Collaboration with Glorifiedscapegoat.

"You've lost weight."

Nezumi didn't say anything in response. Firstly, because he had learned in the last week and a half that check-ups with Lab Coat were a lot easier when one spoke as little as possible. Secondly, what was one supposed to say to such an obvious statement? He was under a lot of stress and hadn't been left a meal in the last two days. Of course he was losing weight.

"Are you starving yourself on purpose?" Lab Coat's cool blue eyes studied Nezumi's blank expression without censure, but there was a sigh expressed in his words. "Or are you going to tell me you're too stressed to eat?"

Nezumi stared at a line of clear jars on the counter opposite. Each was filled to the brim with what he assumed were objects with medical uses: cotton balls, cotton swabs, band aid packages that looked like they held the wooden spoons that came with lemon ice cups. Then there was one filled with candy. Nezumi wondered if the stash was a treat for Lab Coat, or if this, too, was a tool in his arsenal, aimed at soothing the frightened children that had fallen into Horizon Labs' clutches.

He fisted his hands in his lap.

"We'll have to feed you intravenously if you don't start eating, 221."

Nezumi turned his gaze away from the jars and onto the doctor's gaunt, dispassionate face. "If you have any licorice in that jar, I'd be happy to eat some."

Lab Coat's mouth twitched into a pallid smile. "You're not the first to ask for candy. Though, you are the first to ask for licorice." He peered back at the candy jar. "I don't think there is any in there, but I do have…" The man rose from his chair and crossed the room to the desk situated there and began to root around in the drawers.

Nezumi leaned his head back against the sticky, sickly green chair to which he was strapped. He was tired. Grief had wrung every bit of energy out of him, and the lack of food was not helping things. Even talking now was a chore, which he vaguely realized was a tragedy, because verbal sparring used to be one of his favorite pastimes.

His listlessness had begun to piss him off. Nezumi was a wanderer by nature and by necessity. He didn't sit too long in one place or one attitude. The fact that he now was trapped in both respects made his stomach twist and churn like an angry sea.

Nezumi found he was looking forward to a piece of candy, if only to have a small hit of something other than his own self-loathing.

"Ah-hah. Here we are," Lab Coat crooned. He approached with a small, black plastic bag and pulled the freshness seal on the top open.

The smell hit Nezumi like a slap. Sharp, cloying, the kind of scent that sticks in your nose and the back of your throat for hours and hours afterward. Black licorice.

Nezumi turned his face aside and hissed, "Not that kind. It's revolting."

"It is an acquired taste, I suppose," Lab Coat chuckled. "I like it." He popped a piece in his mouth and laid the bag on the counter near the candy jar.

Nezumi wrinkled his nose; now he would have to smell the rancid candy throughout the rest of the consultation. He wished he had never mentioned licorice.

"I've never understood what about black licorice is so polarizing to the masses. Though, if it's the smell you hate," Lab Coat said slowly as he chewed, "I don't think you have much room to judge at the moment. You do realize there is a shower in your cell? I'll insert feeding tubes when the occasion calls for it, but I will not bathe my subjects. The officers will have to intervene, if you don't do something about it yourself."

Nezumi didn't think he smelled that bad. But then, how would he know? He had been alone in solitary where there was no shower for a few days, and he hadn't taken a shower since he returned. If he did smell, his nose had grown inured to it.

He would shower later. When he had the energy. He might have the energy if he had something to eat.

"Give me chocolate, then," Nezumi growled. "Anything chocolate."

Now that he was thinking about candy—about food—the thought dug its hooks into his stomach, making it hard to think of anything else. His hatred for himself and the world redoubled.

Lab Coat plucked a mini Snickers bar out and handed it to him, smiling like a smarmy, foul-smelling troll as Nezumi tore the wrapper off and devoured it.

"So you are hungry."

"Of course I'm fucking hungry," Nezumi snarled between chews.

The doctor's smile shrunk, then disappeared entirely.

Nezumi didn't care whether he offended the man. The mixture of chocolate, caramel, and peanuts spread over his tongue like manna from heaven. He swore he had never tasted anything more delicious in his life, and knew he never would again.

He also knew that he had made a mistake the moment the candy slipped down his throat and into his stomach.

His body had forgotten what it was to have an appetite while he grieved in solitary, and once he returned to Section M, his stomach had become so accustomed to the empty, gnawing feeling of unsatisfied hunger that he hardly noticed it.

But after days of starving, this one tiny candy bar reminded Nezumi's body what it was missing. His stomach fisted itself into frustrated knots, and as a wave of light-headed nausea made the room spin, Nezumi was very glad he was sitting.

"I see."

Nezumi opened his eyes—when had he closed them?—and met Lab Coat's calculating gaze. He read disappointment and annoyance in the man's face before Lab Coat turned away from him and knocked on the door. Two officers poked their heads into the room, their eyes performing a quick sweep to ensure all was status quo.

"You can take 221 back to his cell," Lab Coat said mildly to one of the men, an officer Nezumi didn't know well, but who had apparently subbed in for Benkei. The doctor addressed Tsuyu next, "Fetch Officer Rashi for me."

"Sir?" Tsuyu blinked back at the man in open shock. His gaze flitted to Nezumi. "We are ordered to keep multiple officers on the VC at all times."

"Oh, please." Lab Coat pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose and tutted. "The boy is malnourished. He's not a threat to anyone at present; he'd be lucky if he could walk straight. One officer will do to escort him. You will find Officer Rashi and tell him I need to speak with him. Now, go."

Grudgingly, Tsuyu departed and the new officer came in to unstrap Nezumi's legs and torso from the chair. Nezumi rose to his feet and followed him out without so much as a wobble, thank you very much.

Though, when they finally arrived back at his cell, the cramps in his stomach were bad enough to make him want to sink to his knees. Nezumi held onto his dignity tooth and claw and managed to lower himself to sit on the cot while the officer locked up behind him.

Only when the man had gone did Nezumi allow himself to double over and attempt to swallow down the weakness ravaging his body. He stayed like that until the pain subsided enough for him to curl onto his side on his naked cot.

He didn't doze, but he did eventually enter a kind of fugue state. Time passed without notice, the hunger faded to a dull throb at the back of his mind, and his vision was occupied with nothing but the grey-tinged white of the walls.

When the door down the corridor opened in a ruckus and broke Nezumi from his meditation, he could recall nothing of his thoughts or sensations in the minutes—hours?—that had passed. He rolled over and was unsurprised to find Rashi seething on the other side of the glass. He had a small tray cradled in the crook of his undamaged arm.

"Bet you think you're clever," the officer snarled.

Nezumi didn't just think he was clever, he was clever. And because he was, it didn't take more than a second to put two-and-two together and deduce that Lab Coat must have raked Rashi over the coals for not feeding his precious subjects. Served him right.

But because Nezumi was clever, he knew better than to rub it in Rashi's face when the man was holding his dinner. And so he remained passively silent and waited for Rashi's rage to burn itself out.

"You've picked the wrong man to cross. Things here could have been alright for you if you had just kept your mouth shut and head down, but it's apparent that the creatures that raised you didn't teach you proper respect. I will teach you your place."

Rashi's words flowed in a tight, furious frenzy. Nezumi couldn't help but imagine him as a rabid animal frothing at the mouth. He was glad the glass between them saved him from being sprayed by manic spittle.

"If you thought things were bad before, just you wait," Rashi hissed. "I'll have you crawling on your hands and knees before we're done."

Rashi's dark eyes burned like embers behind his glasses, his chest heaving like bellows. Nezumi studied his face without an ounce of emotion, playing dead for the simple pleasure of rendering Rashi all the more furious and impotent in the continuing silence.

A growl rumbled in the officer's throat. He kicked open the meal slot and dropped the food tray from standing height into the compartment. Nezumi watched in dismay as the brown mush he was sort of looking forward to eating splattered over the glass, the floor, and the tips of Rashi's boots.

Rashi kicked the slot closed again and managed a smile that looked more deranged than arrogant. "Enjoy your meal."

"Gee, thanks, sir," Nezumi muttered.

Anger flashed across Rashi's face, but he could do nothing unless he wanted to open up the cell and beat Nezumi senseless in front of the camera. Perhaps his underlings wouldn't rat him out, but Lab Coat would not be pleased at the mess, and the man was already on probation.

Rashi marched away, leaving a trail of brown droplets on the pristine tile.

Nezumi inspected the meal slot. Blessedly, the stale piece of bread managed to make it inside, so he used that to scoop up the remaining one-third of the brown slop that passed for sustenance in this place.

He was by no means satisfied by the time he'd licked the tray clean, but the meager ration was enough to reawaken his senses. Nezumi realized he did smell humiliating. He needed to wash himself before his poor hygiene added any more fuel to the officers' hatred for him and other VCs.

Nezumi crossed to the small curtained off area that served as a shower and undressed, throwing his jumpsuit haphazardly on the floor. He turned the faucet handle.

Nothing. Not a drop of water.

Nezumi stared up at the showerhead and twisted the handle the other way, even though he was certain he had turned it correctly the first time. Still nothing. The water would not come, no matter which way he tried the tap.

Of course. Rashi was sadistic enough to starve him and steal his blankets; preventing him from taking a shower was no big surprise.

Nezumi's lips curled into a sneer. If it wasn't obvious before, it was unavoidable now that his and Rashi's enmity would end in nothing short of bloodshed.

"Hold on a sec. You're saying the cake was three layers? Like, three cakes piled on top of each other?"

Shion laughed at the gobsmacked look on Rin's face. "Yup. That's what the bride wanted. My mom was so excited; it was her first time making a wedding cake. To this day, it's the cake she's most proud of."

Rin shook their head in awe. They had been familiar with the concept of cake, but they had no memory of tasting one, and so the idea of three cakes of three different flavors must have been mind blowing to them. Rin stared into the air, trying to imagine the pink flowers spiraled around the cakes, the perfectly smooth surface of the white buttercream, and the tiramisu, strawberries and cream, and white raspberry fillings Shion had described in mouthwatering detail. The child licked their lips, their mouth moving subtly, as if they could taste the decadent flavors on their tongue.

Hitomi sighed longingly. "That sounds like a dream."

"It does," Shion agreed with a small smile. "Mom's cakes make you feel like you've died and gone to heaven."

Rin blew out a breath. "I'd like to experience that. Since we've all apparently 'died' and gone to hell already. We can only go up from here."

They all let out a self-depreciating chuckle at that—even Aki, whose power made death too close a companion for him to feel comfortable joking about it most days. But Shion and his cellmates had grown close in the last two weeks or so, and such was their predicament that there was nothing to do but make fun. If they didn't make light of their secret imprisonment, the fear and misery might swallow them whole, and Shion would not allow that.

Over the last hour, Shion had told them every story he could think of to awaken their wonder and hope. He waxed romantic about the bakery, and his mother, and Safu. He shared his favorite books and described the most delicious foods he'd eaten. He recounted his travels with Nezumi.

He told them everything he loved about Nezumi.

Everyone had been quiet a long time after that. Shion knew he shouldn't have let the conversation lapse at such a crucial moment—he saw the way the others' eyes lit up when he talked about forests and thunderstorms, about the frenzied city streets and the warmth of small town pleasantries; he was so close to having them long so deeply to see that world that they'd be willing to fight for the chance—but sharing his memories of Nezumi had filled Shion with such an intermingling of sadness and love that he couldn't bear to continue.

Aki saved the moment in time, asking Shion about which of his mother's confections was his favorite. It wasn't the most graceful transition, but Shion was grateful for his help. Aki was wise; he must have realized what Shion had hoped to accomplish by sharing his life with the prisoners. The older man's assistance convinced him that he was on his side, and that he was on the right path.

His cellmates seemed eager to be convinced. Their smiles and jokes came as readily as their comfort and commiseration. Aki, Rin, and Hitomi were made of strong, beautiful stuff, and Shion had developed a deep love for them already. They were family, same as Nezumi had become.

"I wish I could bring you all to my mother's bakery," Shion said quietly. "She'd love you. She'd be so happy I have more friends; she always thought I was too lonely, even with Safu."

Shion's eyes misted over as he remembered his mother's summery smile and silverbell laugh, how young and beautiful she appeared in the early mornings when the sunlight slanted through the storefront windows and painted her face in soft gold.

"Oh, Shion," Hitomi said softly. "You must miss your family terribly." She wrapped her arms around herself in helpless compassion.

"Sorry," Shion laughed through the tears. "I'm not really sure why I'm crying. But, yes... I do miss them. I've missed them from the moment I decided I was going to run with Nezumi. I had to do it, to protect them, and myself, but I think it was the hardest decision I've ever had to make. And it's never stopped hurting."

Despite his apology and desperation to remain strong and hopeful in front of his friends, the tears came hotter and faster down Shion's cheeks until there was no pretending anymore. He swiped at his face, sniffling loudly.

"I can't stay down here," Shion said, mustering his courage. "Mom, Safu, Nezumi... I need to believe I'll see them again—I will see them again. I'm not going to be stuck down here forever. And neither will you."

Shion looked each of his cellmates in the eyes. Rin's were guarded, but not in disbelief or pity. More…consideration. Aki's eyes were still and heavy as the blackest night. But there was a hint of dawn in each of their airs and faces.

A spark of hope lit Shion's chest—only for his heart to jump in panic as the door to Lab Coat's examination room opened.

"Shit," Rin barked in shock. Hitomi stumbled a step back, and Aki shot to his feet with more speed and poise than Shion would have thought him capable of. Then Rin exhaled and muttered, "Holy fuck that scared me," under their breath as they recognized the person who walked out of the room.

Rikiga slunk across the floor like a nocturnal animal experiencing daylight for the first time. His steps were heavy and weaving, his clothes and hair rumpled with sleep. Shion noticed Rikiga's eyes were bloodshot and puffy, either from poor sleep, copious drink, or crying.

Shion wondered when the man had wandered into the examination room, and how he could have without anyone noticing.

"Sorry," Rikiga muttered. The meaning of the apology was inscrutable, though Shion supposed he might have been asking for pardon for his sudden intrusion and general disarray.

He left through the door as quickly as he appeared and the remaining occupants of the room exchanged looks.

"That guy," Rin said slowly, "is certifiable. I'm telling you. He's the one who should be locked up, not us."

"Rin," shushed Hitomi.

"He's a sad man," Aki said, his voice also colored by censure.

"Fine, whatever." Rin pursed their lips and turned away, but Shion still heard them mutter, "But it's true."

Maybe, Shion thought, turning Rin's comments in his mind. Maybe he is a little like us. Hopefully enough to sympathize.