The double doors open into a long, dark corridor yawning wide before them. Seigen is escorted by two guards in front, with two more trailing behind, guiding him by the shoulders. The air here is cold and stale, he thinks, compared to the last place. The dismal atmosphere had been expected, given how far north and secluded they were. Asahikawa was the highest security penitentiary in all of Japan, located as far from civilization as it got, in the snow-capped mountains of Sapporo. He’d be spending the next thirty or so years in this godforsaken icebox of a prison, so he figured he’d better get used to it. In any case, life had never shown him any mercy before, why should it start now?
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As Seigen walks down the dimly lit hall, he can hear the commotion of other inmates stirring in their cells.6Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8R8EYlted1
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“Looks like we got some fresh meat, boys,” a voice calls out, commemorating his arrival.
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“Oi, pretty boy, why don’tcha spend the night with me instead?”
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More voices holler and coo at him as he trudges down the hall, their laughter dripping with a familiar malevolence that makes his stomach churn. Seigen keeps his eyes forward, expression stern as he ignores them. Pigs , he thinks.
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“Can’t wait for the morning shower. This little bitch looks feisty.”
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“Where ya goin, Princess ?”
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Seigen’s brows furrow deeper and his cuffed hands ball into fists, his nails digging into his palms. More prisoners join in, banging on the bars of their cells like the caged animals they were. They continue to slew more degrading insults at him as the guards lead him onward, but he can’t let it shake him. Inside, however, he can feel his heart pump full of adrenaline and fury. He’d kill anyone who dared to lay a finger on him.
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“Quiet hours means silence !” One of the officers growls, slamming his baton hard against a cell door. The sharp clang echoes down the block. “If I hear another damn sound, you’ll all be dragged out at four A.M. to scrub the shower floors until they shine!”
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The chaos quickly subsides, and Seigen and the guards finally arrive at the end of the long, dreadful hallway. Standing before them is a thick wooden door with a small, barred window at eye level.
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One of the guards in front of Seigen fumbles for the keys at his belt, and the other turns to him to speak. “Your paperwork says you’ve got a history of noncompliance and violent behavior, so Warden’s assigned you to this special solitary cell with a cellmate.” He feels the guard behind him working at his handcuffs as he gets the rundown. “You’ll be monitored carefully here to start with. Any kind of misconduct will result in more intense measures of solitary confinement, so behave.”
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When his handcuffs are finally removed, Seigen brings his wrists up to rub them. “Got it.”
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The guard turns around, rapping on the wood with his knuckle, announcing their presence before opening the door. They step aside, giving Seigen a bit of a shove. Without as much as another breath in his direction, they shut the door quickly behind him.
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As Seigen looks around the dimly lit room, it only takes him a moment to notice the other figure there, sitting on the top bunk with a book in his hands. His gaze acknowledges Seigen’s intrusion from behind his round glasses, and he slowly closes his novel. “I wasn’t expecting you for another hour.”
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“Yeah, well. Not like that matters to me,” Seigen replies, his voice flat but tinged with irritation.
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Standing in the threshold of the cell, he watches as the man moves to climb down from his bunk with practiced ease, approaching Seigen with long, silent strides. When the man stops in front of him, Seigen notes his poised composure. He’s got an unsettling sort of grace about him that doesn’t belong in a place like this.
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Seigen doesn’t budge. His gaze shifts lazily around the cramped cell, feigning disinterest even as his muscles remain taut, ready for whatever comes next. When the man stops in front of him, Seigen takes in his refined posture, the way he holds himself with an air of calm confidence that feels out of place among such high security inmates.
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Then, without hesitation, the man extends a hand.
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“Jikuin Jyobu. The pleasure is mine, I’m sure.”
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Seigen’s eyes drop to the offered handshake, his frown deepening. There’s something too smooth about this guy – too polite, too at ease, considering the circumstances. He doesn’t trust it. Ignoring the hand, he keeps his arms stubbornly at his sides.
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“Arima,” he mutters.
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Jikuin tilts his head ever so slightly, watching him with quiet amusement. “And your first name?”
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A beat of silence passes. Seigen exhales through his nose, already regretting this exchange.
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“...Seigen,” he grumbles, as if the name itself is an offering he’d rather not part with.
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Seemingly pleased with his cooperation, Jikuin’s smile grows wider, and Seigen notices how unnatural the toothy crescent sits on his lips. “Well, Arima-kun, welcome to Asahikawa Penitentiary. I have no doubt it will be a delight to room with you.”
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As if to punctuate his words, Jikuin chuckles, the sound hollow and broken, each note carrying an eerie weight that makes Seigen’s skin crawl. It wasn’t like the pigs outside – it was something much darker. His laugh carried an edge of madness, as if it teetered on the brink of something incomprehensible. It left a ghostly imprint that lingered in Seigen’s ears, unsettling and raw.
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No tellin’ what this one’s in for, he thinks grimly.
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Of course, Seigen doesn’t let it show. He keeps his expression carefully neutral, masking any reaction behind a veil of boredom as Jikuin studies him.
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“Shall I give you a tour?” Jikuin gestures behind him to the rest of the cell with his hand, to which Seigen notices in the flick of motion that his nails are painted.
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Seigen raises an eyebrow, half-expecting Jikuin to be joking. But the longer the silence stretches, the more apparent it becomes that he’s completely serious.
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“I think I can manage,” Seigen says flatly, brushing past him without another glance.
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“Very well, suit yourself,” Jikuin replies with an airy shrug, as if it makes no difference to him. But then– “Oh, but Arima-kun?”
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Something about his tone makes Seigen pause mid-step. He turns just in time to see Jikuin stepping in closer, a little too close for comfort.
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The taller man tilts his head, leaning in ever so slightly, his unusual smile widening just enough to make it feel deliberate.
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“Top or bottom?”
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“Hah!?”
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Seigen takes a step back, but Jikuin closes the distance again, leaning closer this time. The grin he wore felt uncanny and forced, like it couldn’t quite sit naturally on his face. “I asked you,” he repeats slowly, pointedly, “do you prefer the top or the bottom?”
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There was a slight underhandedness to Jikuin’s tone that made Seigen’s skin prickle. When he doesn’t respond immediately, Jikuin beckons with his thumb towards the beds.
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The furrow in Seigen’s brows deepens once he realizes that Jikuin is toying with him. “I’ll take the lower bunk,” he mutters, bristling as he stalks towards the bed.
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Behind him, Jikuin chuckles again, quiet but unmistakably amused. “Naturally.”
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Seigen shoots him a sharp look. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?” He drops onto the mattress with a huff, its springs squeaking in protest under his weight.
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Jikuin shrugs, unbothered. “While the top bunk offers seclusion and a bit of distance from cellmates, the bottom provides easier access to amenities and is often considered desired for its convenience.”
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“And?”
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Jikuin’s expression doesn’t change, but his tone gains a pointed edge. “Naturally, you’d prefer to exert as little effort as possible.” He pauses just long enough for the words to settle before adding with an infuriatingly knowing smile, “How charmingly presumptuous of you to immediately choose the better option, despite only just arriving — though, I imagine you’ve yet to figure out the social dynamics at play.”
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Seigen narrows his eyes. “You testin’ me or somethin’?”
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“On the contrary, Arima-kun,” Jikuin corrects him, voice smooth, but rich with amusement. “I am just trying to understand you better.”
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“Tch.” Seigen scoffs, leaning back slightly. “Don’t bother.”
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Jikuin observes him carefully, watching as Seigen makes himself comfortable in a lying position, arms folded behind his head, eyes closed. “Perhaps you’d be willing to share more about yourself. As your new cellmate, I’d be more than happy to listen. After all, we will be spending quite a lot of time together.”6Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5Ly81AQLVb
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“Perhaps you’d be willing to shut the fuck up,” Seigen snaps back, rolling over to face the wall.
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“My, my,” Jikuin sounds even more amused. “Such hostility. You might find that a little civility goes a long way in here, Arima-kun.”
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Seigen doesn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he stares at the wall. He’s not in the mood for games, and something about Jikuin – the way he speaks, the way he carries himself – rubs him the wrong way.
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Jikuin doesn’t seem deterred by the silence. “You know, it’s always fascinating to watch how new arrivals adjust. Some lash out, some withdraw, and some…well, they simply blend in, doing whatever it takes to survive.” Jikuin pauses for a moment, a curious lilt in his tone, “I wonder which one you’ll be.”
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Seigen snorts without turning around. “‘Guess you’ll have to keep wonderin’.”
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Jikuin lets out a pleased hum. “I suppose I will,” he replies lightly. “Though, if I were a betting man, I’d say you’re not the ‘blend in’ type.” He pauses again, his voice dropping to a softer, almost conspiratorial tone. “But then again, in this place, those who stand out too much tend to burn out…or get put out.”
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Seigen’s fingers curl into a fist beneath his head, but he forces himself to stay still. “You done talkin’ yet?”
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“For now,” Jikuin answers with a soft chuckle, the same hollow, unsettling sound from before. “Sleep well, Arima-kun.”
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Seigen doesn’t reply. He lies still on the thin mattress, staring at the chipped concrete wall, the distant echoes of heavy footsteps and faint murmurs filtering in from the corridor. The air is cold, carrying the sterile tang of metal and something faintly sour. It doesn’t smell like home. It doesn’t feel like home.
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Then again, Seigen had only ever known home once, when he was a child.
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He closes his eyes, shutting out the unfamiliar. Home. That’s where his mind drifts, to a time and place where the world was smaller, warmer, and infinitely safer. A place he can still cling to, even here.
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Soft lamplight spilled across the room, painting the walls in a gentle golden hue. His blanket was tucked snugly under his chin, the faint scent of lavender and vanilla floating in the air – his mother’s perfume.
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“Sweet dreams, Seigen.”
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“W-Wait!...Mom?” Seigen called out, his voice soft and unsure.
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His mother paused in the doorway, turning back toward the bed where Seigen lay.
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“Yes, dear?”
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“Can you, um…” he trailed, confidence faltering as he looked away, embarrassed by his request.
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His mother understood, though. She always did.
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She smiled warmly, and returned to the bed, sitting beside him. Seigen shuffled closer, resting his head in her lap as her manicured fingers began threading gently through his tousled hair.
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“Mom…?”
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“Hmm?”
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“Do…do I have a dad?” Seigen asked sheepishly, his small voice barely above a whisper.
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Her hand stilled, but only for a moment before continuing. “Yes, Seigen. Everyone has a dad.”
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He frowned slightly, his young mind turning over the words. “Where is he?”
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Her tone changed – just enough for Seigen to notice. It was quieter, tinged with something he doesn’t fully understand but feels like sadness. “Your father…can’t be here.”
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His heart sank at her answer. He had never met his father – or at least, that he could remember. Seigen had always held on to the quiet hope that one day, he would. That maybe his father would walk through the door and everything would make sense. But now, that hope felt farther away than ever.
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“Oh…”
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“I’m sorry, honey,” his mother said, her usual warmth giving way to something heavy, something distant. “I’m sorry your father can’t be here for you.”
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Seigen sat up, his small hands reaching for hers as determination flashed in his eyes. “Don’t be sad, mom!” He leaned forward to wrap his arms around her. “I don’t need a dad! Not when I have you!”
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He said it with all the conviction a six-year-old heart could muster, and he meant it. She had given him enough love for two parents, and the aunties who helped care for him had filled in the gaps. As far as he was concerned, life is already full.
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Her embrace tightened as her lips pressed to the top of his head. “Thank you, honey,” she whispered, her voice soft and trembling ever so slightly.
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“I love you, mom.”
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“I love you too, Seigen.”
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