shidou freezes for a moment before his usual confidence creeps back. He reaches for your hand, fingers curling around yours possessively. “Okay, then. Don’t like Kitaaoyama anymore? We can move somewhere you like more. Anywhere, I’ll make it work for you. Just for you.” 

You shake your head, “No, it’s just me. I want to leave. I need to leave.”

His grip on your hand tightens, and his lips pull into a thin line. His fingers trace over your wrist, the slight pressure sending a shiver down your spine. His gaze is now burning as he watches you with an intensity that feels like fire.

“Why?” His voice is quieter now, the sweetness gone, replaced with something menacing. “What’s wrong? What’s going on, really?”

You can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, the weight of his stare too much to handle. The words you’ve been holding back feel like they might choke you. Still, you force them out, almost a whisper, but louder than you thought you’d be able to say them.

“I want to break up.”

The look of pure hatred on his face, the cold glint in his eyes, makes you instantly cautious. You hated it when Shidou wore that expression—usually reserved for others, never for you. Albeit, you’d seen him furious a couple of times throughout the years, and you knew how dangerous he could be.

“No.” 

“No?”

His hand regrips yours, this time with bone-crushing strength. Pain radiates up your arm, and you believe he may actually fracture something; he’s very capable of it, after all.

“You don’t get to fucking leave me,” he spits out, his tone slipping into something unhinged. “You can’t.” Then he breathe through his nose and, with a chilling smile, adds, “I get it. I’m always away for practice. You’ve been getting too needy.”

“What? No. That’s not — I just…I need to leave. I won’t get better if I stay like this! I can’t — ”

“Quit your fucking yammering,” Shidou did not raise his voice, but the venom was enough to remind you who was in charge. “You just have a seat, yeah? I’ll fix everything.” 

“You can’t! You can’t just fix — You — !”

“I get it,” he repeats again, nodding to himself like he was working out a puzzle. “I’ve been treating you wrong. You must’ve felt so neglected…” As he spoke, his expression turned darker, almost deranged. The room filled with an unbearable tension. He seemed to be swallowing his own rage, but you could feel it there, simmering just below the surface, ready to spill.

“C’mere, darlin’.” His tone softened, and he pulled you toward him with a disturbing gentleness. Before you knew it, you were on his lap, caught in his iron grip. “Let me show you how much I love you.”

Your protests were cut short as he moved faster than you could react, pinning you down on the couch. You gasped as he pulled something from his pocket—a syringe glinting under the light.

“What the fuck?! Ryuusei, stop—!” Panic spiked in your veins as you tried to push him off, but he was too strong, his athlete’s body overpowering yours effortlessly.

He could feel his heart thudding hard in his ears, blood pounding in his head. Angry, angry, angry – he’d never been so furious. 

“If you squirm, it’ll hurt more,” he murmured, almost apologetically, pressing the needle against your neck. “You know I don’t want to hurt you, right?” Your heart pounded in your chest as you struggled, every instinct telling you to get away, to fight. But he was too strong. The strength that came with an athlete was both terrifying and astounding. 

“Hold still,” he orders, voice cold and calm. He can feel your galloping heart rate when he touches your jaw to tilt your head to the side. The needle sinks smoothly into your neck and soon, you don’t resist, gasping when he presses the plunger down. 

Immobilized. Your eyes widened in terror, pupils blown as you lay there, twitching, helpless.

A beat fluttered weakly under Shidou’s fingers. He sighed with relief. He nearly collapsed in on himself as he pulled out a shaky laugh, “You really scared me there. I almost thought I killed you!”

Shidou watched you carefully, his gaze trailing over your face, down your body, and back to your eyes. His fingers grazed over your cheek, brushing away strands of hair. “You, Rin, and Sae,” he muttered, almost fondly, “you all have the same eyes...” His fingers moved to stroke your hair now, gentle as if he wasn’t the monster who’d just paralyzed you. “They had that same look when I...” he stopped himself then, his voice eerily soft, like he was about to go sharing a secret. “But you…you’re my special girl.”

You tried to scream, tried to plead, but your body wouldn’t respond. All you could do was stare, wide-eyed, as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. His breath was warm, his voice low, “You’re mine now.”

A pained whimper slipped from your throat, barely audible, but enough for Shidou to hear. His grip tightened as he pulled you closer into his arms, holding you against him like a twisted version of comfort. “Shh, shh, you’re okay,” he whispered, his voice sickeningly gentle, like he was soothing a child. His hand moved to your forehead, rubbing it softly as if that would take away the terror seizing your body. “No, don’t be scared. You’re okay, you’re okay,” he repeated, each word dripping with that same mockery of kindness, the kind that made your skin crawl.

The more he repeated it, the more the words blurred together, losing all meaning. The horror, the helplessness, the pain—it all started to fade into numbness as your vision blurred, and your body gave in.

“See?” Shidou murmured as your eyelids fluttered. “You’re okay now.” His voice was the last thing you heard before everything went dark, the world slipping away as your consciousness finally surrendered.

The chair creaked as you shifted your weight. The cool air lightly nipped at your skin, making you shiver. Your wrists ached after being bound to the slats in the chair’s back for too long.

Six days. Perhaps seven. Could be nine.

You’d lost count of the days sooner than you expected—how many times had your captor come and gone? The minutes bled into hours, hours into something untraceable.

Then, keys jingled, metal on metal, echoing like a cruel melody. The sound was followed by slow, unhurried footsteps, each one dragging closer. 

You held back the sound of complaint that threatened to fall from your lips. He would only keep you here longer if you complained, and he had. You braced yourself, fighting the instinct to shrink away, knowing that any reaction would only encourage him.

The sound of footsteps stopped just beside you.

“My sweet girl,” he whispers gently into your right ear and you resist the urge to vomit. “Do you wanna eat? Thirsty? Want me to give you a bath?”

Your stomach twisted with something that wasn’t hunger. You shrunk away despite telling yourself not to but he hummed softly, all too giddy that you were making another pathetic attempt at trying to get free.

“Remember that you made me really upset. You’re gonna have to convince me to forgive you. Do you understand what that means?”

You do. You do and don’t look forward to it.

The gag tugged painfully at the corners of your mouth, and as he loosened it, you spat dryly, desperate to take a breath without the weight of fabric. A hand brushed against your hair as it gripped the back of the chair and pulled. You have goosebumps, but you don’t think it is because the room is getting colder. There are eyes watching you. They have not stopped watching you.

His hand reach up to cup your chin, pulling your face gently upwards until he knows you’re looking into his eyes, despite having a blindfold on. A small noise of protest escapes your lips when he leans forward and kisses you, gentle and loving. 

Whenever he comes to see you, three times a day, he touches you, tenderly, gently. Too gently. It never fails to make your skin crawl. 

Your breath catches as his hand inches dangerously close to your chest:

“Ryuusei.”

He stops his ministrations and sighs dreamily.

“There’s a good girl; I’m so glad you finally said my name.” For a long, excruciating moment, he just stares, his eyes roaming over you like you’re an enigma he’s desperate to unravel. He glances down at his hand, his fingers curling slightly, as if contemplating just how close he could get before you’d stop him—again. You never let him touch you in the way he wants. His gaze hardens. “Something’s been bothering me lately.”

Though the sound from your throat is dry and painful, you ask him:

“What?”

“Did Rin ever get to fuck you? Tell me, did you two share rooms before he died?”

Your lip quivers, and you bite down hard, fighting the overwhelming urge to spit at him. The disrespectful way he addressed your brother, how he was tainting his memory. It disgusted you. You wanted to yell at him, to tell him to shut up and never mention his name ever again. You’re sure he’ll clip your tongue off after that.

And unfortunately for you, he was far from done.

“What about Sae? He must’ve been pretty glad there wasn’t anyone in the house putting their hands on what he couldn’t have.”

He’s absolutely sick. 

His fingers brush over your shoulder and trace down your arm with sickening familiarity. “I bet Rin got all that special attention since he was your twin. It must’ve been easy for him to always be your favorite, wasn’t it? Twins are something else, aren’t they? So fucking freaky.” His hands, rough and uninvited, graze your bound wrists, and you instinctively try to pull away, but the ropes dig deeper into your skin, pulling tighter, constricting, leaving no room for escape. “Twin flames, bound by blood…how sweet. I bet you didn’t mind the way his hands felt. Was it always easy, sharing your body with him? Or were you too shy to admit how much you liked it? That’s the thing with twins, right? The boundaries blur.”

That isn’t true. 

He lowers his voice, his words now a mocking hiss. “Sae was the one you were craving later. He must’ve been so pleased to have you all to himself, with Rin out of the way. Just you and him...alone. He had your entire attention.” His fingers trace down your throat, and your skin crawls under his touch. “Did he finally get what he wanted? Did you once let him have you like you let Rin have you? Tell me already, did you love either of them? Did you just like the idea of being their everything?”

That isn’t true. 

You feel his breath, the slow cadence of his words, and an even colder chill prickles your skin. It’s as if he’s taken every precious memory of Rin and Sae and twisted it, warped it into something vile for his own sick satisfaction.

“Or maybe it was Sae you wanted more, hmm? You were always his precious little sister. But that must’ve hurt poor Rin, right? Or did you just play them both? Is that why you’ve always got this vacant look when I touch you?” he accuses, fingers curling under your chin, tilting your face toward him as if forcing you to acknowledge his poison. “Because they got there first?”

Before you can prepare yourself, his hand shoots up, fingers tangling into your hair and yanking you forward with a vicious force that makes you gasp. Your scalp stings as he pulls you close, so close that his breath is hot and sour against your skin. You can’t see it, but his eyes are ablaze, that twisted amusement replaced with something far darker—something unhinged. 

“Why are you starting to look all pissy,” he hisses, voice low, laced with menace, “if I’m only telling the truth?”

The silence stretches, thick and tense, before he yanks your head back, forcing your face up toward him, though you still see nothing but darkness. “Tell me,” he demands, his voice dripping with dangerous patience, “how much do you love Rin?”

You press your lips together, refusing to let him poison your memories, to let him turn the love for your brother into something filthy. 

A low, humorless chuckle rumbles from his chest, and you feel his hand slide from your hair to your throat. His fingers curl around your neck with a deliberate slowness, pressing just enough to make you aware of every inch of his grip, of the power he holds over you, of the things he’s very much capable of doing.

“Answer me,” he demands again, tightening his hold just enough to cut off a breath, his voice no longer patient, but edged with a simmering fury. You can’t help the small, strangled gasp that escapes you when his fingers press harder and steal the air from your lungs as he repeats the question, his voice a twisted lull that makes your blood run cold. “I asked you how much you love Rin?” 

To your bafflement, the psychopath leans in and kisses you again. Disgust coils in your stomach, and you snap, biting down on his lip until you taste the sharp tang of his blood. He pulls back, a hiss escaping him as his eyes widen in shock, a finger rising to touch the fresh cut you left. There’s a flash of surprise—maybe even a touch of admiration—as he studies you, licking the blood from his lip with a dark smirk.

Soon enough, something shifts in Shidou’s gaze, darkening as he registers your defiance. The air thickens with tension, and before you can even process it, his hand shoots out, gripping the chair and shoving it violently to the side. You barely manage a gasp before the world tips, the chair crashing down and dragging you with it. Your head smacks hard against the floor with a brutal thud, sending pain lancing through your skull. The impact stuns you, your senses scattering in a haze of static, a sickening throb pulsating through your mind like a heavy drum.

For a moment, you’re disoriented, the world around you a blur of pain and darkness. And then you hear him—slow, deliberate footsteps approaching as you lie helpless, still bound to the chair. The cold realization settles in your bones, each step he takes seeming to echo louder, closer, until he’s crouched down beside you.

“Does it hurt?” he asks softly, a twisted mockery of concern in his tone. His fingers trace over your cheek, deceptively gentle, as if savoring the bruise that’s already beginning to form. “Poor thing…You just can’t help but make things harder on yourself, can you?”

“You think you’re strong, don’t you?” he taunts, his voice dripping with a sadistic thrill. “Biting back, playing with me…I’ll teach you what real pain feels like.” 

Before you can even react, Shidou forces the cloth back into your mouth, muffling your cry as he swiftly unties the ropes binding you to the chair and pins you to the floor instead. His hands press down hard on your shoulders, keeping you in place as you thrash beneath him, the ropes binding your wrists and ankles cutting into your skin as you struggle.

“I fucking hate your eyes,” he spits out. “Those hideous, teal eyes. Just like Rin’s. Just like Sae’s.” You twist your head away, attempting to escape his touch, but he grabs your chin, forcing you back to face him, even if you can’t see him. His fingers hover above your eyelids and press down lightly, making you feel vulnerable even through the blindfold. “You even have those stupid long lashes,” then he chuckles darkly, and the sound sends a chill down your spine. “Maybe I should just rip them out,” his fingers linger around your eyes, his nails grazing the delicate skin just enough to make your breath hitch. He tilts his head, as if contemplating the idea with sickening delight. “Think about it—no more of those cursed teal eyes staring back at me. Just empty sockets where those infuriating reminders used to be.” You tremble, a muffled whimper slipping through the gag as you shake your head desperately, wordlessly begging him to stop. But he only chuckles, taking sick pleasure in your fear. “Oh, does that scare you?” he coos mockingly, his tone a poisonous blend of affection and malice. “Imagine it—my hands, right here, pressing down until those pretty little eyes are mine to take.”

He leans down close, his breath ghosting over your skin as he continues, “Or maybe I’d just dig my thumbs in until they’re gone, until there’s nothing left for anyone else to admire. No more teal, no more memories of them. Just… darkness.” He presses a lingering kiss to the blindfold, right over where your eyes would be.

“But no,” he finally murmurs, pulling back just enough to let you breathe, though his hands still hover near your face, like a threat not fully withdrawn. “I won’t take them, not yet. I want those eyes to see me, and only me.” His voice softens, yet it’s no less dangerous. “I want you to look at me like I’m the only thing that matters. Because I am, aren’t I?”

And when his hands start creeping up your shirt, you brace yourself.

The wedding was small and rushed, hardly an imitation of what you had once dreamed of. The first week of Fall, leaves swirling in burnt oranges and reds. You were three months pregnant at the time. The reality of it all had barely settled, but Shidou had already decided it was time. Time to lock you down. Time to ensure you’d never think about leaving again. A baby was the perfect anchor, one you’d never escape from.

He was on top of you every single moment he got.

A month after trying, the first signs of your morning sickness showed and he’d snatched the test from your hands, his eyes alight with an almost feverish glee.

“Let’s see, let’s see…” His voice had been breathless, eager, as he practically tore into the box, flipping it over to read the instructions like it was some prize he couldn’t wait to claim. You’d barely been able to stand, leaning against the counter for support, your stomach in knots, but Shidou? Shidou was ecstatic.

“It’s positive, yeah?” he had asked, though it wasn’t a question. The faint double line on the test was enough to confirm his suspicions, and the triumphant grin that stretched across his face made your blood run cold. His fingers, gentle yet unyielding, cupped your face, forcing you to look into those piercing eyes that always seemed to see too much. “We’re having a brat, beautiful,” he murmured, his tone dripping with pride and something darker. Something possessive.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. The room spun as a storm of dread built inside you, but Shidou didn’t notice—or maybe he didn’t care. He’d already pulled you into his arms, his grip firm as he whispered promises of a future you never pictured together. 

Giving birth was agony. Thirty-six hours of pure, unrelenting pain, every contraction pulling you further into a haze of exhaustion and despair. Shidou was there, of course, by your side through it all, his hand gripping yours and barking at the doctors to do better. You wanted to scream at him, blame him, but the words stuck in your throat, swallowed by the sheer force of the ordeal.

And then it was over.

The nurses handed you the baby—a boy. Your son. The room was suddenly too quiet, your breath shallow as you stared down at him. He was tiny, fragile, but when his eyes blinked open, your heart dropped into your stomach.

He had his father’s eyes.

You wanted to kill yourself. Right then, right there, with Shidou standing over you, and telling you how your genes had no chance.

You really wanted to kill yourself.

Even so, you felt an unbearable ache in your chest. Love. Pure, consuming love for the fragile life cradled in your arms. It was a cruel paradox—how could you love something so much when its very existence was a reminder of everything you’d lost? Everything you could never have again.

He named the boy Haruki.

You hadn’t even been given a choice. The name came from your husband’s lips like it was etched into his soul, declared in a tone that left no room for argument.

He told you his son would be strong and unstoppable; a real star. 

The first few weeks blurred into a mess of sleepless nights and Shidou’s hovering presence. He was everywhere—noting as you changed diapers, cooing over the baby, watching you like a hawk. It wasn’t devotion. It was control.

“You’re a natural,” he’d say, pressing a kiss to your neck as you held the baby in your arms, his tone sweet and saccharine. But his grip on your shoulder would tighten, his gaze flickering with that dangerous edge you’d come to fear. “A perfect little family. Just like I promised.”

Six months passed like a blur.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he said one evening, his tone light but his eyes sharp as they bore into yours. Haruki was asleep in his crib, and the two of you were alone in the living room, the dim light casting long shadows across the walls.

“I’m just tired,” you replied, avoiding his gaze.

He chuckled lowly and crossed the room to stand in front of you. His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You’re always tired,” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with something sinister. “You need to take better care of yourself. Haruki needs you. I need you.” His grip tightened just slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of his strength. Enough to remind you of what would happen if you ever tried to leave again. “...You wouldn’t do anything to hurt our little family, would you?” 

You shook your head, your voice barely a whisper. “No.”

It was uncommon for Shidou to keep his hands off of you whenever the two of you were alone. 

It always hurts whenever he bites down too hard on your collarbones; he knows it does, but he tells you a little pain is nice and always welcomed. Your eyes squeeze shut every time his fingers slide inside you without warning and strokes you like he hates you, like he wants to break you. A whimper leaves you as he shoves his length in as far as your tight cunt will allow him for now. Your toes curl up at the intrusion.

“Oh yes…” He breathes out, pushing his hips further in. Your knees tremble beside him when he finally bottoms out inside you while your nails dig into the soft meat of your palms.

He’s so strong, so large, and he gets even more so every time he takes you. It seems as though he’s getting physically powerful daily, breaking whatever record he had the day prior. 

You can feel your vision fade to nothingness grips the meat of your thighs and growls as he releases inside you, moving inside you and making sure you get filled to the brim. The overstimulation you feel when his hand wraps around your throat makes you clench like a vice around him and earns you a ragged moan from him.

He doesn’t pull out and only begins to rock inside of you again and you squirm when his hand palms your breast.

“He’s going to need a sibling,” he murmurs against the juncture between your neck and shoulder. The soft puff of his warm breath sends a shiver down your spine as you snap your head up.

“What?”

Shidou grins, sharp and wolfish, his free hand reaching out to stroke your cheek. “A sibling,” he repeats, as though you hadn’t heard him the first time. “Haruki shouldn’t grow up alone. He needs someone to play with, someone to push him, to keep him company. Don’t you agree?”

A shuddered breath escapes you once he settles you on all-fours and grinds his hard cock to your folds already slick with his spent. 

He gives your hand a squeeze and a brief kiss.

The clock had long passed midnight, the soft hum of the baby monitor the only other sound in the room. You had just tucked your two-month-old into his bassinet, his tiny chest rising and falling rhythmically, and kissed your three-year-old on the forehead as he snuggled into the couch beside you. Haruki had protested bedtime with the sheer stubbornness that only a four-year-old could muster, and as always, you’d caved, letting him stay up. His small form leaned against you, eyes half-lidded but still awake enough to enjoy his small rebellion.

The TV flickered, illuminating the room with faint light as recordings from Shidou’s recent match in Madrid played. The highlights, to be precise. The commentator’s excited voice filled the space.

“And there he goes, Shidou Ryusei weaving through defenders like they’re nothing! A quick turn, a feint, and—oh! That’s a shot straight into the back of the net! Absolute magic on the field from Japan’s best striker!”

Haruki’s pink eyes sparkled, his small hands clutched at the couch cushions, his body leaning forward with unrestrained awe. He didn’t need to say anything; his face told the whole story.

You hummed noncommittally as your fingers combed through his unruly blonde hair, watching the screen as Shidou celebrated his goal with the same exuberance he always had—wild grins, arms thrown wide, a man basking in the adoration of the crowd. Your husband was amazing on the field and no one could deny that. You hadn’t watched soccer in years, but now it played in your living room like it never left, Shidou’s demand for you and the kids to watch him shine was an unspoken order you couldn’t disobey. After the match ended, your son turned toward you, his excitement spilling over. His request came eagerly: to see pictures of his father when he was younger, when his career had just begun to shine. You exhaled a weary sigh. It was late, far too late, but Haruki had a way of disarming your resolve. Even as you tried to insist on morning, his persistence chipped away at your defenses. Eventually, you relented. With a soft, resigned motion, you ruffled his hair, pressing a kiss to his head before standing. His hand slipped into yours, and together, you ascended to the attic. 

As always, the space was cramped and the photo albums were buried under layers of dust and forgotten memories, but you pulled them free with little effort. Haruki immediately claimed one, his fingers flipping through the pages as though they held some secret he had always yearned to uncover. His father’s younger face stared back at you from glossy prints, each image exuding the same arrogant confidence that defined him now. You settled next to Haruki and watched his excitement bubble over as he lingered on every photo. He didn’t notice the way your gaze drifted, drawn to something in the corner of the attic.

There, beneath an old carpet, was a faint bulge, something you hadn’t noticed before.

Curiosity tugged at you, and before you could stop yourself, you were pushing the boxes aside. The carpet peeled back, revealing a hatch—one that you couldn’t recall ever seeing. Your brows furrowed as unease stirred in your chest. The latch creaked when you opened it, and the smell hit you instantly—thick, foul, and suffocating. It clawed at your throat, making you gag as you peered down into the darkness. Something was down there, though you couldn’t see clearly. You leaned in, your stomach twisting with each shallow breath. 

You didn’t hear Haruki approach until it was too late. His small hand landed on your shoulder, startling you just enough that you lost your balance. The fall was short but unforgiving. The impact rattled through your body, pain blooming in your limbs as you hit the ground below. Haruki’s cries echoed from above, his voice fractured with guilt and fear. You could hear him calling your name, apologizing and sobbing in a torrent of words you could barely make out. You tried to push yourself upright, but the sharp, wet sensation between your legs stopped you cold.

Your hand trembled as it reached down, finding the warmth there. Lifting your fingers to the faint light trickling in from above, the sight of red froze the breath in your lungs. Blood.

The realization hit you slowly, painfully. You hadn’t known, hadn’t suspected. It couldn’t have been far along—just weeks, maybe—but the truth was undeniable.

Pregnant.

The stench below grew stronger, mingling with the nausea twisting in your stomach. Haruki’s voice pulled at you, but you couldn’t answer right away. Your hand pressed instinctively to your abdomen, as though you could somehow undo what had already been lost.

When you finally called out to him, your voice wavered, strained but calm. You told him to call his father, to not worry. Above all, you told him you were fine.

His footfalls faded in the distance as did his crying. Meanwhile, the stench was too unbearable. It clawed at your senses, overpowering, thick, and nauseating. You gagged, bile rising in your throat until you could no longer hold it back. The contents of your stomach spilled onto the cold floor, the sound of your retching broke the silence and tears burned your eyes as pain rippled through your abdomen, sharp and unforgiving, forcing a groan from your lips. Your voice faltered, shaking as you murmured Shidou’s name, something you hadn’t done in years, not like this. The darkness pressed in from all sides, oppressive and unfamiliar. You hated it here—the smell, the suffocating shadows, and the solitude. You were terrified.

Dragging yourself forward, you forced your trembling body to move. Every inch was agonizing as you crawled, one hand clutching your abdomen while the other searched blindly. Somewhere, there had to be a light switch. You couldn't stay like this—in the dark, in the stench, in the fear.

You kept calling for him, your voice faint, cracking under the weight of pain and panic. “Ryuu...” you whispered again, desperation lacing every syllable. Finally, your fingers brushed against something solid on the wall—a switchboard. Relief coursed through you, weak and fleeting, as you flipped the switch. The sudden light pierced the darkness, and for a moment, you thought it would bring clarity.

Instead, it brought horror.

Your breath hitched violently in your throat, your lips trembling as your eyes took in the sight before you. A chair stood in the center of the room, and in it sat a mass of bones still clothed in a painfully familiar outfit. The flesh had long since rotted away, leaving behind nothing but decayed bloody fabric and skeletal remains. The hoodie. The jeans. The same ones you had picked out for Rin when the two of you went birthday shopping. 

The outfit he wore the day he disappeared. The last image of him burned into your mind—the surveillance footage of him walking away, those same clothes framing his figure.

Your legs trembled beneath you as you stumbled forward, the room spinning. “R-Rin…chan…?” 

Your twin. Your best friend. Your other half. Your soulmate.

The sight of a maggot crawling through your dead brother’s empty eye socket nearly gave you a heartattack, and you let out a choked sob, your hands flying to your face as tears spilled uncontrollably. The room seemed to close in on you as you took faltering steps back, retreating—and then you hit something solid.

Your heart stopped. Warmth radiated against your back, and you felt the steady rise and fall of a chest pressed close to yours. The familiar presence made your blood run cold.

Shidou.

“R-Rin...Rin...! Rin!” you stammered, your voice breaking as the reality crashed down around you.

He merely sighed, a sound that would have been casual in any other context but now felt like a death knell. His hands rested around your middle and he clicked his tongue as he glanced at the blood trailing down your legs.

“I got so worried when Haruki came crying. Poor kid. Our little critter begged me to help you.”

You turned your head slightly, eyes darting to his face, searching for any hint of humanity, but all you found was a twisted smile that made your knees buckle. He leaned closer, pressing his lips to your hair, a sickening affection lacing his voice. “You wanna know something, baby?”

You were shaking your head, on the verge of a panic attack. “R-Ryuusei...please...”

He didn’t stop. His hold on you tightened as he spoke, his voice taking on a purr. “You’re just my type, you know? That’s why it really made me sick when you kept going on about how close you and Rin were.” Your body tensed and the words cut through you like a knife. “And Sae,” he continued, his voice taking on a mocking lilt, “he made you suffer so much by never showing up for you. It broke my heart, you know? Watching you hurt like that. They didn’t deserve you.” His breath was warm against your ear, and you felt your body recoil even as his grip held you firm. “But don’t worry, I took care of everything. You don’t need anyone else. You never did.”

Screaming and crying, you were screaming and crying. The sounds tore from your throat, raw and guttural, born from years of bottled up pain and unimaginable grief. They echoed off the attic walls, filling every corner, spilling out into the house like an avalanche of anguish that refused to be silenced. They shook the air, vibrating through the floorboards, waking the infant in its bassinet. The baby’s wails joined the cacophony, high-pitched and desperate, blending with the confused and desperate cries of your three-year-old, who stumbled out of the couch to follow his big brother upstairs. 

You couldn’t hear them.

You couldn’t see their tear-streaked faces or their trembling little hands reaching for you. The only thing you saw, the only thing you felt, was the image of Rin’s bones, clothed in the memories of the life you once shared. The only thing that filled your ears was the sound of your own screaming, Rin’s name spilling from your lips over and over again, broken and desperate, punctuated by sobs for Sae.

Shidou cooed and pulled your face to his chest as he tried to silence you—words you couldn’t process, couldn’t hear, didn’t want to hear. You clawed at his chest, your fists weak but frantic, hitting and pushing against him as if you could break free of his hold, of the nightmare he had thrust upon you.

But no matter how much you screamed or sobbed, the walls didn’t crack, and the room didn’t collapse. Your fate didn’t change.

Rin was gone.

Sae was gone.

And you were here, trapped in the arms of a man you wished you had never met.

You knew there was no escape.