Sena prepared what he would say to his master, or at least he tried to, but the words wouldn't quite gather. Every time he thought about what he'd done, he was interrupted by another wave of nausea and terror. It was hopeless. Hopeless.

He didn't know how long he'd been curled up in the corner before the door opened, but it felt like an eternity. What scraps of apologies he'd managed to put together withered on his tongue, when he saw that it wasn't his master in the doorway, but the wild man, now unchained from the bed.

So his master was going to unleash this Musashi on him. A fitting punishment for the crime. Sena tried to shrink away further from the rage that was coming, but he was already wedged as far into the corner as he could.

"...that's why you fucking do it," Hiruma was saying from the hallway, kicking the larger man into the room, literally. Sena didn't see how that could be possible, Hiruma's slender leg against Musashi's muscular mass, but Musashi seemed to allow himself to be pushed, still sipping from a coffee mug as the door slammed shut behind him.

"Hey there." The man spoke quietly now, just above a whisper, but there was still a harsh, gravelly quality to his voice, like it was too hoarse to use properly. "Guess I scared you, huh? Sometimes I'm not... all there, these days. Nothing personal." He had a second mug in his other hand, and he set it down on the carpet between them, then backed off, like Sena was a scared animal. "Tea and honey, same as mine. It's, uh, soothing."

"Yes, sir," said Sena diffidently, but made no move for it. Out of fear, rage, and this weirdly calm voice, Sena vastly preferred this new Musashi, and didn't want to risk him reverting to the previous versions. "I'm really sorry, sir. For going in your room."

"No big deal. And I'm no 'sir'. You can call me Musashi—I can't stop anyone else, why not you too?" On closer look, Musashi appeared freshly showered, his damp hair half-heartedly slicked over to one side of his head. There was a faint red abrasion all around his wrist that caught the eye when he lifted the mug for another gulp. "What's your name?"

Sena shook his head mutely.

"Oi, Hiruma," Musashi turned and called through the door. Sena looked up in horror, but didn't know how to stop him. At this volume, his voice was even raspier, like he'd been chewing jagged blades. "What's the kid's name? You have no idea, do you?" Musashi's voice lowered back to a normal level. "He has no idea, does he?"

"Please don't call him in," said Sena. "I'll do whatever you want. You don't have to get him."

"Okay," Musashi blew out a breath, and looked around the room, like he was trying to think of something else to say. "So this is where you spent the night. You know this is Hiruma's room, right?"

Sena hadn't known that. There was not a scrap of personality anywhere: he had thought it might be a spare. Or maybe a shared room where anyone could make use of a slave. He tried not to think of the implications of taking Hiruma's bed for the night.

"I guess he didn't want to put you in Kurita's room. Sentimental guy. Hey, did you know, he had me build a bunch of secrets for him in here. Like check this out—" Musashi started tapping on the wall next to the light switch with his giant fingers.

"Wait, please don't," Sena shielded his eyes quickly. "I-I can't know that." It came back to him in a flash, Hiruma looking around the room suspiciously that morning, wondering if Sena had stumbled on something he shouldn't have. The less Sena knew, the better. He resolved to look at nothing but the floor the entire time he was in here, and even that only if necessary. "S-sorry."

"That's okay," Musashi sighed again. Drummed his fingers on his mug, restless, awkward. His eyes fell on the chain on the pillow. "Pretty sure that's one of mine. What's it doing here?"

"Master used it to secure me last night," Sena explained, though it seemed obvious. Timidly, he added, "just like he secured you. Are... are you a slave, too?"

"Huh?" Musashi's gaze snapped over, and then clouded with pain. Putting a hand to his temple, he took a couple unsteady steps back, mug sloshing, until he could brace himself against the wall and groan. "All... all right, looks like that's about my limit for now. Here, why don't you come put me to bed." When Sena looked horrified, Musashi clarified. "I mean, lock me in," which didn't help much.

But Musashi was already staggering out, and Sena couldn't afford any more disobedience. Scrambling up, he had to use the wall for support himself, until he got feeling back in his legs. By the time he made it to Musashi's room, the other man was already in bed, eyes closed.

"Just put those cuffs on me. The ankle ones first. Nice and tight." Sena had to pick them up with two hands, the chain was so thick and heavy. The cuffs were padded, though, supple leather straps with rounded edges, that wrapped easily around each ankle without digging in. Sena had worn a lot of restraints in his life, and he couldn't remember ever seeing anything so obviously designed for comfort.

The worn notch was easy to find; Sena tightened it to there, and repeated for the other ankle. As he finished up the wrists, he noticed that the sheets were a different color from earlier; they must have been changed.

A sudden movement made Sena flinch, but Musashi only lifted his arms to show how much slack he still had, and then sleepily pointed to the phone on his nightstand. "Don't tell me you're worried about me? I have a direct hotline to those two. You might be our new running back, but you wouldn't believe how fast he'll come running, Hiruma. Huge softy. Lock the door behind you, would you? Thanks..."

Before Sena could even think to ask what a running back was supposed to be, Musashi was already sound asleep again.