Julian felt bad he had interrupted Allan, and hoped he wasn't mad. He nodded and waited for the man to leave the room, vowing to be quiet. He didn't want to be a bad boy, to have Allan hurt him again. He managed to get the bread and ate it quickly, glad to have something to settle his groaning stomach. He filled the rest of it with water and went to his makeshift bed on the ground, curling up and falling asleep.

It was strange. He was floating, like he was a piece of driftwood out at sea, the currents gently caressing him and taking him to places unknown. He couldn't see anything but waves around him, colourful fish below and a bright purple sky above him. The colours were so vivid. He smiled and hummed to himself, giggling at the warm fingers stroking his skin.

They belonged to Allan, who held him tightly and buried his face in his hair. Julian purred with happiness, looking into the dark eyes of his captor and falling into them. Fire. Pain. Raging monsters... He screamed.

Julian awoke with a start, sweating from the nightmare he had just had. But what was it about? He couldn't remember. He moaned slightly, hugging himself as he felt sick. Probably because he was full of water. He heard movement upstairs and wondered if it was morning. He closed his eyes and drifted back off to sleep.

He worked late into the night, constructing the lid of the box and screwing the hinges into the hard wood, oiling the gold hinges so they didn't squeak or freeze when one opened them. He varnished two small knobs and attached them to the left and right so the lid easily opened. With ornate brandings, Allan pressed the clients' initials into the wood carefully before varnishing it smoothly, and was happy with the latches that kept the box from opening. Glad to have it finished just before three in the morning, Allan put it aside and decided to sleep before he fell over. Crawling up the stairs felt impossible, but he managed it, falling into bed and closing his strained eyes.

He saw Darren immediately. Laughing. This time he held the box Allan worked so hard on. He threw it into a wood chipper. No... Not the box. He'd just finished it...! Allan roared, bounding forward and gasping when Darren stepped aside, and the blades met his face.

He woke with a faint yelp, sitting up and feeling suddenly lightheaded. Lightheaded. Angry. Enraged. He stood, finding the closet door and grabbing a baseball bat he usually forgot he owned, and slamming it against the doorway to his bathroom. It shattered in half, spraying splinters everywhere, and Allan left it where it was, going downstairs and feeling dry-mouthed. He had to get a drink of water. Had to eat. Finish his work. He couldn't forget about Julian. Julian, not Darren. Not Darren. Allan shook his head hard, going into the kitchen and running some water. He shivered in the cool left in his house by nighttime, setting a skillet on the stove and pausing before he turned the stove on at all. Pulling his silk, nearly sheer robe over his body, Allan went downstairs and opened the door to Julian's room, tapping to wake him up.

"Is there anything you don't like to eat?" He asked, feeling a wave of irrational annoyance fall over him. No, this wasn't Darren. It was Julian. But Julian still needed a firm hand to keep him good, so he didn't become like Darren.

Julian blinked awake at the tapping noise and looked over at Allan, who seemed to be wearing a revealing night gown. He blushed and searched for a piece of paper and pen, quickly writing something down in reply to the man's question.

As long as it hasn't got seafood or nuts in it, I'll eat anything you make me. He wasn't lying either. His stomach still felt a bit uneasy, but he knew this was simply because it was full of nothing but water. He showed the man his reply, but avoided Allan's gaze. His heart was racing and his hands were itching to draw Allan's form. He hadn't seen many men so close to naked before. Maybe he could sketch something for Allan. A gift for being so kind. He shook himself. Kind? What was he thinking? He bit his lip, annoyed at his thoughts.

Allan approached, kneeling down so he could see the small writing and nodding slowly. "Well, you're easy to please, aren't you?" He smiled a little, placing his hand on Julian's head and pushing his hair back. "I like that. You'll be able to eat soon, and you'll be able to keep eating if you're good." Before he stood, Allan pulled his hand over Julian's neck and plucked at his shirt, feeling his heart beating fast. He pressed his hand against the young man's throat light enough for him to be able to breathe, and slid his fingers down a little, under the shirt, and backed away as he'd intended to before.

When he closed the door, Allan's hand still tingled a little as if he were still touching Julian. Flexing his fingers a bit, he shook it away and went upstairs again, breathing out carefully to keep himself calm. Why did he suddenly want Julian? It was confusing, bothersome. Maybe because he seemed so like Darren before Darren went bad. But Julian wouldn't go bad. Allan wouldn't let him.

Julian shook himself, his skin still tingling where Allan had touched him. His heart was racing and he needed to calm himself. He went to the bathroom and splashed cold water over his face, glaring at his reflection. How could he be developing feelings for his cruel captor? Was it because he was so desperately lonely? Because he had never been touched by an older man? He punched the wall, glad the pain made his thoughts less confused. He had to escape, had to get out of this place.

But how? He returned to the room, digging the clothes out of the closet, as if searching for something, anything. He found tattered rags and scratch marks on the uncarpeted floor and gulped down dread. Did those belong to Allan's previous victims? He suddenly felt sad. This person. What had happened to them? Had they been murdered? Did anyone know their names? Care that they died? He started to cry, putting the clothes back into the closet and closing the doors. If he were to die... No one would care. No one would know his name except Allan. He slumped to the floor and hugged himself. He was going to die alone and forgotten.

He moved almost mechanically when he was upstairs again, starting the stove and cooking a larger breakfast than normal. Four eggs instead of two, three more strips of bacon, two extra slices of toast, and a few strawberries for both plates. He couldn't help but recall early mornings when he often made breakfast for Darren too, early on, when he would stay the night. He liked, then, to be surprised from behind after sneaking out of the room to let Darren sleep. But he grimaced at the memories now, and wrinkled his nose as he plated the food, setting one on the center island and covering the other, giving Julian a plastic fork instead of metal and taking it downstairs.

He opened the door with one hand, settling the plate on the desk between the two small bookshelves. "Stop that crying, it'll make you sick." He said bluntly. "Don't waste this time, or you'll go a week without food." He studied Julian's small form in the corner, then turned and left the room, locking the door behind him and going to his painting studio, into the woodworking room and gathering his box. He just had to pad the inside and cover it with dark red velvet, then it would be finished. And he had to focus on that, not on Julian. Not right now.

Julian wiped his tears with a shaking hand, knowing that what Allan said was true, and being afraid of what he threatened. He got up and went to see what breakfast the man had made for him, and suddenly felt impressed. It wasn't just bread and jam like he expected. Allan knew how to cook, and he cooked well. Julian almost felt thankful as he dug into the food, never believing he would be this happy to taste bacon and eggs.

Once he had finished, he left his empty plate where it was and entered the bathroom to clean himself up and brush his teeth. It felt good to have a fresh, minty taste in his mouth and he smiled weakly at himself in the mirror. His eyes were shadowed and baggy, and his skin was pale. He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. Had it been weeks? No, he knew it had only been a couple of days. He returned to his room to write in his journal.

He lined the inside of the box with soft fabric that wasn't entirely easy on the eyes until he formed deep red velvet over it and tightened it down over the soft lining. He didn't use glue to tighten the velvet---he used gold fasteners that looked like buttons on each corner and on the bed where the painting would rest. Then he covered the inside of the lid with the velvet, gluing it down tightly, and closing it so the velvet would keep its form while he went to his painting room and inspected the painting he'd finished, using a calligraphy pen to sign his name in the bottom right corner. He picked it up, feeling its weight in his hands, and took it into the woodworking room, lying it down and smiling a little. It wasn't bad. The dog certainly looked like it was real. He opened the box and laid the painting down, closing and latching the top so it wouldn't open.

He brought it with him, lying it on the worktop near the steps leading out of the basement and went to check on Julian. It was harder to dispose of food like that than it was a soup, but when he opened the door he was glad to see the plate empty in a way that didn't say it had been scooped off. "Glad to see you didn't waste this time." He said, looking at Julian as he wrote. Stepping in, Allan picked up the plate and stepped back. "I'm heading out soon. Maybe I'll remember to get your pencils while I'm away. Anything besides pencils? Paint? An artist shouldn't go without, after all." He felt the need to be a little kinder. Without a window to at least see the sun, it was confusing enough for Julian. Maybe the young man would start to like him. Allan rolled his eyes at the thought, but it didn't go away.

Julian finished writing about the food as Allan came in, but he didn't quickly put away the journal in case the man grew suspicious. He had yet to actually plan an escape and knew it would be stupid to write it down. He remembered the claw marks in the closet and shuddered, imagining a person, trapped like he was and desperate to get out. So desperate they tried to dig through solid wood.

Paints would be nice, but I really would like a proper sketchbook and watercolour pencils... If that's alright with you. He didn't want to seem demanding of Allan, afraid of what might happen if he 'misbehaved'. So far it seemed the man was controlling his demons and Julian wanted to keep it that way. As Allan went to leave, he opened his mouth and tried to speak once again.

"Th... Thank... A... Lan."

Allan crouched to investigate the note and nodded. "Sure, sure. I'll see what they have." Standing, he leaned over Julian and tried to see what he was writing, but didn't feel it was necessary right now. Despite his curiosity, he would wait. Perhaps sneak in while Julian was sleeping, though it was hard to pinpoint when he thought nighttime was. Perhaps he needed an alarm clock. He paused when Julian spoke, and smiled. "Thanks a lot?" He asked. "Seems you're speaking better. Keep practicing and maybe we can actually have a spoken conversation."

Stepping out of the room, Allan turned off the light. The glow from the bathroom light would be more than enough to write by, after all. He locked the door and replaced the panel, making sure it was sturdy, before taking the plate and the box with the painting and going upstairs. Before he left, he had to clean the dishes. He simply couldn't let any stay dirty while he was away---only if he was forced to run and had no time at all. With them finished, Allan grabbed the painting in its box and left, locking the door behind him. He looked forward to delivering the painting, then getting to work on the pot and its blue-toned painting. It was, perhaps, one of his favorite steps. But now he couldn't think about that. He thought about Julian instead. How Julian wouldn't hurt him like Darren.

Julian curled back up on his makeshift bed, glancing to the wardrobe again. He couldn't stop wondering how many others Allan had kidnapped and killed. How long until he was killed? He sobbed quietly, but no tears fell. He had to stay on Allan's good side, he had to keep it together. He got to his feet and paced the room, exercising his legs and practising walking. It seemed he was getting stronger, though he couldn't tell if it was the desperation of wanting to escape or simply because he hadn't really tried before.

He went to run another bath for himself, deciding he should keep himself as clean as possible. He didn't want to get sick.

Delivering the painting went easily enough. The owner of the dog was overjoyed that the painting looked so real, so intricate, and was delivered in such a beautiful box. Allan was given cash---a total of three thousand dollars for the time and high quality supplies that had been used in the making of the painting, which Allan gratefully accepted with a bright smile, as if there wasn't a young man chained to a wall in his basement behind a panel that hid a door. He left the home, going into town with a mental list. He did need to replenish his own paints, buy some replacement brush heads. Stopping at a large art shop, he found a thick sketchbook and bought two, and a large pallet of watercolor pencils and a plastic case with paints. He thought about brushes, but decided to let Julian have access to some of his older brushes instead. They weren't quite as high quality as they had been several months ago, but they were still acceptable.

Taking it to the front of the store and buying the items, Allan slung the bag over his arm and went back to his vehicle, pulling his hair back and getting back in his vehicle, settling the bag beside him and starting off. Maybe giving him such high quality paints and pencils would calm the man down a little.

After the bath, Julian dried and dressed himself, going back to the room to take the things out of the closet again. He hoped Allan wouldn't get mad at him for making a bed in the closet, seeing he wasn't allowed to sleep under the bed and refused to sleep on the thing he had been hurt on. Blood still stained the blankets, and he hated to look at it. He covered the claw marks, trying not to think about the desperate attempts at escape of whoever had been here before him.

As he put the blanket over the ground, he heard a strange noise. Feeling around a bit, he found a loose floorboard in the closet. Julian's heart leapt as he pulled it up, revealing a small hollow in the floor where a journal was lodged. Had Allan known that this was here? His hands shook as he picked up the book and opened it. The scrawling letters inside were barely readable, but Julian managed to decipher some of it. It was the journal of someone called Darren, probably the man Allan had kept before Julian.

"I can't believe it. I just can't. That bastard... Drugged me, got me in some place... What is he going to do to me? I've been searching the room and have found some loose floorboards in the closet. When he isn't down in the basement, I will work on a tunnel out of this place. I need to get away, get back to Fred and forget about all this..." Julian sighed, his eyes watering slightly. Whoever this man was... He didn't get out.

He always had a bad feeling about leaving people alone, and as he pulled back into the driveway he felt it. Shutting the engine down and grabbing the bag, Allan was very quiet. He didn't slam the car door---he closed it carefully and used a hip to latch it, then carefully stepped into the house, closing each door easily. He knew the place so well, each little creak he'd planned out and predicted years ago. He avoided these and slid his way into the basement, careful to remove the panel and slide it aside and quietly unlock the door. What would he find? Would Julian have found a way to get himself out of his situation? Allan stifled a growl and pushed open the door. "Julian!"

What was that in his hand? A book? A series of papers? They didn't look new. "What is that?" He growled, moving forward and putting the bag down. "Give." He didn't wait for Julian to comply---he snatched the item away and stared. "Fuc---Darren..." He breathed out, but it was shaky. "Get out of that closet. Don't let me find you snooping around in there or I'll confine you to the bed, got it?" He took Julian up by the collar and shook him a bit. "You understand me?" He didn't wait then, either. He put the young man down. "Look in the bag." Allan put the bundle under his arm and strode away, slamming the door this time. Darren---he should have known. The man had been a bit too complacent from time to time. But how much had he written?

Julian shook with fear and flinched as Allan approached him, taking the journal from him and throwing the bag of art supplies at his feet. Allan looked mad, but not like the time he had hurt Julian. Maybe he would be punished... Starved again? He sobbed, hugging himself and wishing he had never tried to clean out the closet. Who was this Darren? He was sure he had heard Allan speak the name before. Maybe it was the reason why he was the way he was... This Darren had hurt him badly.

He only moved once he was sure Allan wasn't coming back for him, looking into the bag and smiling softly at what he had found there. A scrapbook, paints... He made a note to paint something nice for Allan in thanks for his gift. He looked down at the bandages of where he had been hurt. The wounds were still fresh, but they didn't hurt any more.

It took a while to calm himself down enough so that his hands weren't shaking as he opened the ratty journal. There were several dozen entries and each looked to be one after the other, day to day thoughts. Mostly Darren cursed Allan for being a psycho bastard, wondering if he could manually loosen the bolts on the wall that held the chain, wondering where a guy called Fred was and whether he had cops looking for him. Evidently not, and that made Allan smirk with the knowledge. No one knew where Darren wandered off to, maybe because he had a habit of vanishing without a trace to travel. He was always an airhead, sometimes losing himself and deciding to stay here or there indefinitely, until the next place called to him. Darren had said he'd stop with Allan. They'd live in one place. And he seemed to want to, too. Until he started lying to Allan.

He slammed the journal shut and shoved it away from him, halfway across the table. He was so sick of constantly finding reminders of Darren all over the house. Maybe he should have burned it to the ground like Darren had burned so much. Then he could take little Julian with him and forget this place ever existed. Maybe he needed that. Maybe they both needed that. Julian didn't need to entertain ideas of making a tunnel. There was a cinder block wall all around the basement, so even if he could burrow down deep enough it would have been a dead end. Darren hadn't known that. Maybe he would have had Allan not taken care of him so much faster than he'd wanted to... He closed his eyes, getting up and lowering his head. He just needed to work. Work on that pot he was supposed to be making for his client. He would leave Julian to his isolation and supplies until mealtimes rolled around.