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Duncan told himself he despised Mal.
It was a simple conclusion that needed no thought. Mal belittled Duncan and constantly spoke to him like he was something lesser, something unfinished, something that needed to be fixed. In a place like juvie, where power determined your worth, those remarks weren’t at all insignificant. They remained somewhere deep in Duncan’s mind, crumbling away at him in ways he tried not to reflect on too closely.
It got even worse when Mal was moved into his cell. Avoiding him was no longer an option. The top bunk, which had once been Duncan’s, was taken without discussion. Mal always lingered above him, with that sly smirk plastered on his face. There really wasn't any way out of it.
Duncan reacted in predictable ways. It felt easier to snap back and play the defensive role than to confront how Mal’s words constantly ate away at his mind.
Something was different that night, though.
Duncan shifted against the mattress, unable to sleep. He took note of every little sound and movement in the cell, even the absence of it.
Night was meant to be the only break anyone got in juvie. In that confined cell, there was only silence. No one demanded anything, and he didn’t have to pretend to belong.
It should have been that way.
“You’re awake.”
For a moment, Duncan thought he had imagined it. He refused to move a muscle, staring at the ceiling, as if he could make that voice disappear just with stillness. He had no intention of responding. Mal’s presence during the day was horrible enough. Extending that time into the night wouldn’t help.
A few seconds passed.
“I can hear you thinking.”
Duncan let out a slow breath through his nose. Of course he could.
“…What do ya want?” he muttered, the words slipping out despite himself.
Silence followed, long enough that Duncan almost believed Mal had decided to leave him alone after all. He couldn’t have that kind of peace though.
“You think too loud.”
Something was off about the tone of those words. It lacked his usual edge. It just sounded... diminished.
Duncan clicked his tongue in exhaustion. “Yeah? And you're the one who won’t sleep. Ain’t my problem.”
He braced for the usual biteback. Instead, there was only a pause.
Then he finally whispered something.
“I don’t like being unconscious.”
Duncan blinked, frowning slightly. That kind of answer wasn’t anything he anticipated.
“…Why?”
The bunk above creaked, once, then again, too irregular to simply be a shift. Duncan caught the sound immediately.
Then, Mal murmured, almost inaudible.
“Because I can't control what happens.”
Those words took root in the dark without an explanation. Duncan wasn’t sure if he wanted to understand. He thought of saying something else, but the idea was gone before it could take shape.
The numbing silence returned, yet neither of them slept.
Eventually, Duncan closed his eyes, but sleep didn’t come easily. His thoughts kept circling back, again and again, to that moment of vulnerability.
Mal had always seemed like an untouchable figure, someone who would never relinquish control. It was an assumption that Duncan had accepted almost immediately.
So that fragile honesty—if that was what it had been—felt strangely unnerving. He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter.
Even so, when exhaustion finally overtook him, it wasn’t the insults he remembered.
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The next day passed as expected. Mal spoke the same way he always did. There was nothing unusual about it, yet Duncan didn’t respond the way he normally would. His attention drifted elsewhere, as if he was waiting for something. The hours dragged on and on, slow and aggravating, until it eventually became dark.
When the lights went out, Duncan didn’t bother trying to sleep. He laid on his back, eyes fully open, fixed on the ceiling as if it was something worth watching.
The wait didn’t last long.
“You're not even trying to sleep.”
Duncan froze. There wasn’t any point in denying it, but admitting it would just be begging to be laughed at.
“Shut up,” he muttered, though his words didn’t carry much meaning.
A quiet breath came from above, almost resembling a chuckle.
“You didn’t retort today either.”
Duncan grit his teeth, and his fingers twisted slightly. “Didn’t feel like it.”
“Didn’t feel like it,” Mal repeated, testing the words. “Or you were distracted.”
Duncan rolled onto his side, facing the wall. “You always talk this much at night?”
“You were waiting.” Mal stated.
For a moment, Duncan forgot to breathe. He quickly hardened his expression in an attempt to correct the mistake. "Don't flatter yourself.”
“Interesting,” Mal murmured. “You ignore me all day, and the second it’s dark, you’re wide awake.”
Duncan kept quiet.
Mal's voice slightly lowered, losing the edge it had before.
“Careful. You might start depending on this.”
“Depending on what?” Duncan asked, more sharply than he intended. His grip on the blanket tightened.
“The dark,” Mal said. “or me.”
There wasn’t a hint of mockery. That, more than anything, made it difficult to dismiss. The knot in Duncan’s stomach twisted tighter.
He swallowed, reluctantly forming a response.
“…You talk like you’re not doing the same thing.”
A frigid silence followed.
“You're awake too.” Duncan added.
The bunk above creaked, though nothing more.
“I don’t depend on anything.” Mal said flatly.
Duncan hesitated, then pushed anyway, ignoring the sense of fear numbing his head.
“Then why won’t you sleep?”
The question lingered in the air. He couldn’t see Mal's face, but the slow crack of knuckles from above filled the silence. Duncan wondered if he had crossed the line.
“You don’t understand.” Mal finally said. His voice had lost its softness.
Duncan didn’t respond.
Mal exhaled slowly.
“I don’t sleep because people are careless when they think they’re safe.”
It felt like more of a subtle warning than an explanation. Duncan couldn't tell if it was meant for him, or for someone else entirely.
He didn’t understand it, but still, the words stayed with him.
There was a brief pause before he added, more quietly.
“…Maybe you’re not as untouchable as you think, Mal.”
Mal coiled on the top bunk, the faint scrape of the frame cutting through the dark. Duncan could hear the scowl in his voice before he even spoke.
“Shut up.” Mal's voice snapped loudly.
Silence. Then, again, Mal's tone became softer— yet that ‘softness’ was worse than anything.
“You’re lucky I like you,” he said.
There was no clear reason for it, and still the words carried an edge that felt too heavy for something so simple.
Duncan swallowed. His fingers dug into his blanket, and he could feel his heart throbbing. The room felt like it was becoming smaller and smaller, as if it was curling in on him and squeezing him apart.
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From the moment Duncan’s eyes opened, something felt unnatural.
It wasn’t anything obvious. Mal still carried himself the same way, with that familiar bluntness. There was a difference in the rhythm, though. The jabs came quicker than usual, more hostile, without any build-up.
Duncan noticed it without really intending to— or at least that’s what he told himself.
At lunch, an inmate brushed past Mal, and before anything could be said or acknowledged, Mal shoved them, harsh enough to send them stumbling to the ground, twisting their ankle.
Duncan had seen him hurt other before, but there was usually something leading up to it, some kind of excuse. This time, there had been nothing at all significant. That made it harder to ignore.
A dry feeling crept into Duncan’s throat as he stared, and even after he swallowed a few times, it didn’t go away. The rest of the room seemed to adjust around Mal without any conscious decision. Conversations died mid-sentence, and people avoided looking in his direction, eyes dropping to the ground.
There was no need for Mal to say anything.
Duncan’s attention was caught in a way that made him vaguely uncomfortable, though he didn’t pull away from it. That feeling made his blood run cold. Yet beneath that frigidness, something nastier stirred inside him.
He longed for that kind of control.
…
By the time nighttime came, that aching feeling hadn’t faded.
Sitting upright on the thin mattress, Duncan stared at the ceiling, the stale air pressing in around him. The room reeked of sweat and decay, a constant reminder of the prison he was in.
Above him, there was no sounds or movement to latch onto. The silence left him with nothing to focus on but his own riddled thoughts, which only made them harder to push away.
Duncan considered keeping quiet. It would be the easier choice, and probably the smarter one after everything that had occurred earlier.
However, the part of him with that burning desire, the part that craved that strength… It outlasted his hesitation.
Duncan inhaled slowly, and whispered, just loud enough to be heard.
“…Careful.”
The word came out hushed, quieter than he intended. For a few seconds, nothing followed.
Then he heard a slow exhale from above.
“…What did you just say?”
The question came without any bite, and that alone made Duncan lower his voice even more in response.
“You heard me.”
Duncan's tone became softer.
“You might start depending on this.”
The room was filled with nothing but the faint sound of breathing from above. It didn’t sound irritated nor pleasant, though, which made it much difficult to understand.
Duncan slowly opened his mouth, paused, then added,
“…You think too loud.”
A soft creak came from the top bunk, followed by a slow dip in the mattress.
Mal finally spoke, and those two words were more impactful than anything.
“You’re learning,” he whispered.
The sentence hit somewhere deeper than
Duncan expected, loosening something tight in his chest before another cold and uneasy feeling dug into him sharply.
“They could take notes.”
… The mattress plunged further as a shadow loomed down from the top bunk. A hand appeared over the edge, fingers hanging loosely in the dark. It stood there without reaching, without closing the distance, yet close enough that Duncan could feel its presence like heat against his skin.
His throat tightened, and his pulse jumped, unsteady. There was something else mingled in with it, something warmer. He didn't smother it.
"Don't waste it.” Mal said softly.
Duncan frowned, the feelings in his chest refusing to unfold into anything clear.
“..Waste what?” he asked before he could stop himself.
“Your potential.”
Duncan breathed slowly, but the pressure didn’t leave him. The statement felt close enough to praise, yet something about it didn’t sit well. It felt harsher than that, more demanding.
The thought should have been enough to put him off. Instead, it stayed with him.
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Duncan woke with the same dull ache that greeted him every morning. His body protested before he could even sit up, and his thoughts were in a slow, tangled mess. He should have been used to it now.
There was a faint sense that something had already changed before he even opened his eyes. Duncan couldn’t explain it clearly, only that the atmosphere felt odder than usual. Once he fully woke up, he understood.
Mal’s behavior was typical as always. He moved through the prison with that quiet yet commanding attitude that preceded him. It was the same pattern that Duncan had grown used to observing, but he noticed the small inconsistencies. His expression seemed less defined, and his usual smirk was faint and almost absent.
When someone brushed against Duncan on the way to the lunch line, his reaction came without any conscious thought. He shoved the person back, enough to make them stumble and flinch, though not enough to injure.
The cafeteria noise thinned slightly, and conversations faded in and out as the attention shifted. It wasn’t entirely directed at him, but it was still there. Duncan's pulse picked up, and with it came something else. He recognized it, albeit uncomfortably.
It felt intoxicating.
He couldn’t deny it. For a brief moment, Duncan let himself fully imagine it. Picturing himself at the center of it didn’t take much effort. It reminded him of the power he had, the respect Duncan had never felt.
Duncan’s gaze swept the cafeteria, landing finally on that figure, who was already watching. There was something in his expression, something amused and interested, that made Duncan immediately straighten. The quiet acknowledgment passed between them
Duncan looked away first.
…
Night came without much distinction, cells darkening one by one. Duncan sat on his bunk, shoulders still carrying the tension from earlier. A faint scrape from above made his body stiffen.
He could hear the slow rhythm of Mal’s breathing, deep and heavy, as if he was forcing himself to stay composed.
“You’re pretty quiet today,” Duncan said. The words came out more to break the uneasy silence than from any real intention to start a conversation.
Mal moved slightly, taking a deeper breath. “…What does it mean to you?” he responded.
His voice sounded raspier, different from what Duncan was used to hearing.
Duncan swallowed before answering, fingers drumming on his arm, unsure why the question felt more difficult than it should have.
“…It doesn’t mean anything,” he eventually muttered, though the words lacked any conviction.
The person he associated with Mal felt less defined, and the structure Mal maintained began to loosen. His breaths were hoarse, like he’d been holding them for too long.
“…Don’t lie,” Mal said quietly, voice cracking slightly. “…You can’t hide from me.”
The tone of his words no longer carried the same bluntness and certainty.
Duncan remained still. His lips parted to speak, then closed in an instant. Another quiet scrape followed above him, and his body tensed up, expecting a reaction. There was only the sound of uneven and ragged breathing, though.
“…You’re just like them.”
The words came out faintly. They felt almost detached from the conversation.
Duncan felt a subtle tightening in his chest at the remark, but he couldn’t really identify why. The rough sounds above him gradually slowed, and the breathing evened out before settling completely into steadiness. It took him a moment to realize that Mal had fallen asleep.
Many minutes passed without anything happening. Duncan remained where he was. His attention rested somewhere between the shadow of the bunk and his own thoughts, neither of which held his focus too long.
The feeling of exhaustion eventually took over without much resistance. Duncan allowed his head to fall back against the pillow. The room still smelled of sweat and decay, but it no longer felt as smothering. Mal's presence remained, quieter now, yet more human than ever.
…
That presence started to fade.
Duncan woke again sometime later, stirred by something he couldn’t quite understand yet. The bunk above him was quiet, but differently so.
He turned his head and found Mal near the door.
The silhouette’s posture was enough to create a sense of unfamiliarity. His shoulders were hunched up towards his ears, and his stance was slouched.. Breaths came in irregular intervals, and his hands clutched at his arm like a cornered cat bracing for impact.
“…Where are ya going?” Duncan asked.
The figure froze mid-step, his entire body going rigid. His breath caught in a startled gasp, and after a brief hesitation, he turned.
The face that met Duncan’s gaze was one that felt unrecognizable.
The expression he had come to expect from Mal was gone. And in its place was something less composed, less definite, with wide and disoriented eyes. Dark, messy bangs hung loosely, barely covering the other eye.
Duncan couldn’t bring himself to speak. The difference was too sudden, too complete to reconcile with the version of Mal he had constructed in his mind.
For a moment, neither of them moved a inch.
“…ah…”
The sound barely formed.
For a split second, something colder than fear slid through Duncan's chest.
Their breathing hitched again. Eyes darted nervously, almost searching for something.
Then he turned and ran.
Duncan laid motionless, staring at the empty space for longer than necessary, even though there was nothing left to observe.
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Duncan didn’t remember falling asleep.
The light shone in the room forcefully, and Duncan’s eyes snapped open.
Mal was gone.
For a moment, he simply stared, without moving or thinking, only registering the absence in the same way someone might scrape gum off their shoe.
He pushed himself up too quickly, making a sharp pain strike through his head. The blanket on the top bunk was left in disarray, half-hanging off the mattress.
“Mal?” His voice came out hoarse.
Nothing.
He stood still, scanning the room like something had to be wrong. As if this silence was temporary, as if this was just a simple trick, as if Mal would step back in and mock him.
…There was nothing.
Duncan’s hand rose and shoved itself against the metal frame of the bunk. It felt cold and untouched. Only then did his pulse begin to spike, though even that felt unfamiliar, like it belonged to someone else.
By the time he reached the cafeteria, the noise already felt louder than normal. Voices overlapped, trays collided, and laughter broke out. Despite everything, despite the disappearance of someone so respected, the room carried on exactly like it always had, as if nothing had happened. That, more than anything, felt horribly wrong.
Duncan’s gaze swept every table, every corner, unable to land on anything. His trance was stopped when a few inmates gave him a cold stare. Duncan averted his eyes quickly, shoulders hunching up slightly.
A repulsive feeling then surfaced—not fear, not really shame, but something uncomfortably close to both. The fragile structure he had begun to build up over the past few days seemed to crumble apart without resistance. He dreaded it so much, and yet he still wished his eyes could meet that face again.
Duncan found himself moving toward one of the guards without any clear decision. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
“Where’s Mal?” The question came out desperate, stripped of the control he had meant to give it.
The guard barely glanced at him. “Transferred.”
Transferred.
Transferred?
He dug his nails into his palms even tighter, knuckles turning white.
“Transferred where?” he asked, though he had already begun to realize he wouldn’t get anything.
There was no response, as expected.
His chest tightened, as if some invisible hand had squeezed it, and a mix of anger and fear sprang through him. It didn’t make sense that someone like Mal could be removed so easily without any noise or resistance. His hands uncurled and were placed on his arms, clawing into them.
Then, without warning, the memory of last night returned. The anger boiling inside of him slightly lowered.
If that was truly Mal, then something about him had been misunderstood from the beginning.
If that wasn’t…
Duncan cut the thought off before it could finish. There was no point in considering it. It couldn’t be anyone else.
His eyes drifted again, unfocused now, past the noise of the cafeteria. The large space felt altered in a way he couldn’t explain.
Only then did he realize, with a kind of quiet discomfort, how accustomed he had become to that person. Without him, everything felt misplaced.
The clamor in the cafeteria slowly regained clarity. Trays and utensils clattered, and voices overlapped. Duncan stayed where he was for a long moment, staring at nothing in particular.
Then he slowly straightened his back.
His expression slipped and hardened into that familiar smirk. Whatever hesitation that had once softened his gaze was crushed, leaving only a version of himself almost indistinguishable from the one he had admired and resented. There was nothing left for anyone else to mock.
Without looking back, he turned away from the empty space and slowly walked toward a table.