Mina began to chart the rhythm of his captivity with meticulous precision. Each day, he noted the exact minute Remy appeared with food and medication, memorizing the cadence of footsteps that preceded his arrival. A silent dance formed between them—watchful eyes meeting briefly, fingertips grazing during the exchange of pills, both pretending not to notice the electric current that passed between them.
Two weeks into this unspoken routine, Mina decided to test the boundaries.
After dinner, as twilight painted the windows in watercolor blues, Mina began pacing the floorboards, his movements deliberately erratic. He muttered to himself, fragments of sentences that made no sense, his voice rising and falling like a tide.
"The walls are breathing," he whispered, running his fingers along the textured surface. "Can you hear them? They're telling me secrets about you, Remy." He knocked on the wall three times, listening intently as if expecting an answer.
Remy glanced up from where he sat, his face a carefully constructed mask of indifference. Only the slight tightening around his eyes betrayed his awareness.
"You're having an episode," Remy said flatly, closing his book with a snap that echoed through the room. "Let's get you upstairs."
He guided Mina toward the bedroom with a firm hand on the small of his back, close enough that Mina could feel the heat radiating from his body. Once inside, Remy settled into a chair by the window, book reopened, but his eyes darted to Mina every few seconds.
Mina threw himself onto the bed, limbs splayed in exasperation. "You're not even trying to help me," he growled, digging his fingers into the sheets. "I'm just your prisoner, aren't I? Your pet project?"
Remy turned a page, the paper whispering against his fingertips. "You're my patient."
When Remy's attention returned fully to his book, Mina seized his opportunity. He slipped from the room, bare feet silent against the wooden stairs as he descended. The kitchen lay in shadow, moonlight spilling across the counter where he spotted it—a jar of small, glossy red beans that Remy brewed into a bitter tea each morning.
Mina's fingers trembled as he unscrewed the lid. The beans smelled earthy, almost medicinal. He scooped a handful into his palm, hesitating only a moment before tossing them into his mouth. The bitterness made him wince as he chewed.
His gaze fell on the liquor cabinet. The vodka bottle stood like a beacon, clear liquid catching the moonlight. One swig, then another. The alcohol burned a fiery path down his throat, chasing the bitter residue of the beans.
The world began to blur at the edges. Walls breathed in and out, the floor beneath his feet suddenly unstable. With unsteady steps, he made his way back upstairs, each stair seeming to rise to meet his foot.
"Remy," he called, his voice sounding distant even to his own ears. "I think something's wrong with me."
Remy looked up, his expression shifting from annoyance to alarm as he took in Mina's dilated pupils and unsteady stance.
"Mina, what did you—" Before he could finish, Mina stumbled, legs buckling beneath him.
"Dammit!" Remy lunged forward, catching Mina before he hit the floor. The book tumbled from his lap, pages splaying open like broken wings.
Remy's nostrils flared as he caught the sharp scent of alcohol on Mina's breath. His grip tightened on Mina's shoulders.
"Did you drink? What else did you take?" His voice was razor-sharp, cutting through the fog in Mina's mind.
Mina's palm unfurled, revealing crushed red remnants clinging to his skin.
"Fuck!" Remy's face drained of color. "The cardamom beans. How many did you eat?"
Mina tried to smile, but his lips felt numb. "Enough," he slurred. "Enough to make you care."
"You idiot," Remy hissed, dragging Mina to the bathroom. "Those aren't just for flavor. They're part of your treatment, carefully dosed. Combined with alcohol..." He shook his head, turning on the harsh overhead light.
Remy's fingers were cold as they pushed past Mina's lips, pressing against the back of his throat. Mina gagged, then retched, his body convulsing as Remy held him over the toilet.
"That's it," Remy murmured, his voice softening despite the tension in his shoulders. "Get it all out."
Wave after wave of nausea crashed through Mina, leaving him trembling and weak. When nothing more would come, he slumped against the cool tile wall, sweat beading on his forehead.
"You're a terrible doctor," Mina spat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "What kind of treatment is this? Keeping me locked up, drugging me, watching me like I'm some kind of experiment?"
Remy dampened a washcloth, kneeling to wipe Mina's face. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" Mina knocked the cloth away. "I see how you look at me when you think I don't notice. This isn't just professional for you, is it, Remy?"
Something dangerous flickered in Remy's eyes. "You need to stop talking."
"Or what?" Mina challenged, his voice gaining strength despite the sickness still churning in his stomach. "You'll punish me? Lock me in my room like a child? Or maybe you'll—"
The rest of his words evaporated as Remy seized him by the collar, slamming him against the wall. The impact knocked the breath from Mina's lungs, leaving him gasping.
"You want to know what this is?" Remy growled, his face inches from Mina's. "This is me trying to keep you alive despite your best efforts to destroy yourself. This is me sacrificing everything to give you a chance."
Their eyes locked in silent combat—Remy's burning with frustration, Mina's clouded with confusion and something darker, more primal. The air between them crackled with tension.
"Then why does it feel like more?" Mina whispered.
Remy's grip tightened for a fraction of a second before he crushed his mouth against Mina's. The kiss was brutal, punishing, teeth clashing and breath mingling. Mina's head spun as Remy's hand moved to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair.
When Remy finally pulled away, his chest heaving, Mina's lips were swollen and tingling.
"Is that what you wanted?" Remy asked, his voice rough. "Is this the game you've been playing?"
Mina reached out, fingers curling into the fabric of Remy's shirt. "I don't know what I want anymore," he admitted. "But I know I want this."
His hand moved lower, and Remy's breath hitched. What followed was a collision of need and desperation—hands exploring, bodies pressing together, the cold bathroom tiles warming beneath them as they sank to the floor.
"This changes nothing," Remy gasped between kisses. "This is a mistake."
"Then make it," Mina challenged, arching against him.
They moved together in a frenzied dance, each touch both a question and an answer. Mina's head fell back against the wall, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat as pleasure coursed through him.
"Fuck," he swore, the word dissolving into a moan. "Remy, I—"
The world exploded into fragments of sensation, leaving Mina trembling in the aftermath.
Morning brought harsh clarity with its golden light. Mina woke in his own bed, head pounding, mouth dry as desert sand. He tried to sit up, only to find the door locked from the outside.
"Remy?" he called, voice cracking.
Silence answered him.
He pressed his forehead against the cool wood of the door, memories of the previous night flooding back in disjointed flashes—the bitter taste of the beans, Remy's hands on his skin, the look in Remy's eyes afterward, a mixture of regret and resignation.
"I know you're out there," Mina said softly. "You can lock me in, but you can't take back what happened."
On the other side of the door, Remy sat with his back against the wall, head in his hands, wondering how he'd let his carefully constructed boundaries crumble so completely—and knowing, with terrible certainty, that he would cross them again.