This was his pitiless wadded reformatory, the isolated unadorned pallid room with soaring incarcerating walls towering above his head. Thick vindictive leather straps keeping him persistently on his feet, too short to allow any real movement, strapped from metal hoops sewn into his jacket and along the seems of his binding trousers to metal clips securely embedded into the padding. His straight jacket pulled so taut he could no longer feel his hands. One small light bulb, flickering urgently, swung slackly dimly casting long spider-webbed shadows pushing the forbidding and intimidating atmosphere of the room to higher levels. The room had a window of sorts, a four-inch thick slab of misted plastic jammed into the door in contemptuous salute, allowing only a small slither of precious golden light shine through and one way vision. Cheap shammed light… he couldn't remember what the sun had been like, restrained solitary and neglected in the underbelly of the asylum.
He didn't even glance up as the door irksomely creaked open on forlorn rusted hinges. His knees were bent, his body flaccidly hanging forwards despairingly, suspended unwillingly by straps that hung desolately pulled tight by his weight, which Ryuichi realized was diminutive indeed. Pasty ashen skin draped unsympathetically across his bony frame, ailing and insubstantial. His grey hair, once a very fetching pure white, lay in a dishevelled heap trussed back crudely with a splitting elastic band.
Ryuichi reached out to him, his hand bronzed with several rings placed affectionately across his fingers, tangling his fingers in hair that could only be described adequately as straw.
Indolently his head lifted, hollowwan eyes flickered their inhospitable gaze over him for a moment, void of all emotions.
'Hello, Nate.' Ryuichi forced a spurious smile, trying to rid himself of a pitying outlook. No recognition sputtered into Nate's gaze, still entirely vacant of feelings. His monotonous unblinking gaze made it seem as though he was dead, Ryuichi would have believed this to be so if it wasn't for Nate's perceptible yet unremitting breathing and the blithe rise and fall of his bound chest.
Guilt. It filled Ryuichi so callously abrupt it caught him by disconcerting surprise that it rancorously shredded its way into every poignant part of his labyrinthine being. He felt like he was dying inside.