Allan shook his head hard. "No. No. No more hiding. No. No..." He breathed in hard. "No!" He ripped his hands away, feeling the rage begin to fall away. Darren... Julian. Not the same. His rational mind shifted for him, and he shuddered hard. "No. You don't hide. Good boy." He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling Julian into a hard hug. "No, no... I'm sorry, sweet. You're being good." He pulled his hand through Julian's hair, feeling him shiver. "No, calm down. He won't hurt you much. He won't." He sighed, rocking back and forth and closing his eyes, feeling the surreal glare of everything calm down, become dim again. "Shh, shhh... You're okay. He won't hurt you... I won't kill you... Never kill you." Julian was a sweet little thing. Not like Darren. Darren was a devil. Horrible. Terrible creature. Dead.

Julian sobbed and hugged Allan back, glad he had snapped out of whatever rage he had been blinded by. Even though he should hate the man for everything he had done, a small part of him felt sorry for him. What sort of troubles had he witnessed to be in such a state? He felt good being called a good boy, like he was some sort of puppy. He hated himself, and yet couldn't stop holding Allan tightly like the man was his lover. At least now he knew how to calm Allan. He had to be a good boy.

Allan stroked Julian's hair lightly, staring at a spot on the wall. It felt good to hold someone. He adored the feeling. Loved it. Wanted it to keep going forever. He could feel Julian's heart beating in his chest and wanted to feel it forever. Forever. How long could forever go? He smiled listlessly, petting the red hair under his hand. "Good... Good... Be good and you won't be hurt much. Be good and I'll reward you. Keep you happy. You can't leave. Mine... Mine..." He breathed, pulling Julian away so he could stare at his face. Beautiful. But stained with tears. Bloodshot eyes. So green. Like gems. And light skin. Gentle skin. Soft, sensitive. He brushed his thumbs over Julian's cheeks, wiping away the tears. "Shhh, shh... Stop crying. Be good and I'll be happy to give you something. Write in your journal. Soon I'll give you colored pencils. I'll give you good ones, so you can draw well. And tomorrow you'll have soap. And smell good."

He pulled himself away from Julian, standing and shaking. What was wrong with him? He shook his head, leaving the room, locking the door behind him. Maybe he needed to sleep. A nap would calm him down. Make him forget that bastard Darren. Help him think straight. He climbed the stairs carefully.

Julian nodded and watched Allan leave, feeling oddly lonely. The way the man had held him so tightly to his chest... No, he couldn't feel sorry for him. He had kidnapped him, tortured him. And now he was starving him because he refused to eat unknown food. Julian could never trust Allan, or love him. He shook himself until any thoughts of seeing compassion from Allan disappeared. He pulled out his journal and wrote more, hoping that if he kept writing, he wouldn't forget who he was and what Allan was.

Soon he felt tired enough to sleep, but was too afraid to sleep on the bed. Knowing now that it was risky sleeping under the bed, he pulled out the blanket and instead curled up in a corner. He was pleased the bathroom light was still on and he didn't feel to scared of the dark around him. He muttered to himself, practising more words. He could say no good enough, but he had to learn others. Yes, Allan, good morning, good night, thank you, please... He wanted to start with the basics.

It was still well before noon when Allan laid down, covering his head with a pillow and falling asleep. This time he did dream, and he dreamed about fire and a laughing, cruel face. It hurt to look at the face, but before he could do anything it burned up, leaving piles of ash among charred grass and trees. Everything was dead. Dead and black. He felt himself shift in his sleep, then his eyes snapped open. At first the darkness confused him until he pulled the pillow off his head. Shoving it off, Allan sat up and sighed, pressing his had to his head. Headache. When he didn't eat, a debilitating headache set in, and he pulled the bottle of supplements out of his pocket, swallowing two and flopping back onto the bed.

He remembered Darren, but so vaguely it frustrated him. Red hair and green eyes. A kind voice, but quiet. Had he changed? Changed so much? Allan didn't know. He reached up, feeling a dampness on his eyes, and he ripped his arm across them to get rid of it. He didn't have a right to cry. He'd forgotten Darren for a reason. He had Julian for a reason. Sitting up and swaying, Allan stood and forced himself to go downstairs and make a sandwich. Halfway through he thought about Julian, but shook his head. His punishment still had a full day and some to go. But he'd have to go out after dinner to pick up some soaps and toiletries for the young man. Maybe he could completely finish the painting before then.

He had fallen into a deep sleep, only woken a few hours later by his grumbling stomach. He struggled to his feet and walked to the bathroom, drinking some water and using the toilet. He yawned, still feeling extremely drowsy. He wondered if he could get a clock from Allan. Maybe if he was good enough, he could ask the man. He felt ill when he had no idea what time it was.

He crawled back onto the nest he had made in the corner and curled up, falling into a fitful sleep. His dreams weren't nice ones this time and he constantly woke from them.

Allan finished the painting quickly. The small dog's fur shone in the light in the painting, and he smiled faintly at it. Putting on a gentle wafting of air so it would dry quickly, Allan went into his pottery room and started sanding the pot by hand, watching the clock nearby. It wasn't moving quickly, not while he watched. But when he looked away and back again, he was surprised to see that more than an hour had gone by. His work had smoothed quite a bit, and he felt the inside, slipping his hand in to smooth the insides out as well. The email had told him to make it safe to put liquid in, after all, and a rough interior wouldn't help with that.

With the sanding done Allan took it to the deep basin sink, filling it with water and a gentle, light dye, and submerged the pot with a metal weight in the bottom of it. He dried his hands, then glanced back at the clock. Near dinnertime. Going around and down the hall, he unlocked and opened the door to Julian A few thumping taps on the wall woke the young man. "I'm going out soon. Don't try to escape, you hear me? I've reinforced the collar, chain and wall to stand up against over four hundred pounds of pressure and I've double-locked the door. Be good while I'm away." He twitched his mouth into a small smile and stepped out to let his words sink in.

How could he escape? He nodded as the man left, curling back up in the nest he had made in the corner. How could he escape? There only seemed to be one way, and that was to fight the man. He was too weak to do that. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, flinching at how messy and tangled it was. He hoped Allan was off to town to buy him soap and shampoo, so he could freshen himself up a bit. Maybe he could ask for a hairbrush? He wasn't sure what he could ask for.

He grabbed another journal off the shelf and used this one to draw, sketching random characters with the pen provided. It was a good way to keep him thinking and active. He knew he couldn't sleep all day and night. He would get sick if he did.

He set up a pressure cooker, filling the inside with a roast he had bought just a couple days ago, and cut several small potatoes and carrots to include. He often cooked various large dinnertime meals to be set for the next week, at least, and this would only take a couple hours. Pushing down the lid and sealing it, he checked the plug to make sure it was safe, and scooped up his keys. The neighborhood was such a safe one he didn't often have to lock his door, but now he had a good reason to do so. He didn't want Julian found. And he didn't want Julian to get out. Not easily. But the chain, the collar, the locked door, and the panel would do well to keep him where he was. Allan obsessed over their quality, after all, and made sure they were perfect---or as perfect as they could be.

He drove silently, thinking about Julian. He couldn't get the young man off his mind. Julian wasn't Darren. Darren had hurt him so badly. Julian wouldn't---Allan would make sure of that.

He stopped outside a small, family owned shop that he often got his own soap from, and hurried in. Evening was beginning to fall, and the sky was darkening. He kept in mind Julian's allergies---there was no way he wanted a medical emergency on his hands. After a while, he chose bottles of shampoo and conditioner that was scented with honey and clover extract, and several hand-pressed bars of soap. They cost more because of the natural ingredients that were easy on even the most sensitive skin, but lasted a lot longer, and were worth it in the end. He found a tube of toothpaste and short-bristled toothbrush near the front of the store, and a varnished wooden hair comb, which he added. When the cashier asked about the collection, Allan shrugged and said it was for a friend's housewarming. The man smiled, nodded, and bagged the items, and waved as Allan took his leave. He settled the bag in the floorboard of the passenger seat, starting off in the gathering evening.

He had grown tired and hungry again. He got to his feet and went to his bathroom, drinking some water from the tap and using the toilet. He looked in the cupboards under the sink for anything he might have missed. He was surprised to find household cleaners and drain cleaner, but quickly noted they were organic and non-toxic. It seemed Allan didn't want to give him any chances at killing himself. Not that Julian would resort to that.

He closed the cupboards in time to here someone moving about upstairs. Allan must have come home from wherever he had went to. He could smell something nice cooking and it made his stomach rumble. He regretted not eating the soup when he had been offered it. Sighing, he left the bathroom and climbed onto the bed, spying blood stains from his assault that morning. It had felt like years, since he had been locked down inside this room. But he knew that it had only been a day and a bit, and knowing this gave him little hope that someone might be looking for him.

He didn't immediately go to the basement. Setting the bag on a counter, he opened the cooker and checked the state of the meat and pair of vegetables, finding them only a third of the way done. He smiled to himself, replacing the lid and heading downstairs with the bag, pausing again to take the pot out of the dyed water and drying it with a soft towel and letting it sit upside-down on the workstation he would begin stenciling and painting.

Removing the panel, Allan unlocked the door to the hidden room and found Julian, for once, on the bed. "Good, you're awake." Allan stepped in, grabbing the chair from the desk and sitting. "C'mere, I want you to look at these." He brought out the several burlap-wrapped bars of soap. "They're all made from natural ingredients, easy on sensitive skin. I get them from a little shop just inside the city limits. Like the smell?" He almost felt responsible for the horrible actions he committed when he wasn't in control. He barely remembered them, but they were there, in his mind somewhere.

He approached Allan when instructed and looked at what he held. Bars of soap that looked handmade and smelt like sandal wood and honey. He nodded and smiled, though didn't know why he felt so happy. He should be mad, fighting, trying to escape. Something about how Allan went out of his way to buy organic, expensive soap for him made him feel as though the man really cared for him. He found the journal he had been drawing in and flipped to a blank page.

"They smell beautiful. Thank you for the thought, Allan. I really appreciate you are caring for me. Thank you so much." He wrote this quickly and showed the man, wishing he could speak instead. He wanted to thank Allan, but at the same time hate on him. He wanted to hug Allan, but at the same time punch his face. He felt so confused. He wanted Allan out of his room, but felt lonely when the man wasn't talking to him. Could he be ill already? Only after one day? He had to write... Yes, once Allan was out of the room, he would write in his journal. He couldn't forget who he was.

Allan twitched his mouth into a smile at the note. "Good. Good." He bent down, grabbing the bottles and lining them on the table beside the bed. "They're clover honey scented. They should bring some shine to that dull hair of yours. Be careful with the bottles, though---they're a little thin." He reached in again, pulling out the tooth brush, toothpaste, and comb. "And these." He tossed them onto the bed beside Julian. "All homemade. The paste won't foam but it'll spread well. And the comb will break easily, so be careful with it."

He picked up the bag, folding it. "I'll get you pencils soon. Have you been drawing?" He was curious now. Curious to see what Julian had flipped away from so he could write.

Julian nodded as Allan spoke, his lighting up to see a comb. The man seemed to know exactly what Julian needed to be somewhat comfortable. When asked about his drawings, he looked down at the book, blushing slightly. He didn't want to show Allan, but knew he had to, to avoid any rage directed at him.

He opened the book to where he had been drawing, handing it to the man and avoiding his gaze. Most of it were elven-like characters, mostly men and mostly naked. He didn't draw from the waist down in most of them, but some were posed front on. The other drawings included a topless woman and a dragon, and a mountain. He often drew fantasy pictures, and loved to read anything with elves or dragons in them.

Allan took the book, studying the pages and smiling a little. "You're a good artist..." Allan said after a moment, pausing on the dragon. "Detailed. And... heh... quite anatomically correct." He smiled a little more, closing the book. "I should get you a sketchbook, eh? Maybe some good quality colored pencils. That'd be nice, wouldn't it? But I think I'll get you the pencils after you've proven not to be wasteful anymore... It'll take a day, at the most, but you ought to know I wouldn't poison you or kill you. Going through all that trouble to get you here, and to waste it all just like that? A stupid idea if you ask me." He shook his head, gathering his hair and pulling it back. "Anyway, Julian, I'll leave you with that. Tomorrow you can eat."

He stood, moving away and to the door. He needed to start work on the pot's painting and glazing, and he had books to take references from. He set an alarm on his watch before stepping out, making sure not to let the pressure cooker's contents go bad.

It would be nice to have something proper to draw on, during his times incarcerated in this basement room. He loved the idea and nodded with a smile. Not be wasteful... He had to be thankful for everything Allan gave him. He had to use what he was given and not waste it in anyway. That meant writing with the pen and in the journals. That mean using the soap and shampoo and toothpaste, toothbrush and comb. He had to smell nice and look nice for Allan.

He ran another bath, this time using the soap and shampoo given to him. It felt good to scrub the thin layer of sweat off his skin and soak his aching joints. He washed his hair and dried it with a towel once he got out of the water, draining the tub and combing his hair vigorously as he went to the bedroom with just a towel wrapped around him.

He flipped through one of his atlases, finding the Chinese-style pottery section and agonizing through every page, lighting on a few concepts he liked. Flowers. Blue and black tones, dropping down from the top and coming up from the bottom. Traditional Chinese figures called for pencil-thin brushes and a very steady hand, and he carefully stenciled the outlines with a very thin, very pale paint that would nearly blend in with the dye when it dried. But with the right amount of light, it would be easy to see.

Leaving it to dry when the alarm on his watch went off, Allan went upstairs to check the pot. Unplugging it, he let it set for a while, watching the steam billow up and remembering smoke. His nails dug into the counter, and he shook the thought away, growling and turning and drawing a cup of water, drinking it in a few gulps and pulling a bag of bread from the pantry, setting a few slices aside, and one extra, before lifting the roast and the vegetables up and out of the pot and beginning to shred it. Making it into sandwiches some days later was the best idea, in Allan's opinion, but after a while he had a smaller plate of the beef and bagging the rest. Before he sat, he went downstairs with the single piece of bread, feeling it was better on an adjusting body than nothing at all.

Julian knew he should get dressed, but there was something comforting about being naked. He lay on his back on the bed, running his fingers over the bandages he had carefully covered with plastic, peeling it off and setting it aside for later. His hair was smooth and straight, the way he liked it. He carefully put the comb onto the shelf near his bed, not wanting to break it.

As he heard footsteps, he quickly went to the wardrobe to get dressed, but tripped over and fell on his stomach. His towel had fallen off him as Allan entered his room. He blushed and scrambled to cover himself, embarrassed that the man had seen him naked. Why didn't he put clothes on? He didn't expect Allan to come back down so soon. It seemed he couldn't stop himself from visiting Julian as much as possible.

When he opened the door, Allan didn't necessarily expect to see the spectacle he did. He bit his lip, forcing himself to keep a straight face and push down an amused smile, but also avoid driving his mind to its darkest areas. If he didn't have even a minute ounce of self control he would have easily crossed the room. But now, he kept himself where he was and set the piece of bread on the table beside him. He thought about leaving, but his hand wouldn't move toward the door. Instead, his feet did, and they moved forward, deeper into the room, until he was able to pick Julian up by the arm and collar. "You should at least tell me to keep the basement warm if you want to wander around naked." He said, studying the young man.

He did smell better---like clover honey, sweet. Allan's hand drifted over Julian's shoulder, neck, and down his back a bit. He could see the young man's eyes---green. Gem-like. Not like Darren's. Not horrible, hateful, disgusting like Darren's. Sweet. He bent forward, brushing his nose over Julian's hair.

Julian couldn't stop blushing and found himself in an awkward situation. He wanted to move away from Allan's touch, but he was afraid the man would get mad at him. He let Allan's hands wander and closed his eyes, trying to calm his thudding heart. No one had ever been so intimate with him before, and he really didn't want Allan to be, of all people. He smiled weakly and stepped back slightly, gauging Allan's reaction as he did so.

The man's eyes stayed normal, so he turned and rummaged through the wardrobe for some clothes that would fit him. A lot of it seemed to be much too big, as though they used to belong to someone older than him. Maybe Allan? Probably another victim, he thought darkly, as he bent over to look for underwear.

Suddenly there was nothing near him. An absence of heat, a heartbeat, a cold sensation. Like something was missing. He blinked, finding Julian had backed away, turned. He blinked again---everything was becoming surreal. The colors looked odd. Overly saturated. He grabbed Julian's neck and pushed him into the wardrobe, digging his nails into the back of his neck. But the resulting cry of shock---or pain---or both?---had him releasing the young man and backing away, grabbing his hair. "No, no... Shit, no, I don't do that shit..." Allan's own heart was racing, and he swallowed to keep it calm. He left the room, slamming and locking the door and forcing himself to go upstairs.

He hadn't quite wanted to feel someone's body quite as badly as he had at that moment. He was burning, wanted nothing more than to go back, but taking someone against their will was something he just wouldn't---couldn't---do. He sat at the table he'd left his small dinner at, stabbing at a potato and staring at it before biting in.

Julian's heart was racing as he cowered in the wardrobe, panting slightly as Allan stomped out of the room. What was the man about to do? Why did his body tingle the way it did? He had never been touched the way Allan had touched him before. He had read about it, of course. Part of him felt relieved that at least Allan didn't force himself on him, though for some reason... He sighed and hugged himself before pulling on some pants and stepping back into the room.

He was still shaking as he lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as he thought about what nearly happened. Did he find Allan attractive? Why was he asking himself that question? He had always seemed to like men more than women, and Allan was quite handsome. No, he thought to himself firmly. He tortured me. He's keeping me here against my will. I don't like him. He's a monster. I need to get out of here. Away from him. What if he had...?

He punched a pillow, mad at his arousal. He pulled out his journal and wrote.

I am Julian. I am Julian. Never forget this. I am here against my will, held captive by a perverted monster. He is ugly. I hate him. He's starving me. He gets mad and hurts me. He's mental. He's completely insane. I don't love him. I don't appreciate him. I hate him. I hate him.

Writing this helped calm him a little and he stopped before his hand cramped up too much. He tucked the book back under the mattress and closed his eyes, muttering to himself.

Allan didn't eat much and knew he would regret it. What he did eat felt as if it were heavily laden with what he'd been trying to ignore. Darren. Seeing a bare Julian that seemed to be so readily at his disposal had brought back the happiest times of his life. His happiest times, now so distant. Memories he hated to remember. Darren so sweet, smiling, touching. Together in a way he would have fondly recalled had fire not decided to consume them. He growled, cleaning up his mess and putting the dishes away, going downstairs to check his painting. It was finished drying, and he tested it very gingerly, finally taking its measurements and writing them down, adding an inch to both sides. He would make the box for this one tonight, even if it kept Julian awake. He didn't have to concern himself with his captive's wellbeing. If he wanted to sleep, Julian could sleep in the closet or bathroom, where it was quieter.

Going through the arch to the attached room, he surveyed his saws and sanding papers, his hammers, rulers, and organized stacks of equipment. Nails, screws, toolboxes. He got to work, pulling out a few thin sheets of wood and marking them off with washable white chalk.

Banging. Julian laid awake on the bed, staring up at the dark ceiling. If he had wanted to sleep, there was no way he could do so right now. What on Earth was Allan doing? Making something for him? He shuddered to think what that might be. He shook himself, finally convincing himself that the man was just doing some art stuff. Did he do commissions for other people? What sort of things did he make? Julian remembered seeing an easel as well as sculpting tools. He wondered what Allan's works looked like. He couldn't imagine such a man create beautiful pieces for others to enjoy.

He got up from the bed and noticed something sitting on the shelf near the door. A piece of bread. When was that put there? Was he allowed to have it? It was barely out of his reach if he was allowed it. He sat back, biting his lip, in turmoil. if he didn't eat it, Allan would get mad at him for wasting. If he did eat it and he wasn't allowed to... He rocked backwards and forwards to the sound of Allan banging whatever he was banging. He sounded nearby.

He tore out a piece of blank paper from one of the journals, and quickly wrote a message to Allan on it. "Am I allowed the bread you left in my room?" Stretching as far as he could reach, he managed to poke the piece of paper under the door. He then returned to the wall which seemed to be adjacent to where Allan was working. He waited for a quiet patch and lightly tapped on the wall, hoping Allan wouldn't think he was complaining.

He hated using power tools. Small, intricate nails and powerful wood glues kept his creations in order. He'd asked if he were to create a frame for the painting, but his client had said she'd ordered one to the specific measurements the painting was to be. He'd been rather saddened by that---he liked to do wood carvings and frames could be so beautiful with the right amount of work put into it. He nailed the back of the wood to the long, thin spears that would form the sides of the box, sanding each bit lightly so it wouldn't be loose in any way. He had to make it perfect---that was why people loved his work. It was all perfect.

When he finished nailing the last side of the box, Allan paused and knitted his brow. It had to be Julian pecking the wall the woodwork room shared with his. Sighing, he left his work, unlocking the door and pausing before he spoke, looking down at the paper he'd stepped over and snatching it up. He stared at Julian. "Yeah, eat it, that's why I left it here." He said, sounding exasperated. "Is that all you wanted?" He crumpled the paper, pocketing it to throw away later.