The weight of flesh

The next day, Ayumi woke up suddenly, as if yanked out of a dream that smelled of dust and pain.

Her first breath was broken. The second, deeper one brought back the stench of the room: mold, dried urine, and that faint trace of iron that clung to her tongue. She opened her eyes with difficulty.

The walls. Dirty, yellowed. The floor, gray. The sunlight, filtered through a grated window, sliced the room into two uneven halves. And for a moment — just a moment — Ayumi panicked.

She had forgotten. Forgotten where she was. Forgotten she'd been kidnapped.

And when reality struck her again, the air escaped her lungs. Her body instinctively leaned forward, but her arms pulled her back: still tied. Still hanging, her wrists swollen and raw from the rope. A soft whimper escaped her lips. It wasn't a cry. It was the voice of a body giving in.

She was thirsty. She was hungry. But above all, she was afraid.

A quiet, constant fear — like a heavy blanket that never left her.

Then she heard the sound. Footsteps. Keys.

The door opened slowly.

A short, thin boy entered, wearing a black mask that covered his face. He wore thin gloves and carried a small metal tray.

Food. Water.

He approached without speaking, like a mechanism. Every movement was precise, without hesitation. He set the tray down on a crate beside her, then picked up a bowl and a spoon.

Ayumi watched him. Her heart pounded, but she tried to smile. Her voice came out soft, still hoarse from crying:

"Thank you…"

No response.

"What's your name?" She tried again.

Silence.

"How long have you… been doing this?"

Still nothing. Only the sound of the spoon scooping up the white mush. Rice, maybe. Or something like it.

Then, finally, a voice. Cold. Sharp. As if the words disgusted him just by forming in his mouth.

"Eat."

He brought the spoon to her lips. She hesitated. Then opened her mouth. The food was tasteless, but she swallowed it. Every bite felt wrong, as if her body itself rejected such a normal act in such an inhuman context.

But she didn't give up.

"Why don't you untie me? I wouldn't run…"

He replied in a flat tone, not even looking at her.

"Eat."

He fed her another spoonful. Then another. Each movement was precise, almost ritualistic — like a mechanical task emptied of any trace of humanity.

He brought her a small bottle of water. Lifted her chin with two fingers — cold, light — and placed it against her lips. Ayumi drank. Her tears still flowed.

"Why are you... doing this?"

He paused for a second. Then spoke.

"Drink."

The tone wasn't angry. It was made of stone.

Ayumi closed her eyes. But she didn't cry. Something inside her tightened. It wasn't strength. It was dignity.

When he finished, he placed everything down without another word. He turned. And left, closing the door with the same awful silence he had entered with.

And she remained there. Tied. Alone. But still human.

Even if no one seemed to remember what that meant anymore.

---Feitan..---

Feitan hated having to touch her.

The tray weighed in his hands — not for its physical weight, which was light, almost ridiculous — but for what it represented: wasted time, energy stolen from something more worthy. Chrollo had assigned him that task as if it were a detail, a marginal instruction."Take care of the girl."

He hadn't been told how. But feeding her… giving her water…It was degrading.

He opened the door slowly. The light in the room was the same, sickly. The smell worsened each day: mold, stale sweat, blood. And yet, that creature, still hanging like meat on a hook, somehow found a way to look at him with living eyes.

Feitan loathed her.

The way she looked at him. The way she searched for connection. As if the tiniest fragment of humanity could keep her whole.

He didn't understand that strength. But he didn't respect it.

He hated it.

He approached in silence, set the tray beside her. She watched him like she had the day before. Exhausted, bruised, trembling… but kind.

"Thank you..." she murmured, voice cracked but sincere.

Feitan wanted to rip that voice from her throat. Not out of anger. Just with precision. Just to make her stop.

"Why is she still talking? Why is she thanking me? Hasn't she understood? She never understands anything, this stupid lifeform."

He looked at her. A human rag. Her hair fell dirty over her face. Her cheeks were sunken. Her wrists swollen from the ropes. One eye more closed than the other — maybe she'd been hit during the first moments of her capture. It was a picture of misery.

And still… she smiled. Or tried to. That tiny effort to lift her lips. That useless, childish, repugnant gesture.

Feitan fed her without care. The spoon tapped against her teeth. Not out of cruelty. He didn't want to hurt her. He just didn't care.

"Mmmh..."Her voice broke the silence like glass underfoot.

"Don't talk to me." He said it without looking at her. Without emotion.

She didn't answer. She just swallowed, one spoonful at a time. When he lifted her chin to help her drink, his fingers brushed cold skin, damp with tears. He pulled away immediately.

Disgust.

"Why does she tremble? Why does she cry?Why does she keep acting like pain means something?"

Feitan despised her for that, too. Because she still believed. In someone. In something.

He, on the other hand, believed in nothing.

Once he was done, he set the bottle down and stepped away — quick, clean movements. Like leaving behind a corpse that smelled too strong.

He didn't look at her again. Didn't say a word. Closed the door behind him.

That girl was nothing more than a body to be kept alive by higher orders. Nothing else. An object that stubbornly insisted on behaving like a person. A biological error. A noise that refused to stop.

And he...felt absolutely nothing. Except revulsion.