Chapter Text
Chapter 1: You Shouldn’t Be Here
The light doesn’t change.
That’s what bothers Lettuce the most.
Not the bars. Not the silence. Not even the emptiness of the corridor stretching out in front of him like something abandoned mid-thought.
It’s the light.
Flat. Constant. Unmoving.
No shadows creeping. No shift to mark time.
Nothing to hold onto.
Lettuce exhales sharply through his nose, ears twitching in irritation before flattening halfway. His tail flicks once against the stone bench as he leans forward, elbows on his knees, staring through the bars.
Sixth cell. Left side. End of the hall.
He’s counted so many times the numbers don’t even feel real anymore.
“…This is stupid,” he mutters.
His voice sounds off in the quiet. Too loud. Too alone.
A guard was here.
He knows that.
Keys. Footsteps. A glance through the bars.
Not long ago.
Fifteen minutes.
Maybe.
His ears twitch again.
…Right?
Lettuce straightens slightly, frowning. His claws flex faintly against his palm.
No.
No, that’s right. It was recent. It had to be recent.
He remembers the sound of the keys.
The way the guard didn’t even look at him properly.
So why does it feel-
A sound.
Footsteps.
Lettuce’s head snaps up.
There.
In the corridor.
Approaching.
Relief hits first.
Sharp. Immediate. Unwanted.
Finally.
Something real.
He’s on his feet in a second, ignoring the drag in his limbs, ears lifting slightly as he steps toward the bars.
“Hey,” he calls, voice rough but steady. “You’re early.”
No answer.
The footsteps don’t stop.
They don’t slow.
Lettuce frowns, leaning closer to the bars, trying to catch sight of whoever’s coming down the corridor.
“Did something change?” he adds, a little sharper now. “Because if-”
The figure steps into view.
And everything in Lettuce stops.
“…What?”
It’s not a guard.
It’s not.. Parrot either
His ears flatten instantly, breath catching in his throat as his eyes lock onto the figure walking toward him.
Black skin. Dark hair. White eyes.
Familiar in a way that hits too fast, too hard-
No.
No, no-
“–Ace?”
The name comes out wrong. Like it wasn’t meant to be said out loud.
The footsteps stop right in front of his cell.
Ace stands there.
Alive.
No
Not alive.
Not right.
Lettuce stares, heart pounding in a way he hasn’t felt in years, his mind scrambling to catch up.
A guard was just here.
Fifteen minutes.
He knows that.
So what is this—
“…Visitor?” he breathes, the word barely forming. “Did they—did they send—”
His voice cuts off.
Because that doesn’t make sense.
None of this makes sense.
His gaze drops–instinct, habit, something deeper- and lands on Ace’s chest.
The wound.
Still there.
Exactly where-
Lettuce’s stomach twists.
His ears press flat against his head.
That’s not.
That’s not something a visitor would have.
That’s not something-
“…No,” he says, shaking his head once, sharp, like he can throw the image away. “No, that’s not-”
He takes a step back.
Then forward again.
Because he can’t decide which is worse.
“You’re-”
Dead.
The word sticks.
Refuses to come out.
Ace doesn’t say anything.
He just… looks at him.
And that’s worse.
“Say something!,” Lettuce snaps suddenly, voice cracking at the edge. “If this is- if this is some kind of joke, it’s not funny.”
Nothing.
Not even a breath.
Lettuce’s tail lashes hard behind him.
“God, just- say something!”
Silence.
And then–
Ace steps closer.
Right up to the bars.
Too close.
Lettuce freezes.
Because he didn’t hear the movement properly.
Because it felt like..
like he was just suddenly there.
“…You shouldn’t be here,” Lettuce says, quieter now.
Not angry.
Not commanding.
Just.
wrong.
Ace tilts his head slightly.
And finally
“You’re the one in prison.”
The voice is the same.
Exactly the same.
It hits like something sharp and sudden, and Lettuce flinches before he can stop himself.
“No,” he says immediately, shaking his head again. “No, no, that’s- this is—”
His breathing quickens.
Too fast.
His thoughts trip over each other, scrambling for something that makes sense.
Hallucination.
It has to be.
Isolation. Stress. Lack of stimulation.
He read about this.
He knows how this works.
“…You’re not real,” he says, but it comes out uneven. “You’re not- this isn’t happening, okay? I’m just-...”
He laughs once.
It sounds wrong.
“I’m going insane already, great, that’s- that’s fast.”
Ace doesn’t move.
Doesn’t react.
Just watches him.
And for some reason-
that makes it worse.
Lettuce’s gaze drops again.
The wound.
Still there.
Still exact.
Still..
“Stop it,” he mutters, more to himself now. “Stop looking at that, it’s not real, it’s just your brain filling in details-”
“You remember it.”
Lettuce’s head snaps up.
Ace’s eyes are on him.
Steady.
Calm.
“You remember exactly where.”
Something in Lettuce’s chest tightens.
Painfully.
“I-” he starts, then cuts himself off, jaw clenching.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It meant something then.”
Lettuce recoils slightly like he’s been hit.
“No, it didn’t,” he says quickly, too quickly. “It was- it was necessary. You-”
His voice falters.
Because Ace is still just looking at him.
Not arguing.
Not accusing.
Just
there.
And suddenly Lettuce can’t stand it.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” he demands, stepping closer to the bars again. “Why aren’t you- just- reacting? Yell at me or something, that would make more sense than this!”
Ace’s expression doesn’t change.
“…What do you want me to say?”
Lettuce opens his mouth.
and nothing comes out.
Because he doesn’t know.
Because none of this was supposed to..
His hand lifts before he realizes it.
Reaching.
Through the bars.
Like if he just
“…You’re not real,” he says again, softer now. “You can’t be.”
But his hand doesn’t lower.
It stays there.
Open.
Waiting.
A beat passes.
Two.
Three.
And then—
Ace moves.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
He lifts his hand
and takes Lettuce’s.
Lettuce freezes.
Because
That’s
That’s not possible.
His breath catches hard, eyes widening as he stares at their hands at the contact, at the weight of it, the pressure, the undeniable realness of it.
“…What,” he whispers.
Ace’s grip is steady.
Cold.
Real.
Too real.
Why are you cold.
Lettuce’s ears flatten completely, his other hand gripping the bars tightly as if to ground himself, but it doesn’t work it doesn’t help because this is wrong, this is all wrong—
“You-” his voice shakes now, barely holding together, “you’re not- you can’t-”
Ace doesn’t let go.
For a moment
just a moment.
Lettuce lets himself believe it.
His grip tightens slightly, like if he holds on hard enough, this won’t disappear, this won’t break, this—
Then Ace lets go.
Just as suddenly as he took his hand.
Lettuce blinks.
Breath hitching.
And immediately reaches forward again
“Wait-”
His fingers close around nothing.
Air.
Empty.
Like there was never anything there at all.
Lettuce stares at his hand.
Then at Ace.
Then back at his hand.
“…No.”
It comes out broken.
Quiet.
Wrong.
He reaches again.
Slower this time.
Careful.
Like he’s trying not to scare something away.
Nothing.
Just cold air slipping through his fingers.
Lettuce’s chest tightens sharply, something twisting painfully under his ribs as his ears stay pinned back.
“That- no, you just-” he shakes his head, stepping closer, almost pressing against the bars now. “You just held my hand. I felt that, you can’t just—”
Ace doesn’t move.
Doesn’t reach back.
Doesn’t fix it.
“…You shouldn’t be here,” Lettuce says again, but now it sounds like something else.
Not a command.
Not even a denial.
Something closer to-
fear.
Or maybe—
regret.
His hand lowers slowly.
But his eyes don’t leave Ace.
Because he’s still there.
Still watching.
Still not leaving.