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“Why don’t you tell me about your childhood, Tenma-kun?”
Tsukasa shifted in his seat, looking at his palms thoughtfully. “What do you want to know?” He replied, and the man opposite him took in a slow, contemplative breath. “How about… You’ve mentioned your sister before. The fact that she used to go to the hospital often, no? Start there.” He instructed. With a slight nod, Tsukasa’s gaze drifted to the carpeted floor of the room. It was so dull. The gray, pebbled pattern was so generic and ugly.
“Sometimes, I would be left home alone for a little while. Not a lot– Just… Sometimes, my parents needed to visit Saki, and they said it wouldn’t be safe for me to come in case I got her sick. So I’d stay home, and occasionally, make dinner for us all… Not Saki, though.” As he thought, Tsukasa’s eyebrows knitted together slowly. The man adjusted his glasses, fixing his gaze on Tsukasa’s form. Taking note of the way he didn’t take up too much space, the way he was unconsciously fidgeting with his fingernails, almost threatening to rip them.
“And how did that make you feel? Being left to take care of the house like that? At such a young age, no less. Were you left alone often? Made to feel like taking care of things was an obligation for you?” Tsukasa’s gaze hardened as he stared at the floor, and he shook his head.
“No, I– I didn’t feel that way! I liked to cook for my family, I still do. I understand that Mum and Dad needed to take care of Saki, of course! I’d never hold it against them. If I were in their position, I’m sure I would have done the same. Middle schoolers… They can be rather dirty, so if I had any kind of sickness on me, I could have really…”
Tsukasa trailed off, and the man cleared his throat. “Are you suggesting you could have killed your sister, Tenma-kun?” He clarified, and Tsukasa felt his palms grow clammy as if on cue. “No! No– Not at all, I would never, I stayed home! I listened to what my parents told me!” He felt small. His voice sounded so uncharacteristically shrill and panicked as it left his mouth, as if the very suggestion of harming Saki, no matter the intention, had set him into a defensive mode. He’d never hurt Saki, his beloved little sister, not in a million years. Not in any life that he’d ever live.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to suggest that it would be intentional. I was just clarifying the state of her health.” The man crossed his ankles and leaned back, still watching Tsukasa with a curious gaze. “She was rather fragile during your middle school years, right? That’s what you said the other day?”
The blond nodded. “That was when her health was at its worst… I saw her a lot less during those years. And my parents were with her a lot more then, too… At least in elementary school, it was on and off. I’d get to see her on a more regular basis, but… It was also a lot scarier when she had to leave, because neither of us knew much about her condition at the time. I’d…”
It was like the words got stuck in his throat. Silence enveloped the two for a few moments before the man spoke up again, wrinkling his nose to adjust his glasses. “You’d…?”
“I’d cry, a lot. When Saki left. I’d cry even if one of my parents stayed with me… They said it was like I could feel her pain. But I couldn’t, what I felt was surely only a fraction of Saki’s pain. I can’t imagine how scared and lonely she must have been when she got taken to the hospital…” Tsukasa started tearing up just thinking about it. Thinking about how Saki sobbed when he visited one time. She had begged him not to leave, said the hospital was so uncomfortable, that she didn’t have her bed, her plushies, she didn’t have her big brother to keep her safe.
Tsukasa had done his best to keep a brave face, kissing Saki’s forehead and hugging her tight until she calmed down. But the second he’d gotten home, he sobbed all on his own, heart aching for his baby sister. And before he realized it, he was crying now too, chest so tight that it felt suffocating. “Tell me more about that.” About what? Tsukasa frowned in confusion. “About how it felt to be that helpless.” How did he know? Was Tsukasa that easy to read? But… he could only oblige. That was, after all, why he was here. Why he was even talking about all of this… It was all to delve into these things, these emotions.
“I– I hated it. I hate it, still. Saki is doing better these days, but when I come home and find myself alone, sometimes… I just leave again, I can’t stand being home alone most days. It makes me anxious, regardless of the fact that I know Saki is with her band, or my parents are at work.” Tsukasa’s words were thick with suppressed sobs, clearly struggling to talk about any of this. The older man nodded in understanding and got up, sitting beside Tsukasa. The proximity was comforting. Tsukasa liked touch, he liked proximity, liked being near others. It made him feel less alone.
“That must be difficult. Do you ever resent them? Your family. Your sister, especially. Doesn’t it feel like she–”
“No!” Tsukasa cut him off, flinching at the loudness of his own voice. “No, no, no! It would never be Saki’s fault!” He insisted, tears falling from his eyes while each word caused his throat to tighten. “I– I love Saki, I love Saki so much, I would never… I would never blame her, not ever.” The room blurred with each new tear, until it felt like he was barely in a real place, just a concept of a place.
The man seemed to sense that his question was poorly received and pivoted. “Then, what about your parents? After all, surely they didn’t both need to go to the hospital with her all of the time, right?” Tsukasa was quiet in response to that, wiping his eyes clumsily. “I sense some unresolved resentment, Tenma-kun.” The brown-haired man hummed, eliciting a weak groan of protest from Tsukasa.
“I don’t hate them.” He muttered, refusing to look up. “I just… There were some times where I didn’t understand why they couldn’t bring me with them, because I knew her condition wasn’t so bad that she couldn’t have visitors, but… But, that’s different! It’s probably because seeing me made her cry so often when she was younger… She missed me a lot, and when I visited, she’d…”
Tsukasa lost his train of thought, too carried away by the memory of Saki, in her hospital bed, wailing as she clung to Tsukasa. Their parents gently convincing her to let go, begging her to calm down as her heart monitor indicated that she was far too distressed. The world felt so far away as his thoughts spiraled, the lights around him seemed too bright and overwhelming despite being a perfectly respectable intensity. The hum of the lightbulbs was suddenly the loudest thing in the world, and it felt like his head could cave in any second now. Everything was too much, he hated thinking about this. He couldn’t handle dwelling on that feeling of insufficiency, especially when he remembered the broken sobs of his baby sister, the pleas for Tsukasa not to leave her all alone. It was too much, too much–
Tsukasa’s fists balled in his lap and he trembled slightly, then a comforting hand came to rest on his shoulder. Ah. Suddenly, he snapped back to the present, rubbing his eyes hard enough that they grew agitated.
“That sounds difficult.” The man’s voice was smooth, relaxed, comforting. Like it always was, every time they’d spoken. Tsukasa liked that it was just them, because it felt more special that way. He was getting special, one-on-one treatment. To get better. He was here to get better.
“It was.” Tsukasa conceded after a moment, lips pulled into a thin line as he dragged his teeth over them. “Do you think, deep down, you might harbor a little bit of resentment towards them for not making more time for you? Of course, it wouldn’t be your sister’s fault if you did. But if your parents’ lack of attention to you was a source of conflict for you when you were younger…” Like a cat stalking a field mouse, the man’s friendly smile tightened as he spoke. Tsukasa didn’t notice.
“I… I don’t know.” Tsukasa muttered. He didn’t think he held any ill will towards his parents. Did he? Could he think certain things without even knowing it? After all, he’d forgotten about how he felt that one time his parents disappeared without so much as a word… He was upset to be forgotten, and he’d spent years simply ignoring that fact, because it didn’t align with the person he wanted to be. So…
“I believe it’s possible.” The man’s voice was nearly a coo. So relaxed and easygoing that Tsukasa had to force himself to relax as well, lest he be seen as an obsessive freak that couldn’t unclench his jaw for five seconds. “After all, that’s a rather difficult situation for a child. Do you think you lacked proper support, growing up? Is it possible that you feel unsupported by adults now? As I see it, you don’t appear to be particularly close with your parents thanks to their full-time jobs and your own work with your troupe…”
Was that really the case? Tsukasa… Couldn’t say he’d ever thought of it that way. He went out with his family sometimes, but… When was the last time they’d really asked about him? Cared about him beyond a polite interest in things? Maybe it was the last time they spoke… Or maybe it was never. Tsukasa’s own memories felt fuzzy, wrong. Could he really remember any of that? His parents…
“The way I understand it, Tenma-kun… It seems as if you’re still forgotten by your parents, even to this day.” Tsukasa could only nod weakly. It had to be true, right? He wouldn’t lie. “I don’t think anyone could blame you if you felt a little bitter towards your parents.” Maybe he did. He couldn’t say he had ever thought about it before now, but…
“Do you think you could use those feelings?”
“What?” That question confused Tsukasa. He looked up and blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the man beside him. The area around him. They were in the practice room of the theater they were renting out. The couch was cheap leather, peeling in some places. The carpet was ugly and plain, no doubt the most cost-efficient option. And before him was Koryu Sakaki, the director who had been helping him act.
“Tenma-kun?” Sakaki tilted his head, and though confusion would have fit perfectly on his face, nothing even resembling concern graced his features. He looked as carefree as ever. “What don’t you understand? I just asked if you could use those feelings. To imagine killing someone you love… Could you imagine killing your parents a little better now that we’ve had our talk?”
Gently, Sakaki took Tsukasa’s hands into his own, then placed them at the boy’s throat. Not forcing him to grip it, though. “Can you feel your heartbeat against your fingers, Tenma-kun? Can you imagine what it would feel like to squeeze, until that dull beating is silenced completely?” The director’s voice was like silk. And yet, Tsukasa couldn’t completely relax. Not with Sakaki guiding his hands to his throat. The position made him tense.
“I… It’s scary.” Tsukasa mumbled, stomach churning. Taking a life sounded so scary. He couldn’t do that, not ever. Imagining it was bad enough, but really trying to… To act it out in a way that felt so real…
“Is it?” Sakaki’s fingers lightly pressed themselves into the backs of Tsukasa’s hands, applying the lightest pressure to his throat. “People do it every day, you know. It can’t be that scary. Come on, Tenma-kun, I thought you were better than this. Do you want to become a star or not?”
Even though Sakaki’s words stung, Tsukasa couldn’t read them as anything less than genuine concern. The way he touched Tsukasa so faintly as he spoke, trying to guide him into the right motions, it felt so caring. He was lucky to have a director willing to work with him like this. Rui… Rui, what would Rui have done in this situation? He had a different approach from Sakaki…
“I do.” Came Tsukasa’s response, short and sounding almost strained. “I want to be a star– I do, I really do, please, Sakaki-san, I’m sorry.” He couldn’t really say why he was apologizing. It felt like he was failing the older man. Sakaki was taking the time to coach him, to take care of him like this, and he couldn’t even live up to his expectations. “I’ll find a way.” He promised, nearly breathless. The feeling of his fingers on his throat was nothing, and yet, it felt like too much.
Sakaki just smiled. “I know you will, Tenma-kun.” He replied reassuringly, and his hands slipped away. Yet, Tsukasa’s hands stayed loosely clamped over his neck, still feeling his pulse practically vibrating beneath his fingers. When did it get so fast?
“Now, shall we try again? Stand up. I want you to imagine pushing someone you love down the stairs for me. Try using those feelings of abandonment, ‘kay?”
Tsukasa stayed sitting, almost dazed as he let his hands fall slowly, sliding down until they naturally fell off his collarbones. He looked up at Sakaki, who regarded him with a strange look that he couldn’t quite read. “Unless, of course, you’re content to be a forgettable actor without real stage presence. This is the push you need, Tenma-kun. You’re so close, I can see it.” The words hit him hard. Tsukasa forced himself to stand, stepping forward before closing his eyes and trying to envision it.
Pushing a loved one down the stairs. Watching their body sprawl, contort, make horrid cracking noises, watching the way their head split and blood spilled from it. He’d done his research. Looked up articles, read all about real cases, the way the falls could cause organ failures or asphyxiation or spinal injuries that would result in death. Tsukasa thought about the way it must feel, to have your body crumple against your will, thrown down a flight of steep stairs with no hope of saving yourself.
Suppressing the urge to retch, Tsukasa held his hands just barely out, elbows still almost against his sides. As if a person was right there, right in front of him, as if he could–
With a swift pushing motion, he could feel the sensation of a body making contact of his fingers, and then leaving as quickly as it happened. He’d pushed someone. For real? His eyes shot open and he saw Sakaki there, chest level with his hands. “Close your eyes again. I didn’t come over here for you to stop concentrating.” The director said flatly, and Tsukasa swallowed hard. He closed his eyes again, hands once more out, a little less unsteady now. There was no threat to Sakaki nearby, so if he pushed him…
“I’m sorry.” Tsukasa mumbled, feeling his fingers meet Sakaki’s chest once more, and this time, he shoved harder. He could feel Sakaki stumble backwards slightly, and in his head, the sight of his father’s body falling down the stairs was so vivid that it sickened him. The angles his limbs stuck out at, the sounds of agony, it was all so clear.
It sickened him so badly, in fact, that he barely managed to turn away from Sakaki, eyes opening once more as he suddenly began throwing up. Vomit burned his throat, tears stung at his eyes, and Sakaki just watched on in silence. They’d have to get someone to clean the carpet.
“Seems like you’re done for today, Tenma-kun.” Sakaki sighed, looking at the clock with disinterest. “Only two hours today… I thought you could handle more.” Tsukasa couldn’t help but let out a weak sob as he forced himself to stop throwing up. His throat burned, his stomach was tight, his heart felt like a caged bird begging to be freed, and his eyes hurt from crying so many times in the past two hours alone that he wasn’t sure how he’d even had that many tears left to spare in the first place.
“I’m sorry, Sakaki-san. I’ll do better next time. I’m– I apologize, truly.” It was as if he had to beg the director’s forgiveness. Sakaki only waved dismissively. “Doesn’t matter. Just get going, alright? Keep at it while we’re not meeting. I want to see some real improvement by tomorrow. Maybe you can practice choking out a plush or something. That’s what you’ve gotta do to your little troupemate when you’re on the stage, right?” The man wouldn’t look at Tsukasa, and it hurt. He wanted so badly for Sakaki to meet his gaze, to validate his existence.
“Y– Yes, sir. I’ll do that, I’ll try that. Thank you for your advice.” Tsukasa nodded feverishly. “Alright. Then, like I said, get going. Have a good night, Tenma-kun.” Without so much as a glance back at the blond, Sakaki simply exited the room, polished shoes clacking against the hallway floors. And so Tsukasa was left standing with vomit on the floor, sweat beading on his palms and forehead, and a stinging ache in his heart. He’d do anything to become a better actor, even this, again and again and ag–