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The hallway was cold. But Okuto was sick. Kinosaki needed to find help.
He understood where they were. Far better than others did. He was the only one who knew. How sick and twisted his life was. He wondered if he would ever be let go to have a real life or would forever have to live playing dollhouse.
Kinosaki, weak and young, stumbled from the room that was his and Okuto’s in the human prison and kept heading on.
Okuto was weak and sick. The people who put them in the twisted prison would give Okuto what he needed. But for some reason, they had forgotten. Kinosaki had no choice but to seek out the medicine on his own.
It was a simple inhaler. Kinosaki had told Okuto to breathe, but Okuto knew that he had to breathe. He couldn’t. It’s not that he didn’t know what he had to do, but his lungs were small and the windpipe was getting smaller, and he couldn’t do it. If Kinosaki had been a stranger, telling him to ‘breathe’ like it was something so simple could be interpreted as mocking, but Okuto understood he wanted Okuto to be okay, so he nodded and tried to breathe.
He walked the hallways carefully, quiet and nimble footsteps. His feet nearly shuffled to avoid any noise at all. But Kinosaki was walking through an assassin’s territory.
“Hey.”
Kinosaki felt like the blood drained from his body. His hand was on the wall for support. He scratched the brick wall and turned around slowly. There stood a boy around his age. A pair of glasses. A mean look. A stare. A glare. Kinosaki swallowed hard. No one could get out of their rooms easily. The boy had to be there to collect him after escaping.
“Hello.”
“You’re from the human prison,” the boy said outright.
“I—I am.”
The boy looked slightly confused. He took a step closer. In response, Kinosaki took a step back. When the boy realized Kinosaki’s fear, he stopped approaching and frowned deeper.
“What are you doing? It’s much safer in the rooms.”
“Can you really say that?” Kinosaki grumbled. He considered that he was going to die for escaping anyway, so he might as well be a little snarky. “You have no idea what it’s like.”
“I don’t, I’m sorry,” the boy said quietly. He opened his mouth again to add something, but he ended up shaking his head. The topic clearly changed, but Kinosaki had no idea what he was going to say before.
“What are you doing out?”
“I’m looking for something,” Kinosaki said honestly. “I’ll go back. I just need something.”
“What is it?”
Kinosaki hesitated but truthfully answered, “An inhaler. My brother is sick.”
The boy nodded. He took off his long coat. It was big and was even too big for its wearer. The boy stepped forward and handed it out to Kinosaki with one hand. With his other hand, he pointed to a pillar in the hallway before it separated into two halls.
“Cover yourself with this. Hide behind that pillar. I’ll be right back.”
Kinosaki blinked at the boy, the jacket, and then the boy again. “What?” he finally asked.
“Go hide. I’m going to get one for you. But if you’re caught in these halls, other people won’t be so friendly,” he explained.
Kinosaki understood. He nodded, accepted the jacket, and watched the boy walk off. In the meantime, he decided to listen. Worst outcome: the boy was retrieving backup and Kinosaki would be punished. Best outcome: Kinosaki would get an inhaler for his brother.
So, he waited with the coat over him, hiding his chopped, blond hair. He picked at his fingers as his anxiety increased as the clock ticked on. Dread and regret creeped up the longer he sat on the cold, stone tiles.
Eventually, he heard footsteps. Kinosaki held his breath. The feet got closer. Kinosaki felt fear creeping up. He began to tremble underneath the jacket.
It was suddenly lifted up. Kinosaki was momentarily blinded by the light after the dark had covered him for so long. He squinted and then let his eyes adjust. It was the same boy as before. He put the coat back on quickly and then offered Kinosaki a hand. Kinosaki accepted it.
They walked back to the hall of doors that led to each individual prison. As someone who was parentless and unable to provide for him and his brother, Kinosaki had mixed feelings about the human prison. It gave him a home and a life that was normal. While it wasn’t real, it was something that kept him alive.
“I grabbed two,” the boy suddenly said. “This way, if they forget again, you’ll have a few spares to get by before they remember again.” He reached into his pocket and held out two inhalers in his palm.
“Thank you.” Kinosaki grabbed them, grateful. “Gero-kun, thank you for helping.” He came to a stop and made eye contact with the boy’s crimson eyes. There was no doubt he was a direct member of the Gero family, but Kinosaki had never met someone like him before.
Gero smiled a tiny smile and nodded. He dug into his pockets again and pulled out a syringe. “Here,” he said, offering it to Kinosaki. “If it’s too late for an inhaler, this should work in the case of an emergency as well.”
“What is it?” Kinosaki questioned, but he took it regardless.
“Something I made,” Gero said with a shrug.
“You might envy me,” Gero suddenly began to say, “because I might be free to roam these halls, but that’s pretty much all I can do. I envy you, in a way,” he admitted. “Your life is more than mine even if it’s false.” He shook his head and said, “If we ever meet again, call me Hikaru. I don’t like this family. I want to get out.”
That was all he said before he turned and left. Kinosaki was grateful for him. He felt bad for himself, but he found that now, he also pitied this Gero Hikaru. There was no one to talk to about this either. Kinosaki went back into his room before he got in trouble. He gave the medicine to his brother and watched air fill his lungs again, color returning to his sick face.
That night, Kinosaki thought hard. How many victims were in here like him? But also, how many of those who he thought were the bad guys were actually good?
He wanted to meet Gero Hikaru again. Just to call him Hikaru. Just to separate the boy from his family and treat him like a person. Because Gero Hikaru was the first person to ever treat him like a person too, and he wanted to give back that same kindness.