No one will be able to love you the way I do; do be sure to remember that, my sweet Korekiyo. I’m the only person you will ever need in this life and the next ones.
Those words—those cruel, manipulative words had Korekiyo clinging to his older sister like a leech, desperate for her love and attention. He craved her praise, growing dependent on her despite her sickness. Korekiyo loved his older sister; they had a bond—a bond no one would ever understand. Miyadera loved Korekiyo in a way no one could love him. They would share secret kisses; the older sister would make Korekiyo promise that he wouldn’t tell a soul about their relationship, and he accepted, returning her kisses.
This taboo began when he was ten.
It was innocent kisses in the beginning. On Korekiyo’s cheek, the tip of his nose, slowly, they became paralyzing and breath-taking. It left Kiyo weak in the knees, wanting more, to which Miyadera would tell him to be patient and not be so demanding. It was only natural that Korekiyo would grow dependent on her; she was his older sister, the only family he had left. The only person who cared about him like no other, she would care for him. Miyadera would love him.
The kisses would progress, now daring to touch lips. Miyadera would taunt him, saying she was going to be his first for everything. His first love, first kiss, first everything. At first, he questioned her actions, saying that the kids at school said it was abnormal for siblings to kiss the way they did. According to the adults, it was wrong, but she brushed it off, saying they would never understand the love they harbored for each other, saying that many cultures supported the idea of siblings being together.
This event led to Miyadera pushing Korekiyo to study anthropology. Fortunately, he enjoyed studying other cultures and map reading, discussing the mythology surrounding each culture, and identifying ancient relics. She fashioned him a uniform along with a matching mask, going on about how he would make her dream come true. Korekiyo didn’t think much of her statement, happy that his sister took her time to create a brand-new uniform for him, especially with his favorite colors.
Korekiyo’s freshmen year is when their relationship took a step forward. Miyadera had become sick, unable to leave her home, and Korekiyo was her prime caretaker. It wasn’t a physical sickness but more of a mental illness. Either way, Korekiyo took his time out of his day after school to care for his sister. He made her sure to gather her treats and things she desired; it was dreadfully lonely in the house, so he couldn’t blame Miyadera for being so attached to Kiyo as she always remained in the place, afraid he wouldn’t be there if she left.
Miyadera’s request had been so random, approaching Korekiyo with this proposal. At first, he was hesitant, making excuses on why he could not give her what she desired, but Miyadera wouldn’t take no for an answer, further manipulating Kiyo. “You would let me if you loved me, dear Kiyo,” she would whisper in his ear, hands roaming across his bare chest, pressing kisses to his collarbone. Part of him wanted to push her away, but they loved each other, and it was expected, yes? Sister would never lie to him.
He submitted, falling back onto the bed and let Miyadera do whatever she wanted. His submission made her smile, promising to be gentle and how she had researched beforehand. It eased Korekiyo’s worries, thickly swallowing the lump in his throat. Her hands traced his abdomens, admiring the smooth skin. She voiced how she would love to mark his porcelain skin with her nails, but she would be gentle with him.
Korekiyo was a doll in her care. A porcelain doll that would crack if mishandled. She would take her aggressions out on a simple doll if she was having a bad day, a doll the older sister would praise and love whenever he told her that he would never leave her. A beauty that tended to her sexual needs and hers alone. A doll Miyadera could abuse over and over again as long as she glued the pieces back together. A doll that was no longer made of porcelain but remained intact with glue and adhesives.
He became closed off from his peers by the time they entered the senior year. While his classmates socialized with each other, Korekiyo kept to himself mostly. The one person he would casually talk to from time to time was Gonta, as they both enjoyed talking about bugs and their career choices involved being in the field. Of course, Kokichi would come to taunt the anthropologist but ran off when Korekiyo threatened to tear out his nerves with a blank stare. The ultimate leader ran to his beloved detective, Shuichi, claiming that Kiyo had threatened him for no reason.
It didn’t matter if his classmates found him strange. His sister was the only one who genuinely cares for them. They’re in love, for fuck’s sake. She was the only one who would take the time to understand him.
He busied himself with a book during his lunch hour, sitting in the courtyard. The lunchroom was too loud; the screaming and yelling messed with his sense of hearing. He preferred being outdoors, in touch with nature; most days, Gonta would join him outside, offering his lunch, and the two would make small talk.
Unfortunately, Gonta did not arrive at school. It didn’t matter to Kiyo as he was used to being alone. He’d swapped his mask, unzipping the slot, and twirled the noodles around his fork. Miyadera had attempted to make spaghetti as he was talking about trying Italian food and studying their culture. Such a loving sister he had; Kiyo was lucky to have someone to love him.
“Hey, hey! Is this spot taken?”
The anthropologist looked up, frowning beneath his mask. This new person was too loud for his taste but dressed interestingly. They had dirt caked on their slacks, and their blazer popped up, the red tie skewed as they scratched their cheek. “No, this seat is not taken. You’re more than free to join me,” he answered, resuming his meal while the new person thanked them, plopping down on the bench, kicking their legs up. “If you’re going to remain here, I’d ask that you remain quiet. Loud noises mess with my sense of hearing,” Kiyo stated.
“Oh, I understand! I just need to finish up some editing,” they explained, reaching into their satchel for their laptop, logging in. The anthropologist occasionally glanced at their screen, watching them edit their video, going over individual clips, and groaning when they made a mistake. It was amusing, to say the least, all this trouble for a little video.
“For a class, I assume?”
They shook their head. “Nah, it’s for my YouTube channel. I was supposed to upload two videos last night, but I was tired after streaming all evening,” they laughed, finishing up the final touching before clicking submit. With a hum, they swung their legs back and forth, smiling. “Hey, I just realized I never got your name. Sorry for being so blunt about it, but mind telling me? I don’t wanna refer to you as the masked guy,” they teased.
Korekiyo set down his empty container, fixing his mealtime mask. “It’s Korekiyo,” he introduced as they reached for his hand, not caring for the bandages, and shook his hand.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Korekiyo. I’m (Name), but everyone calls me (Nickname). You’re free to use either one, I don’t mind,” they introduced, firmly shaking his hand. Their grip was comforting oddly; Kiyo liked their hands despite not being able to touch them. Their hands are beautiful, he pondered, letting his thumb brush across their hand, pulling away after an awkward silence swallowed them whole. (Name) cleaned their throat, turning to face him. “This might sound sudden, but can I have your number?”
(Name) bobbed their head up and down. “Yeah, I’m always looking for new people to talk to, and I think you’re pretty cool,” they pointed out, gesturing to his outfit, mostly his mealtime mask. “You got a terrific aesthetic going on. I like it,” (Name) complimented.
Korekiyo thanked them, placing the plastic bowl in his knapsack. “I, unfortunately, do not own a phone, but I’m more than willing to give you my email instead,” he offered.
(Name) happily accepted, tearing out a piece of paper and scribbled down their email address, handing the shred of paper to Kiyo. “Don’t be shy to shoot me a message whenever. I always have my notifications turned on,” they informed with a cheeky grin, shoving their laptop in their satchel, slinging their strap over their shoulder.
“You must live on the internet, then,” he mocked playfully, stretching out his arms while (Name) slugged his shoulder, snickering as Kiyo caressed his arm.
“It’s part of my job,” they whined, walking with Korekiyo back to the main building, chatting his ear off as he merely listened, nodding his head whenever they asked for his input. (Name) was exciting, rambling on and on about what they liked to do and asking Korekiyo questions in return. They comforted Korekiyo; he felt happy. Happier than when he was around Miyadera, (Name) cared about his interests and didn’t cut him off whenever he began speaking passionately about his hobbies. They listened along, asking for clarification if they didn’t understand. Miyadera would just hum and dismiss him once she became bored.
They parted their ways and (Name) told Kiyo that they would be expecting an email from him soon and how nice it was to meet him. The statement made Kiyo feel warm inside; his heart swelled, yet he frowned beneath his mask. They had just met, but (Name) was growing on him. He liked their presence more than his sister’s—no! That statement was wrong; no one could replace the love he and his sister shared. No one could love Korekiyo the way Miyadera loved him.
After all, lovers have sex.
The house was quiet as Korekiyo stepped inside, setting his satchel near the bookcase. “Sister?” he called out, unzipping his mask as he wandered the halls, peeking into the master bedroom. Miyadera must have folded the sheets and laid out a set of clean clothes. He frowned, shutting the door behind him before searching the other rooms, finding his sister laying in a chair, blanket wrapped around her thin body while a book laid open in her lap. The anthropologist crouched beside her, weaving their fingers together, waiting like a lap dog.
His bandages had already come off, and Miyadera’s hands aren’t as nice as (Name)’s; Miyadera’s hands are more prominent than Korekiyo’s despite her being sick and fragile-looking. The older sister stirred in her sleep, sleepily staring at her beloved little brother, and smiled, smoothing her thumb across his lips. “I was waiting for you; it was lonely in the house today,” she murmured, taking Kiyo’s hand and leaned on himself for support, hobbling out of the room with the young anthropologist following after her. “You ought to stay at home with me instead. You don’t need to go to the academy every day. I’m capable of teaching you the material you need to know,” she brought up, staggering into the kitchen and leaned against the counter for support.
Korekiyo exhaled quietly, pressing his lips together. He hated it when Miyadera brought up homeschool; yes, he didn’t have many friends, but he loved Hope’s Peak Academy. The atmosphere, the people, and the varieties of cultures he got to examine and analyze were terrific; it was a pleasure that he could not describe, fascinated with how other parts of their disgusting world worked and function. He would experience both the ugly and the beauty of their decaying world; Kiyo would examine it all.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Sister. I am required to attend this academy if I want to provide for you in the future. If I graduate from this school, I’ll officially be an anthropologist, and money will no longer be an issue for us,” he explained. So, Korekiyo stretched the truth; it wouldn’t hurt anyone in the long run. Gazing in Miyadera’s golden eyes, Korekiyo watched for any facial response, holding his breath as she frowned, reaching for his face.
Her fingers hooked around the side of his mask, yanking down the thick cloth and leaned forward, pulling him down to her level, and forced eye contact with him. Miyadera cooed, kissing him gently, massaging his cheeks while Korekiyo whimpered in the kiss, practically melting while she caressed him. Pulling away, she swiped the drool across his lips, smiling. “Don’t you love me, Kiyo? Don’t you want to make me happy?” she asked quietly, nudging his lips apart and let out a happy sigh when the taller male whimpered at her touch, falling apart like putty in her grasp.
Yes, Korekiyo wanted to make his sister happy. She was the only one who cared for him; no one else would love him as she did. If he fucked up, it was his fault, and Miyadera would forgive him no matter how many times he messed up. Like a dog, Korekiyo would come crawling back to his master, even if she had beat him within an inch of his life.
Miyadera ordered him to kneel with a pleased smile, caressing his face when he obeyed, awaiting her further instructions. Korekiyo was so obedient and so submissive for her; the power fix she got—made her shiver with delight. The sister stole another kiss from Kiyo, trailing her lips down his neck, smiling against his skin when he let out a sobbing noise—a mixture between a broken moan and a whimper—babbling her name as she shushed him again. “Just relax; we’ve down this before, sweet Kiyo,” she murmured, undoing the buttons of his uniform, shucking the green blazer off, and smoothed her hands across his narrow shoulders.
Kiyo was beautiful, thin, and delicate like a swan. He could be mistaken for a girl if he didn’t speak; he and Miyadera could switch places, and no one would suspect a thing. He kept himself clean, loving the praise he received for his big sister, falling apart in her hands whenever she touched him. The kisses and intercourse from time to time were regular; their interactions are nuanced, Korekiyo would think, allowing himself to submit, letting Miyadera take control. She knew what was best for him, even when he denied her advanced, Miyadera would still proceed forward because she had Korekiyo’s best interest in mind; she always knew what was best for him, even if he didn’t want it.
“Sister,” Korekiyo groaned, craning his head to the side, feeling his heart race when she removed his dress-shirt and fondled his chest. His throat went dry, unable to speak as Miyadera kissed down his body, listening to her light breathing. The way his body quivered and trembled made Miyadera continue with her actions, letting her fingers hover about his groin. She pressingly pressed her hand against the fly of his pants, messing with the zipper as she maintained eye contact with him, assuring Korekiyo that she would be gentle this time.
He liked it when she was gentle. It didn’t feel good when she treated him like a broken doll; it always left him feeling useless and stupid. He preferred Miyadera’s praise and undivided attention; Korekiyo loved her. He loved her when she would smack him in the back of the head, screaming at him—calling him a useless boy. Calling him a good-for-nothing child, loved it when she would ignore his pleads, not caring when he scratched at her skin as she forced him onto the bed. Strength didn’t matter as Korekiyo was afraid of hurting his sister; he didn’t want to hurt the one person that cared for him in this cruel world.
He preferred her gentle touch over her aggressive advances. Choking on his breath, Korekiyo let out a moan, his toes curling and his head falling back. Sister was so nice to him; Miyadera treated him with kindness and loved him. She loved a stupid anthropologist who could provide her with nothing. She loved a hopeless boy who always felt a need to open his mouth and retort her statements. Miyadera loved a broken boy who could never say no to her despite the sinking feeling in his stomach every time they touched and laid with each other. She loved him—he should be grateful that anyone would love him. He was fucking filthy, the equivalent of human waste.
Yes, he was trash, and he should be grateful that anyone would waste their precious time with him, taking time out of their day to give him any form of attention. So, why did his heart throb? Why did it hurt so much? Why couldn’t Korekiyo figure out what was wrong with him?