Chapter Text
It's a deceptively unassuming day when Yuma presents.
Hyogo is unusually warm for this time of year, and Yuma has been ready to leave his family home before he even returned to it. A lot of people don't like their places of work, but for Yuma, even as a child-idol-turned-idol-in-training, he would rather be at work where he has some modicum of peace and safety rather than here, in his father's house.
On the particularly easy days, marked by the silent treatment and occasional snide comment when he's accosted by his siblings in a communal space, when Yuma is barely able to escape the house, he wanders around the streets and into the forest. He explores streams and smooths his palms over rocks that have had their edges eroded by the constantly moving water. He dreams up melodies for songs that he will never get the chance to release, and wonders what it would feel like to be part of a family that cared for him.
Sometimes, on days like today, when it seems likes there is no escape, when no matter how hard he tries he cannot leave the house, he hides in the attic.
Surrounded by dusty memories and ghosts from before the change, he begins to feel like a person again.
Inside an old wardrobe, Yuma sits with is back pressed against the side. An antique sewing box, a memento belonging to his mother- a gift from her mother, sits in front of him. The lighter in his left hand clicks in sync with his breathing.
The fourth needle he grabs is thick and fairly long. He clicks the lighter again, running its blue flame over the needle a couple of times. Pushing it into his earlobe, without a countdown, he can already fell his brain start to slow down. Blood drips down the side of his face and into the neckline of his shirt. He pushes the needle through his left earlobe. By the time he's made the ninth hole, he's so calm and blissed out he can't even remember the reason he came into the attic in the first place.
Clambering out of the closet, his legs feel like jello, and he has to grip the doors for support.
He's barely made it out of the maze of boxes stacked high to the ceiling when the first wave of heat washes over him. It's so intense that he falls to his knees, hands knocking over trinkets on his way down. Cherubs and puppies clatter to the floor, their porcelain bodies shattering on impact. The next wave of heat is accompanied by a sharp, intense pain that sends him scrambling off the floor and to the door. In his haste to make it out, he doesn't notice that the tiny porcelain shards have made themselves at home in his skin and clothing. Drops of blood dot the floor behind, leaving a trail as he stumbles to the door.
He's managed to make his way to the second floor landing when the feeling of fire, coursing through his veins, sends him tumbling down the stairs. His limp body slams against the balusters, he lets his eyes slide close and surrenders to the sweet relief of unconsciousness.