Felix scrapes the bottom of the bowl with his fingers. White rice, crumbled seaweed, a bowl full of miso soup. He eats with his hands because utensils are no longer allowed: if he’s used a bone as a weapon, what would stop him from using a fork, or worse, a knife? Whoever locked him in here realized they had underestimated him once and can’t afford to do it again. Felix enjoys it. I wonder if they’ve already held Ivan’s funeral. He regrets not being there: he would’ve pissed on his grave, just to return the favor.

He’s hungry. He presses his fingertips against each grain of rice, making sure not to lose a single one. He licks his skin to peel off the pale, overcooked grains. He’s never been in worse shape. They’re starving him to make him weaker, more docile. A tired animal is an animal that can’t fight. They want to reduce Felix to the prisoner they’ve always wanted to keep locked up.

Deluded.

Felix leaves the empty bowl by the bars. Hyunjin, who had been standing on the other side until then, picks it up and drops it into a plastic bag. Neither of them says a word, not even a single syllable — Felix almost misses their constant bickering, that constant provoking. It made him feel alive, filling his mouth with sharp words, almost as if he were playing a part, and he’s sure Hyunjin preferred it to this silence. He never said it, of course, but Felix is certain the reason behind that silence is that someone has placed microphones inside the cell. Maybe it’s just his nonsensical theory, but it would make sense. Since Ivan died, many things have changed — Hyunjin has changed. And Felix doesn’t want to find out what would happen if he crossed the new boundaries they’ve set around him. Challenging fate once is an act of courage; twice, it’s stupidity.

Hyunjin leaves the cell without saying a word. Felix curls up against the wall. He stays still for long seconds, thinking of nothing. The emptiness is something he’s gotten used to. Once, when his mind was constantly stimulated by his phone, music, and TV, emptiness was a kind of oblivion he never really thought about — there was never any time for it. It was impossible to have a quiet mind when everything around him demanded attention. Now, though… Felix can dissociate from his own body, but he has no idea where he goes when it happens. At some point, though, he wakes up from his nothingness. He blinks slowly, gently. He brings his fist to the wall and taps it three times, waiting for a response. But no answer comes.

That afternoon, Hyunjin returns to the cage with a camera. Felix watches him set up the tripod to frame him properly, wondering what he’ll be forced to do today. He pulls his legs to his chest, his fingers lightly brushing his skin, caressing it in slow, concentric movements. Will he want him to suck his dick again? Or will he humiliate him by exposing him? He wonders if, one day, he’ll be fucked in front of the camera. He’s sure it will happen. Sooner or later, the bastards will want to see him fucked, he’s sure of it. Felix should be in turmoil, but he feels nothing. It’s awful, but he’s gotten used to it to the point that it no longer matters. It doesn’t matter if Hyunjin touches him, and it doesn’t matter what happens to his body: it’s just a body. He doesn’t care anymore. He just wants time to pass, to slip away, toward something. Toward a change. Any change would do.

At first, he thought change would come soon, but nothing has changed at all. He still feels inside him that it would be strange if everything stayed like this, but the more the days pass, the more he wonders if that question is just an illusion. Maybe he hopes something will change. Maybe nothing will change at all. Maybe years will pass like this. Maybe he’ll lose his mind completely. He’s already changed so much since being locked up here that he’s sure he can never go back to being who he once was. The Felix before the cage no longer exists. He can’t exist anymore. If he were suddenly released, he wouldn’t even know how he would react. He’d be happy, yes. But he would have to learn everything from scratch. He would never make the same mistakes again. He’d change his life. He’d change everything.

Hyunjin opens the cell, and Felix notices he’s holding something. He has to focus to realize it’s a small whip with several leather strands. He wants to laugh right there. BDSM? Does their audience want to see them play? Does he have to moan and squirm while getting whipped on the ass? The laugh dies on his lips when he notices that at the end of each strand are small iron triangles, sharp. He suddenly realizes it’s not a game. There’s nothing fun about this. The expression on Hyunjin’s face confirms it. Hyunjin doesn’t look him in the eye, not even for a moment.

“Take off your shirt.”

“What do you want to do to me?” Felix asks, and his voice is full of a fear that sounds foreign to him, yet pure. He’s never heard his voice like this. But it’s honest. He’s scared. Terrified. Hyunjin clenches his jaw.

“Take off your shirt,” he repeats.

Felix feels panic flood him. He didn’t think it was possible. He thought he was ready for anything, that he feared nothing anymore, that he had crossed the threshold where anything could shock him. He was wrong. He pulls the shirt off and exposes his pale, bony back.

“Get on all fours,” Hyunjin orders.

“Don’t do it,” Felix pleads. “Don’t do it. Please. Don’t—”

Hyunjin raises his arm. The small metal blades gleam under the white neon light when the leather strands snap back. The next moment, those same strands strike his arm, the blades cutting his skin shallowly. The pain is excruciating. Felix groans and falls to the floor, coughing from the effort as the warmth of his blood begins to drip down his arm.

“On all fours.”

Felix feels a sob fill his throat. His knees press against the asphalt, the palms of his hands do the same. Warm blood drips down his arm. The first lash strikes his back. Felix screams. He doesn’t have time to recover before another lash hits him. The pain is so blinding it feels like he’s going crazy. Like he’s crumbling, turning to dust.

It’s madness.

It’s pure madness.

Please. Felix thinks. Please.

He doesn’t even know what he’s begging for, or who.

The whip tears the skin on his back. Blood drips down his sides.

Hyunjin can’t accept his pleas.

God, though, has never listened to them.