Basement

Gus never really considered himself nosy. Sure, there were times when he was a little too curious, poked his head in where it didn't belong, and regretted it. One time, he found out one of his friends didn't really like him. It wasn't.. the end of the world, for sure, but it sucked. It hurt, and the saucier wished he'd never heard of it at all; wished he simply smiled, and stayed ignorant to that horrible truth. 

This.. wasn't like that at all. 

It was far from simple— far from just friends disliking each other, or not liking how they dressed, or the way they talked, no. This was quite literally the end of the world, for Gus. Or at least, the world he had grown up in for the past seventeen years. Seventeen. How could you keep a secret so baffling for seventeen years, only to let it slip one summer's day? It's almost like she wanted him to find out, he thinks. Some sort of.. messed up way of telling him the truth, his mother was never really good at confrontation after all. He wonders if that's what started this all— a misunderstanding. But just a misunderstanding wouldn't.. cause something like this. 

If he could go back in time, maybe he wouldn't have looked beneath that old, red carpet. Or maybe he would have still done it. He's not entirely sure what was worse— knowing the truth, or being completely blind to it. Either way, it shaped him, this secret. As much as he tried to deny it, it was a part of him. Of his family. 

The mansion had always been empty. His voice bounced off of pristine walls as he sang off-key, he could jump and run and do cartwheels, if he could. It was just that spacious.. just that empty. His father was always at the restaurant, or in other places doing things for the restaurant, and his mother.. well, Gus didn't quite know. She had always seemed so busy; there were permanent frown lines on her face, and he's decided in himself that they weren't just from old age. He didn't want to be much more of a nuisance to her, so he simply followed after his father's footsteps when he could. Read his books, and spent his time in the kitchen. It never really occurred to him if his parents had... tried his cooking. He's forgotten most of this period in his life anyway— and for.. good reason.

But he couldn't forget the stark red of the carpet against the marble floor. It's always been there; something he never paid attention to. It was a carpet, for heaven's sake. Only this time, it was slightly.. askew. 

Anyone might have overlooked this, but not Gus. His mother was quite meticulous about everything— if she could control everything within her little bubble she would— though, not to say she doesn't already. Perhaps she was too busy trying to control other aspects of her life, that she had forgotten about the basement hidden under the rug of their living room. Perhaps she was in a hurry.. and didn't notice the small droplets of blood leading into it.

He should've just ran away and never looked back. He should've, maybe, called for someone else. Someone older, someone smarter, someone who wasn't Gus. Instead, he slowly unveiled the wooden door. Opening it up slowly, descending down the dark stairs. The air grew cold and murky. Every squeak and creak made his heart pound against his rib cage louder, and louder. He should've stopped there.

What was he expecting to find anyway? Secret treasure? Forgotten toys from his childhood? Whatever it was... he had to know.

Regret filled his mind as he tugged the chain light open. His eyes scanned the walls.. names written in golden plaques. There were so many of them. Names he didn't recognize— all in English, French, what-have-you. Fear struck his chest as he stared dumbfounded. It didn't make any sense. It would've been easier to ask, he decides, until of course.. he stumbles upon a particular plaque.

He approached it hesitantly, a hand reaching up to trace the engraving on the gold. It was rusted. Old. But the memories were vivid in his head— a bright smile and a pleasant laugh to go along with the name.

Tate Chu.

Suddenly, everything clicked. The names, all stacked up high against each other, he hadn't seen these people in forever. Never heard of them again, never spoke of them again. They all dated back to who-knows-how-long; the saucier was too afraid to wonder. His feet carried him back up to the light of the living room where he fell to his knees, panting, and sobbing. He fought the bile rising up from his stomach, keeping it down. Down like what he had just seen— pushing it far.. far into his mind, where it could never see the light of day. Like.. the golden plaques of names he recogni— no. It never happened. It was all a simple.. misunderstanding.

None of this could be true, he decided, shutting the wooden hatch with care and pressing the red carpet down firmly against it. It's just his.. imagination, isn't it? His mother and father were lovely, hardworking people. They loved him.. and he loved them back, right? That much is true.

If not.. what would become of him?