Chuuya had never been a fan of dramatics. Which was ironic, considering the way his life had played out—crime, blood, betrayal, a few headlines with his name bolded in all caps, and finally, a life sentence that didn’t surprise anyone, least of all him. But by now? Prison wasn’t punishment. It was peace. Predictable, routine, and quiet—exactly how Chuuya liked it.

He had a rhythm here. Wake up, work out, avoid the guards unless they were tolerable, win at cards, eat trash food, and sleep. The guy who used to share his cell kicked it a couple months back—some kind of heart thing. Chuuya hadn’t cared much, but he didn’t complain about getting the cell to himself. He liked his space. And more importantly, he liked knowing who was in it.

That’s why the news of a new cellmate didn’t sit right.

Not the fact he was getting one—no, that was expected. But the fact no one knew anything about him? That was strange.

Normally, rumors hit the yard before the new guy even made it to intake. What they did, what gang they were in, who they pissed off. You'd hear whispers through the bars before they even walked the block. But this one? Total blank.

All Chuuya knew was that he was young—nineteen, barely a legal adult. That was already weird. Most kids like that didn’t get sent here, to this block. And then came the real kicker.

The door buzzed open, and the guards marched in with a body dragged between them.

Chuuya looked up from his bunk and actually froze.

The kid was bound wrist-to-ankle in thick restraints. A black blindfold over his eyes, mouth gagged tight like they expected him to scream spells or bite throats. He looked small—lanky and pale, messy brown hair stuck to his forehead, breathing steady but shallow.

He looked… wrong in this place. Like someone who should’ve been in a hospital or a psych ward, not shoved into the same cell as a lifer.

Chuuya blinked. “What the hell did he do?”

The guards ignored him, as usual. They dumped the kid—Dazai, one of them muttered—on the top bunk like luggage, then paused at the door.

“We’ll be watching,” one of them said.

Okay, Chuuya thought. That’s new.

The door buzzed shut behind them, and for a moment, all he could hear was breathing.

Chuuya sighed, stood, and made his way to the bunk. He crouched on the lower one, eyes flicking up to the unmoving figure above him.

“Guess you’re mine now,” he muttered, reaching up to unbuckle the gag. It came off first with a quiet snap, followed by the blindfold. The kid’s eyes opened slowly—dark, unfocused at first, then pinning Chuuya in silence. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t react.

Chuuya raised an eyebrow but kept going, unfastening the cuffs one by one until Dazai was completely unrestrained.

He expected something. A cough. A groan. A word. Anything.

But Dazai just lay back, turned to face the wall, and closed his eyes.

And that was it.

Hours passed. Chuuya returned to his bunk, arms folded behind his head, eyes trained on the ceiling. He couldn’t hear a single damn sound from above—not a shift, not a breath, not even a sigh.

“Not much of a talker, huh?”

Silence.

Fine. Chuuya didn’t care. He liked the quiet. But something about this kind of quiet… it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t peaceful. It felt loaded. Like a string pulled tight between them, waiting to snap.

He didn’t know who this Dazai kid was. Didn’t know what he did, why he was gagged like a dog, why the guards looked spooked. But he was here now.

And Chuuya had a feeling this cell wasn’t going to stay peaceful for long.