Whumptober 2020 - Saiouma Collection

[No.5 On The Run | Failed Escape | Rescue]

[Warnings: Deliberate Misgendering, Transphobia, Emotional Abuse, Unhealthy Binding]

[This #No.5 prompt was taken in a different sense. Where Shuichi's home is his prison, and he's failing to escape it, and he's on the run from a punishment he doesn't deserve.]

He slid his slim fingers around his torso. Trailing his hand up over his chest. He stood tall, trying to hold his chin up with pride. Yet the mirror only reflected his expression, those pained and hurt stained eyes bled over his image. Selfish , he hissed to himself, constantly selfish.

"Take that off." She had hissed, her authoritative glare flickered over his chest, "You aren't going to the party looking like, like..." Her expression twisted into a shade of disgust and hesitation. As if scared to describe him, scared to touch him. "...Like that."

He rubbed at his eyes, his cheeks fading to red the more he sucked in his breath to not cry. He slipped the bandages from his chest, hesitating, but grabbing the bra back and sliding it on. He refused to look at his reflection again. Because it hurt. No matter what he did, it hurt. Physically it pained him, emotionally it corrupted him.

The dress he pulled on adorned his body in a mismatching way. His mother would always say it flattered him, her cold dainty fingers would travel to his lower back to grab the zipper and work it up to his shoulder blades. Soon curling the fabric around his waist, pulling tight to praise his shape. Pronouncing his curves in a slim dress.

He felt stiff walking out of the bathroom. Presenting himself to his mother, who smiled and carelessly reached up to pull his hair from the braids he tightly wove together to press against his scalp. She let it tumble over his shoulders, speaking lightly of jewel pins and fake flowers, ignoring his face of discomfort, glossing over the tears in his eyes.

They would flaunt the empty shell of a daughter they never had at parties. Encouraging him to chat with the daughters of fellow families, dance with the men he cares nothing for, and speak with the lightness of a girl.

Awkwardness would erode him. Suffocation in his body choked his words and snuffed out the best of his positivity. When they returned from a nightly outing, they'd chastise him on how to be more social. And when the next day washed over, he'd wake up for school, dress in the skirt that makes him cringe. And go to school with his head down, and his lips pressed together.

He never could bring himself to fight back. He'd push once in a while but would get yelled at ten times louder than he would speak. Some days he finds small escapes. He would pack clothes he likes, and disappear into the men's bathrooms after school.

Just to feel right for a moment. To breathe through bound lungs. Even if it hurt, he would feel like himself, for one stolen minute, one forbidden and wrong moment.

In the bathrooms of the men's room, he looked in the mirror. His hair tucked into his cap, his chest flatter, his clothes no longer causing him discomfort. And for a moment, he allowed him to smile at it, at himself. Before he had to take it all away again.

"You look better when you aren't lying."

He jumped at the sound. His stomach dropped as he jerked his head to the entrances. "I-I'm sorry?"

Kokichi stood in the entrance to the bathroom, his hands on his hips, his eyes narrowed with a mix of amusement, but seriousness in the way he stared. "You heard me." He crossed the filth covered floor to stand beside him. "You're not a liar," He said, gazing at his reflection, "A shame you proceed to be one."