Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tooru screamed, throat protesting harshly at the continued strain. The cruelly harsh grip on his biceps only tightened, rough palms and fingers digging harshly into his arm, grinding against his bone over his skin and over the thin hospital gown he had been forced into upon his arrival. He stumbled over his own feet as he was pushed forward. Before he even knew what was happening, there was a growled, Good luck, pretty boy, and with a final screamed shout he was shoved harshly through an opened door padded door and falling onto his knees on a white mat. 

He shot back up to his feet clumsily, frantically lurching towards the sturdy door, but it was slammed silently in his face. He threw himself against it, banging his fist onto it again and again and again, until the side of his palm was bright red and irritated.

“PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, L-LET ME OUT, I DIDN’T- I’m NOT-” he cut himself off suddenly, and backed up, his bare feet sinking into the soft padded floor. He didn’t even notice the hot tears streaming down his cheeks and jaw and chin until salty tears were flowing over his lips and he tasted them on his tongue.

He ran as fast as he could towards that heavy door, and shouted as his shoulder collided with it painfully. He panted, his entire tall frame heaving with each choked gasp for breath as he stumbled backwards.

“LET ME OUT!” He shrieked a final time, before finally breaking down into sobs, crystal tears cascading down his face to splash onto the ground, snot running grossly from his nose. He ripped a hand through his matted brown hair, vision swimming with the panic coursing violently through his veins as he stumbled to turn around, to survey the rest of the room he was put into to try and find a way to escape.

He didn’t belong here.

This was a place for psychopaths and sociopaths and schizophrenics and those who experience psychosis and mania; a place for those who need to be kept away from society. Not Oikawa Tooru, an average sports-playing college student. Sure, he struggled a bit with a minor learning disorder when he was younger, he had a stutter until he was twelve that still sometimes liked to make itself known every once and a while when he was particularly worked up- but he did not belong here! Not at all!

He frantically looked around, panting and sobbing, until his eyes finally noticed the pale little blob of color on the floor. His breathing hitched and he quickly wiped tears from his eyes to get a clearer image, but when he did he could only scream.

There was someone else in the room, too.

His vision was still blurry, still swimming, but he could make out a pile of coarse white fabric and ghost-like skin, and  a mop of gray hair that Tooru would scoff at- it was so fucking messy, strands standing up all over, frizzy as if it were rubbed with a balloon- if he wasn’t sure his own was just as bad.

Then the tangle of skinny, knobby-looking limbs shifted, and the biggest eyes Oikawa had ever seen in his life blinked up at him, as if blinking away dazed shock and surprise.

But then, the surprised expression morphed into something more desperate.

The man’s eyes widened, dark pupils overtaking the rain cloud colored irises. Tooru jerked backwards with a horrified yelp, back hitting against the door as the male lunged, lurching forward with crazed eyes and parted chapped lips. The brunette’s heart raced, thumping wildly against his chest and panic crashing over him like a freezing wave- until the sound of metal pieces clinking against each other echoed around the white room, and the smaller man’s body hit the padded ground with a thud. 

It was then that Tooru noticed the heavy chain that connected from the white tiles to a heavy thick band around the man’s throat. There was a muted whimper as the male collapsed into a pile of messy raincloud hair and wet silver eyes, deathly pale skin made even paler against the thick, coarse fabric of the straightjacket keeping his arms firmly crossed over his torso- and making sure that he couldn’t stop himself from falling right onto his face.

A straightjacket.

The man was chained to a wall, and wearing a straightjacket that kept his arms tightly and firmly wrapped around his front. His shoulders were angled in a way that looked stiff and painful, the heavy buckles over the thick fabric looked unforgiving, but Tooru wouldn’t truly notice these things until later; right now, he was busy breathing heavily and choking on whimpered sobs as he slid down the wall, landing on his ass silently because the ground was fucking padded, as if he would try to kill himself on it if he could.

Which he wouldn’t. Because he was fine, he didn’t belong here.

“Please,” a quiet but steady voice made his gaze shoot back to the man on the floor. 

“Please, please, please,” the man was chanting the syllable, begging, cheek still smushed on the ground as he looked at Tooru; his gray eyes were glassy and his silvery hair stood up in all directions, his ass high in the air with his shoulders to the floor.

Tooru’s heart was still beating out of his chest, slamming against his ribcage. He opened his mouth to speak- to tell this insane person that I don’t know what the fuck you want, shut up!, but his voice caught painfully in his throat, and all he could do was stare down at the guy with wide eyes.

That straightjacket looked uncomfortable.

“Pleasepleeaase,” the man continued, his words starting to slur together. He shifted, clearly trying to scoot closer to Tooru, but the chains just clanked and the crazy man just let out another please!

But then, when Tooru pried his gaze away to look for a vent or a crack in the wall or- or anything, another word tumbled from the gray-haired.

“T-Touch!” The word was cried out, and then the man was shaking: shoulders trembling, chest heaving. “Please!”

Fuck, Tooru was stuck with a nutjob, and he didn’t even know for how long.

Or why.

“You’re suffering from an illness in the mind, Tooru! M-making you feel these things. W-we got an e-email from someone regarding you, they say that they can help you!”

He couldn’t even tell if he was crying anymore, he was just staring at the man he shared this cell with, his vision dancing back and forth from focused to unfocused.

“T-touch, please,” the man continued, and it was almost a whine and it grated violently against Tooru’s ears.

“Shut the fuck up!” He snapped, wiping his eyes with the front of his wrists with a loud, snotty sniff. He expected the man to flinch back, maybe start crying, because that’s what fragile, mentally disturbed people who are begging for god knows what do, but instead the silver eyes hardened into steel and thick eyebrows furrowed.

“You shut up,” the man hissed, because apparently he could talk now. Oikawa’s eyes widened, only for a second, before glaring right back. “Just fuckin’ hug me before you’re chained up, too.”

Oikawa gaped in between hiccups, watching as the man shimmied his way into a kneeling position. He winced slightly as he rolled his shoulders- Oikawa could only imagine how uncomfortable and painful that jacket was.

He didn’t want to be put in one.

“I-I’m not going to be chained up, I’m not even going to be here for long, I don’t belong here!” He shouted the last part, once again hoping the chained-up male would flinch back and regret his words and just shut up, but all he got was an eye roll.

“No one belongs here, dumbass. How does someone belong in a place like this?” He rolled his eyes again and leaned back, sitting against the wall across from Oikawa with his legs spread out in front of him. “And you’re going to be here for a very long time, don’t get your hopes up.”

He looked completely different from the shaking man who had been slurring pleads only moments before, the only trace of his previous demeanor being the slight tremble of his shoulders. Oikawa felt another flash of irritation, cutting through his persistent humming panic.

“The fuck, are you bipolar or something?” Not that Oikawa had any problem with people who suffered with mental instabilities or illnesses, but he thought it was a valid question because what the fuck?

“Nah. I’m pretty sure there’s a few things fucked up with my mind, though. Well, I did have anxiety- still do, probably, but it’s lost in all the other shit- anxiety was the guise of which they took me here, but now I’m fucked up because of all the shit they do here. And you’re a fully developed adult, huh? You’re going to have it even worse, adjusting. Now, I suggest you come over here and hug me before they test to see how long you can go without human contact before you break.” All of the words seemed to spill casually out of chapped lips, all in a single breath. And yet, Oikawa was the one left breathless.

Every trace of any word that Oikawa could have formed left him. His mind blanked entirely, and he was silent for several heavy seconds before tentatively asking, “What?”

-- four months later--

“This is Koushi Sugawara, twenty years old,” the woman droned, clutching a clipboard to her white lab-coat covered chest. She was introducing Koushi and Tooru to yet another cruel-looking person, something that has been happening almost every day for the past three weeks. “Japanese nationality, personality type extroverted, 174.3 centimeters tall and 58.51 kilograms. Currently under close watch and discipline of… straightjacket for one week- two days of which have already been served. He is on his fourth year of stay in three months. Continuously problematic. Current study is his ability to form relationships with other people. His-”

The dark haired man sent her an irritated look, cutting her off with an irritated growl. “Do you ever shut up?”

The doctor’s mouth fell open in shock, glasses falling askew on her face. Anger flashed in her eyes, but she only nodded, taking a single stiff step back and gesturing rigidly to where Koushi was huddling in the corner. The chain was wrapped around the gray-haired man’s leg, probably done during his frantic scuttle to the corner. He’s glowering up at the new man, glare heated and burning with conviction despite his trembling.

“Why hello there, little snow fox,” the man spoke sweetly, sickeningly so, crouching near and reaching a tanned hand out to Koushi. The silvernette flinched back violently, a choked noise escaping him. It pulled at Tooru’s heart, almost as hard as the guard-looking guy’s hand on his hair. 

“Stay still,” the guard warned, voice strangely gentle in the brunette’s ear and contrasting in the worst way with the vice-like grip on chestnut strands. Tooru ceased his squirming with a petulant huff, the childish reaction his only way of protest that wouldn’t get him punished.

As bad as Tooru felt for his cellmate, as much as he wanted to help him, he was going to avoid another punishment at all costs. He was sure Koushi would understand- the smaller man had endured probably a hundred times more discipline than Tooru, surely he would understand Tooru’s disdain for and avoidance of it.

“Don’t touch me,” Koushi hissed, cowering further into the corner. His eyes were made of steel, hard and glinting and angry. 

The doctor-looking man grinned, the edges of his pristine white lab coat dragging against the ground

“And his partner in this cell is Tooru Oikawa, twenty years old. His second month in placement ends in-”

The man whipped around, pale eyes burning as he glared at the woman. “Jesus christ woman, shut the fuck up! That information is irrelevant, and irrelevance is not efficient.”

Tooru was trembling with how straight his posture was, his eyes wet. The hand on his hip burned, scolding a reminder of the other ways hands have been used against him. Not for the first time, he zoned out, vision unfocusing and shifting into something hazy and fuzzy that he didn’t even register. 

He was knocked back into reality when his head was yanked back and then harshly pushed forward, so he was forced to come back to reality and look at the new doctor. 

“Ask him why he’s here, Tooru,” he demanded impatiently, as if he had already spoken, not once glancing back at the brunette he was talking to; he was still softly stroking the glaring Koushi’s cheek, with the same sweet smile on face to contrast with his dangerous tone. Koushi was squirming, silently with a lethal, desperate glower.

“W-why are you here, K-Koushi?” Tooru managed to force out, encouraged to obey by warning hand sliding to his hip. The guard here always treated intimate touch as a punishment, and it was destroying his previous view on intimacy. 

No response, then the doctor dude roughly grabbed Koushi’s face and laughed. “Because this kind of face wouldn’t last two days in prison.” Koushi made a protesting noise at the suddenness of the fingers digging harshly into his cheeks, but it was cut off with the way the man’s other hand gripped the chain and tugged, hand on his face making it so that the smaller male stayed still while his airflow was cut off.

The silvernette’s glare didn’t falter, even if his lips fell open, smooshed together awkwardly by the doctor’s hand as he gulped and struggled for air.

“This is the type of face you want to see cry, no? Pale and pretty, big eyes that shine when they pool with tears, and look!” the doctor’s grin widened as Koushi’s eyes hardened even despite the helpless haze of panic starting to overtake them. The prisoner was starting to jerk, pant, choke, desperate while tears started to leave wet trails down his cheeks. The doctor looked over his shoulder at Tooru, making sure the panicking man was watching. He winked at the brunette, before tugging harder at the chain and ripping a gag-like, pained sound from deep in Koushi’s throat. “-his chokes sound so lovely, don’t they?”

Tooru jerked in the guard’s hold, something akin to a sob escaping him. But then the hand on his hip shifted, not up or down but left, thick fingers brushing against something that made any and all protest drain from his body.

The doctor grinned, lips stretching so that every single too-white tooth showed. “Don’t they, Tooru?”

“Y-ye..” the rest of the hoarse word got caught in the lump blocking his throat. Koushi’s body stiffened, then slumped over into a lifeless heap.

There was the metallic sound of metal links clinking against each other as the doctor carelessly dropped the chain. He loomed over the unconscious man’s body, and if Tooru’s vision wasn’t blanked in panic he would have screamed in an attempt to tell him to back off.

Luckily, all the doctor did was strip Koushi of the straight jacket, remove the thick collar connecting him to the wall, and leave with a final gleeful wink at Tooru. The guard shoved Tooru forward harshly before following suit.

The first thing he did was  wince as he noticed all the patches of dark red and splotchy blue and purple and sickish yellow and green. The coarse fabric of the straight jacket had rubbed his skin completely raw in little patches over his slender body, and looked uncomfortable at best- and nearly unbearable at worst. There were bruises littered everywhere, too, and Tooru just couldn’t look. He focused on silvery hair as he rushed over to his cellmate, collecting him into his arms. He was no medical expert, his knowledge on healthcare starting and ending with what he’s learned on his mother’s cheesy medical dramas. He didn’t know what to do.

Koushi was close to lifeless as Tooru pulled him against his chest, leaning his back against the pristine white wall. He didn’t move a millimeter, just slumped against the taller, chest barely rising and exposed skin cold.

We can’t stay here.

--

“W-what was that, that the doctor said about prison?” Tooru asked tentatively, a few hours after the iron door locked them in their hell. Koushi had woken up after a little over an hour, scared and sore, and he was still shaking when the question was asked.

At least they had each other, of course. (But sometimes, unlike right now, the presence of Koushi seemed to only add to the curse).

The man looked up at him with silver eyes blurred and hazy with tears, wetness caught in his eyelashes and making them catch the too-bright light. There was an angry red indent over his neck, and it was quickly bruising into an ugly, dark, blotted color. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his new freedom, but maybe the way he kept his thin arms over his chest had more to do with his nakedness.

Koushi opened his trembling lips, and then closed them. Tooru nodded and looked away, figuring that was it, when a light weight dropped into his lap. He looked down in surprise- Koushi had immediately fled to the corner opposite the wall Tooru had been leaning against the second he became conscious- and saw the battered, bare, grotesquely beaten and stupidly beautiful body of Koushi Sugawara collapsed over his lap. 

“Hair,” Koushi croaked the command. Tooru obeyed, coursing his fingers through silvery hair and thinking that they can’t stay here. 

After a few moments of silence, Koushi started talking. His voice was cracked and dry, but not defeated, as he told Tooru a story that made the brunette’s muscles tighten and his blood boil.

Koushi panted, throat screaming in protest to the constant shouting. His vision blanked for a moment as his cheekbone collided with a wooden step, and he groaned loudly in pain. He let his body fall limp, the life and fight draining from his body as heavy hands harshly gripped his biceps and forearms, bringing them behind his back to snap too-tight handcuffs into place. A grimy hand forced its way under his shirt, feeling oily and covered in sweat and dirt. It probably only happened in the previous struggle to force Koushi down, but it still made a cold feeling jolt up his spine and stab through every nerve ending.

Something freezing and metallic suddenly dug into his skin, the chains connecting the cuffs singing as they were locked into place. 

“Fuck you,” he spat, continuing his struggle despite the sharp, painful angle his shoulders were forced into. 

“Feisty,” the burly man snickered behind him, jerking Koushi up by the handcuffs. The teenager hissed at the sudden pain, adrenaline overwhelming his bloodstream and overtaking any anxiety. He shouted again as he was forcefully taken out of his home into the dark, clouded, humid night. 

A painful, stabbing sting on the side of his neck made him lash out; the last thing he saw before his vision and legs gave out was a woman with hair pulled tightly into a small, neat bun gave him an oily grin, as she flashed a badge at the man. “I’ll be taking him from here, boys. Thank you.”

“My parents let them take me, ‘cuz I had issues with anxiety and panic attacks. They said this was just another mental hospital, and if they sent me here they would help me, and they would fix my behavior. Uhm, also, it was here or juvie, not prison, 'cuz I-" Koushi cut himself off, his voice was growing increasingly thick and crackled. He went slacker in Tooru's lap, the bright lights from above illuminating his rough, frail, multi-colored body.

Silently, Tooru only nodded. Silently, he marveled at how Koushi had been in this system of torture for years- and yet, had yet to have his spirit break. Silently, he vowed, that they wouldn’t stay here forever.

Chapter Text

“It’s health check day!” The woman's cold voice sang, the words rigid, holding frozen edges. Tooru shivered, holding the bag made of skin and full of bones tighter against his chest. Koushi shuddered, but still turned his chin over his shoulder to glare heatedly at the woman who stepped into their cell. The two prisoners were sitting like this: Tooru against the wall, chains around his wrist just tight enough where he couldn't stand up, but loose enough where he could hug Koushi, who was straddling his lap, facing him. 

“Fuck you,” Koushi hissed as Tooru’s grip on his waist tightened. The two had become close over the few months. Maybe it was a result of the shared trauma, or because aside from the sadistic doctors, they only had each other for company. Or maybe, they genuinely did click together. Whatever it was, they were quickly becoming dangerously codependent. 

Tooru admired Koushi’s persistent defiance. The brunette had been in this… place for significantly shorter than him, and yet it was clearly Tooru who was the beaten down and worn out of the two. It was Tooru who always succumbed to the will of the doctors first, and Tooru who no longer put up a fight. 

Koushi was so strong. So strong, and so beautiful- and yet, so desperately, pathetically, weak. He was clad only in the thinnest, palest hospital gown in existence, and every plane of pale, broken, bruised skin was drowning in goose bumps and scars and scabs. His mind was a fortress of stone and spite, but his body was nothing but a flimsy pile of skin and bone. 

Tooru smiled, grinned a small, wicked smirk at the thought. He didn’t know why he derived such pleasure from the thought, but he did. Maybe it was because Koushi relied on him so much, despite his obvious mental superiority.

(And even though Tooru kept letting him down).

Like now. Because behind the women was the guard, who was looking at Tooru with a sultry expression and a perverted leer, silently telling him to let go of their ‘little snowfox’ or else there will be consequences. Consequences that Koushi would probably scoff at, but Tooru…

Tooru just can’t take. 

So without a single protest, he ignored the whine from deep in Koushi’s throat, and released him. Health checks happen individually, and they’re the only time- besides ‘special circumstances’, which are really just punishments or special experiments- that they’re allowed out of their blindingly white room. 

The woman tuttered, tapping her pen against her sleek black clipboard. With her other hand, she gestured to the tall, burly man to step forward, and then pointed to Tooru.

“Watch the attitude, vixen,” she said coldly to Koushi, before turning her attention to Tooru. “It’s going to go a little differently today. You’re both going to go with my friend here, and we’re going to run a few extra tests. If you behave, you will be… rewarded. If you cause him any trouble…” she trailed off, a sick smile forming. Tooru didn’t even need to glance at his cellmate to know that he was about to argue, and it made him stomach drop. He knew what that trailed off sentence meant, what that grotesque smirk was saying. 

He reached forward, chains clanging, and pulled Koushi back into his lap with a hand around his mouth. 

“Shut up,” he hissed, frantically looking back up at the sadistic freaks, who were wearing twin amused expressions. Koushi squirmed, but only for a second. Tooru could practically see the fight leaving his body, and if he wasn’t so scared of being punished for pulling Koushi back into his lap, he would have grinned at the effect he had on the smaller male. 

To his surprise, the woman nodded at him in approval for his rough treatment on Koushi. He felt guilty for it, but a rush of relief flooded him, and he dug his fingers harder into Koushi’s already bruised skin. 

(Despite the fact that Koushi protesting whines usually grated on his ears, the whine that Kushi let out then was nothing short of melodious and beautiful. It was submissive, directed only to Tooru, a sign of compliance that the doctors would never get).

--

“Strip,” the guard ordered calmly, on the other side of one-way glass. Tooru knew that he could see them, but all he saw was the pathetic reflection of him and Koushi’s battered bodies. Slowly, he obeyed, peeling off the plain blue scrubs that he’d had to wear ever since the clothes he came in were torn off. The air was frigid and cold, the atmosphere icy. 

The freezing air struck his hand-printed body like a whip. His knees felt like jello.

Looking to his side, Koushi had yet to move. He was busy glaring heatedly at the mirror, as if the fire of his glower could melt through the tension. Irritation pricked at Tooru’s skin- didn't he realize that his disobedience wou;d affect Tooru? Maybe the silvernette didn’t care about the consequences, but Tooru did. Because if Tooru could behave, be consequence-free for a while, maybe they would let him go, realize that he didn’t belong.

(The idea was bullshit, Tooru knew. Besides, his reasoning was just an unconscious excuse, a coverup for the fact that he was just scared of the punishments, unlike Koushi, who was so bold and fearless).

“Koushi,” he whispered harshly, even though the doctors on the other side of the glass could definitely hear them. There were little microphones hidden everywhere, he knew. “Just do what they say.”

Koushi looked at him incredulously. “This is what they want, you know. You to bend easily to their every whim. To make me do the same.”

“Strip,” the guard's voice spoke again, more stern this time, from a speaker placed somewhere in the room. The voice reverberated around the emptiness, and Tooru looked frantically around the room to find where the speaker was. No luck, he saw only the single metal table in the far corner, and the three white walls. 

“Koushi!” Tooru whispered more angrily, annoyance at the silver-haired’s selfishness almost overtaking his fear at what was to happen. Because if one person did something wrong, both got punished. And Tooru couldn’t take anymore, he just couldn’t. Couldn’t Koushi see that?

Apparently, Koushi could- albeit, infuriatingly reluctantly. After a few more moments of dreadful silence infringed by echoes of the guard’s voice, Koushi shakily raised his hands over his head, dragging the hem of his hospital gown with them.

(Tooru didn’t know whether to gag or grin at the sight of his hollow ribs, the way his ghostly skin clung to his bones). 

The gown hit the hard, spotless floor without a sound. Tooru thought that Koushi could probably be knocked over by an unexpected gust of wind or two. (Tooru was undoubtedly fed more often than Koushi, and he had no idea why. He didn’t know what any reasons here were for anything). 

“Good,” the gravelly voice came again. “Now turn around, straighten your backs, chins up.”

They obeyed. Tooru had the suspicion that pictures were being taken. Not even his time here had wiped away his instincts. 

A heavy click sounded, signaling the opening of the door behind them. Not even Koushi dared to turn around and see who entered, or how close their silent footsteps could be. 

“Turn back this way, darlings!” A cheerful voice, a new voice sang this time. A strangely soft, feminine one. The men obeyed, to see a short, curvy brunette in a spotless, too-big lab coat. She was balancing a tray in her hands, a silver one, that held what looked like a bowl of ramen.

Koushi’s stomach gurgled. Tooru’s mouth watered.

“Oh, don’t you two look so healthy!” The woman gushed. Neither man was phased by her appearance, a new doctor seemed to arrive with every bimonthly health check. During these events, they went through little tests, some better than others and some that still haunted Tooru’s daydreams. Afterwards, they were allowed a too-hot shower and new clothes- usually scrubs, but the brunette was once allowed sweatpants and Koushi once received a soft knitted sweater. (A sweater that he ended up destroying in some kind of anxiety attack, but that’s besides the point). “Here, I have a treat for the both of you if you perform well today!”

“Thank you,” Tooru droned. Koushi glared. 

“Perfect!” The woman gave them a pearly grin. “My name is Dr. Kazikawa, thank you for having me! Now, I just have a few questions for the two of you, is that alright?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tooru answered without emotion, while the pale man to his left only blinked with a raised gray eyebrow. Tooru’s jaw clenched. 

Dr. Kazikawa nodded happily. “Per- fect! When was the last time you both had a meal?”

The savory, spicy scent of the ramen flowed all around the two prisoners, tantalizing and stealing every one of Tooru’s thoughts. Suddenly, all he could think about was his weightless empty stomach and how good the food smelled. 

“Breakfast yesterday,” he answered obediently. She smiled in acknowledgement and turned her attention to the shorter. 

“And you, dear?”

“...lunch the day before yesterday.”

“Oh!” The curvy female let out the syllable in a mock display of surprise. Her orange-painted lips formed a perfect circle. “You boys must be hungry then! Really, they ought to feed you more!” She tutted, before reaching out her arms to Koushi, giving him a slow, dragging once-over as she did so. Something possessive flared over Tooru, but it was easily swallowed by the soy sauce he could almost taste. 

And then, it was swallowed by jealousy, because why was Koushi getting the food when it was Tooru who was the least problematic by far?

“Feed your friend, Koushi. Don’t you think he deserves it?”

The mentioned man’s eyes widened as if he’d been physically struck, realization etched in every feature. 

“I said feed him, my little vixen. He’s been doing so well recently, hasn’t he? And you seem to be getting on well with him, don’t you want him to be fed?”

Koushi nodded; Tooru’s heart fluttered with hope. That delicious food… was for him? After months of bland corn-like mush, he was being granted this? And all he had to do to earn it was not fight, not be like Koushi?

Apparently, that was correct. With shaky, bony fingers, Koushi used the chopsticks to lift a few noodles and feed them to the brunette. Tooru ignored meeting his eyes.

The flavor exploded on his tongue, salty and sweet and savory, each flavor bright and melding together in beautiful harmony.

“Is it good, Tooru?” Dr. Kazikawa asked sweetly, feigned innocence lilting her voice. The brunette only nodded, eyes bright, not paying a single glance to how tears were prickling the other’s eyes, how Koushi’s ribs jutted against his skin and how his abdomen was as thin as paper. “Don’t you deserve it?”

Tooru nodded again, glaring at Koushi while he waited impatiently for another bite. The silvernette was hesitating, when all Tooru wanted was to chow down and stuff his cheeks with as much of the delicious broth and perfectly cooked noodles as he could.

“I heard you’ve been good, recently. And that you’ve been a good influence on our troublesome little bunny. You’ve been doing everything right, Tooru. You’ve been a good boy, and good boys get rewards. Koushi, give him another bite, don’t be selfish.”

Tooru was practically drooling as he was fed more, and more, and more, until his stomach felt like it was pressing against his skin, so full that it might burst. He felt warm and satiated, not happy or content but so, so much better. Right as he was swallowing his final bite, the brunette doctor leaned up on her tippy toes, lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, softly and cheerfully,

“If you keep Koushi in line, I’ll bring you more next month!”

--

Tooru yawned. After the long day of pictures, good food- and then throwing up said food, as it was too much for his stomach which was no longer used to large portions-, questions, and physical tests, he was tired. He was always tired in this place, but today was a different kind of exhaustion. It was a detached kind of exhaustion- all day had kind of been like an out-of-body experience, and his emotions had been all over the place. Fear of punishment from the guard, apprehension from the new doctor, anger at Koushi for his disobedience, joy from the delicious ramen, crippling guilt when Koushi’s stomach wouldn’t stop crying out for food.

“You broke quickly,” Koushi muttered from the other side of the room. His hair was still wet from the shower and plastered to his forehead, little pools of water still collected in the hollows of his clavicle. He had refused a towel, opting to just grab his blue scrubs and saunter back to their cell.

Tooru didn’t respond, guilt eating at what was left in his stomach. Who was he to argue? He cast his eyes downward at his clean toes, his frown not having much to do with the fact that his toenails were much too long.

“I suppose I can’t blame you, I was probably just projecting my hopes onto you when I thought that you-” Koushi cut himself off, then sighed, looking back up at Tooru with big, big moonlike eyes. “I’m sorry. That’s not fair. I’m just-” this time, it was the hungry man’s stomach that cut him off. “I’m just really fucking hungry.”

And just like that, Tooru realized. Koushi was breaking. The realization hit him like a truck: the way Koushi’s posture was no longer perfect, the way his voice was softer and not as clear or confident, the way he didn’t throw himself in Tooru’s lap the second they got back to their cell. 

How had Koushi deteriorated so quickly? He had lasted years, and somehow, within six months of Tooru arriving, he had started to fracture?

Tooru remembered the way Koushi hadn’t given a single complaint when he was told to feed him. The way he was starting to put his claws away when the brunette told him too.

Tooru’s lips parted as they curled into something like a grin.