Chapter Text
Qin didn’t know how long he had been awake after realizing he was trapped. The hours had turned into endless torment: every minute he spent scanning the room in his mind, retracing every corner, every object, every shadow, searching for an exit that didn’t exist. The door was impenetrable, the windows too secure, the small objects useless. Everything led him back to the same point: there was no escape. Exhaustion eventually overcame even fear, and after fighting sleep for too long, he closed his eyes.
He didn’t know how long he had slept when the metallic sound of the lock tore him abruptly from that fragile rest. The echo of the mechanism reverberated in the room like a gunshot. The air was heavy, stale, carrying the scent of confinement and dampness mixed with the cold sweat on his skin.
Qin’s heart raced before his mind could react. He sat up sharply, breath uneven, staring at the entrance as if expecting a threat to emerge. The door opened calmly, and Tiw appeared carrying a tray. On it, a plate of food and a glass of water. A scene that, under any other circumstance, might have seemed domestic, almost peaceful. But for Qin, the gesture was a trap disguised as care.
The yellowish light from the ceiling bulb fell on the tray, making the steam from the food rise in slow spirals. That smell, warm and strange, churned his stomach.
Tiw closed the door softly and approached the bed.
—You’re awake.
Qin didn’t answer. His eyes stayed fixed on the tray, as if staring at it could reveal the poison hidden inside. Tiw placed it on the small table beside the bed.
—You need to eat.
Qin swallowed, throat dry. His stomach tightened further with every word.
—I’m not hungry.
Silence stretched. Only the faint electric hum of the lamp and the drip of a pipe somewhere in the house filled the air. Tiw watched him with unnerving calm.
—That doesn’t matter.
Qin looked away, fingers digging into the sheets. Fear burned in his chest.
—I won’t eat that.
Tiw’s jaw tightened slightly.
—You still think I want to hurt you?
Qin let the silence linger. His breathing was uneven, and only after several seconds did he whisper:
—After everything you’ve done… yes.
Tiw inhaled slowly, as if restraining something that threatened to spill over.
—Qin, I’m trying to take care of you.
Qin lowered his gaze. His voice came out low but firm, trembling beneath the weight of fear:
—I don’t need you to take care of me.
Tiw picked up the plate and sat on the edge of the bed.
—Eat a little.
Qin recoiled, wordless. The silence was his only answer. The smell of the food became unbearable, as though every breath contaminated him.
—Just a few bites.
Qin shook his head slowly, lips pressed tight.
The silence grew heavy, suffocating. Tiw stared at him, as if his gaze alone could break him.
—I won’t hurt you.
Qin lifted his tear-brimmed eyes and replied with icy calm:
—I don’t believe you.
Something cracked in Tiw’s expression.
—You always do this.
Qin frowned but didn’t speak. He waited. The air felt denser, as if the room itself were closing in on them.
—You distrust everything I do. I try to help, and you turn it into a fight.
Qin drew a deep breath, then released what he had been holding back:
—Because I don’t want to be here.
The words cut like blades. Tiw froze. Qin knew instantly he had made a mistake when he saw his face.
—I want to go back home.
The silence stretched longer this time. When Tiw finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a murmur:
—This is your home now.
Qin shook his head slowly.
—No.
Tiw’s fingers tightened around the plate.
—Eat.
Qin said nothing. He only stared back, lips pressed tight.
—Eat.
Qin’s cry shattered the air:
—No!
Tiw’s patience broke. He leaned toward him, trying to force a bite into his mouth. Qin turned his face away and spat the food out, coughing as he pulled back. The warm, viscous taste burned his throat.
—Don’t force me!
Their breathing filled the silence. Qin coughed, doubled over, struggling to catch his breath. Food stained his clothes and the sheets.
Then, without warning, Tiw hurled the plate to the floor. The crash of ceramic shattering made Qin flinch. The smell of the food intensified, mingling with the dust on the tiles.
—Tiw…
Tiw seized him by the hair and yanked him upright. Pain shot through his scalp, dragging a cry from his throat.
—You’re hurting me!
—Then stop resisting.
Qin collapsed to his knees. Tiw’s calm voice was more terrifying than any scream.
—Look at you. You can’t even do something as simple as eat.
Qin’s breath came in ragged gasps. Tears slid down his face. The cold floor against his knees made him tremble.
—I’m afraid of you.
For an instant, Tiw’s face showed something like pain. But it vanished quickly.
—I don’t want you to fear me.
Qin’s eyes brimmed with tears.
—Then let me go.
Silence was his only answer.
—After everything I’ve done for you…
Qin cut him off, voice breaking:
—I never asked for any of this.
Tiw’s jaw clenched.
—I did it because I love you.
Qin closed his eyes. The smell of food on the floor churned his stomach.
—This isn’t love.
The words pierced him. Tiw released him suddenly. Qin stayed still, breathing hard, too afraid to rise.
When Tiw looked at him again, his expression was too calm.
—Get up.
Qin tried to lift himself, but his arms trembled. Tiw pulled him up by the arm.
—You’re going to bathe.
Qin shook his head slowly.
—I can do it myself.
—No.
The sound of running water filled the space, constant, like a curtain shutting out the world. Steam began to thicken the air, and Qin lowered his gaze. He no longer thought of arguing. He no longer thought of convincing him. He could only think of escape.
Because that morning he had finally understood something he had refused to accept: Tiw wasn’t trying to bring back the Qin he had lost. He was trying to mold him into someone who could never leave again.
And Qin was beginning to fear that transformation more than any threat Tiw could ever speak.