The next day, sunlight filtered weakly through the hospital windows as Mina prepared to leave, his frame visibly fragile and wasted away. His shoulders hunched beneath the weight of his own existence, fingers trembling slightly as he gathered his meager belongings.
Remy stood in the doorway, transformed from his usual self. Today he wore an impeccably tailored charcoal suit that accentuated his broad shoulders, the fabric so fine it caught the sterile hospital light and held it. A silk tie knotted perfectly at his throat completed the image of respectability and authority. He looked like he belonged in the glossy pages of a novel about powerful men who controlled the fates of others.
Mina, by contrast, wore his usual threadbare clothes, though something had changed. This time, he was enveloped in a coat that Remy had brought him—a luxurious wool garment that felt alien against his skin, along with a cashmere sweater that cradled his emaciated frame in warmth he wasn't accustomed to. The clothes, while comfortable, felt like a uniform assigned to him rather than something he had chosen.
The doctor delivered his final instructions, his tone clipped and professional yet edged with lingering confusion. "The medication should be continued for at least another week," he said, eyes flicking between the brothers. "After that, you should make sure that Mina remains safe and primarily indoors. He shouldn't overexert himself—gentle walks around the garden or inside the house will suffice until he regains his strength."
The doctor's gaze settled more firmly on Remy. "His nutrition is critical. Not what he was eating before, nor how he was eating before. A carefully structured diet is essential."
Confusion creased the doctor's brow as he added, "Remy, I must admit I'm baffled. When you brought him here, he was critically ill. I genuinely feared he wouldn't survive the week. Yet after just two weeks, he's showing remarkable improvement. It's quite... unusual."
A smile, perfectly measured, spread across Remy's face as his hand came to rest on Mina's shoulder. Those long fingers squeezed gently—a gesture that could be taken as affectionate by observers but felt to Mina like the closing of a trap. "Yes, that's my brother for you. He's a survivor."
Later, when the doctor and Remy stepped outside the room, their voices dropped to hushed tones that nevertheless carried to Mina's ears.
"Can you prescribe something to keep him calm?" Remy asked, his voice velvet-smooth. "Perhaps a sedative?"
"Yes, I can arrange that. I'll prescribe some medication."
"Not injections," Remy specified quickly. "Pills would be preferable. Something similar to his usual medication."
"Of course. That might help with his nightmares as well."
"I certainly hope so. He's been exhibiting significant distress despite his physical improvement."
The doctor sighed heavily. "His behavior likely stems from years of isolation. Loneliness affects the mind profoundly, especially for someone who lived on the streets and became entangled with criminal elements."
"Yes, I feared as much," Remy responded, his voice a perfect simulation of brotherly concern. "Thank you, doctor. I'll ensure he receives proper care."
When Remy returned to the room, Mina was already dressed, looking small and lost in his new clothes. His eyes, normally so guarded, now had a glassy quality that came from the medication.
"Ready to go, little brother?" Remy asked, the endearment sounding foreign on his lips.
Mina nodded silently, allowing Remy to guide him down the hallway. Remy's hand rested on the small of his back, steering him with subtle pressure that brooked no resistance. The touch felt both reassuring and controlling—a contradiction that left Mina unsettled.
Outside, a polished black carriage waited, the horses stamping impatiently against the cobblestones. The sudden brightness caused Mina to wince painfully, his eyes unaccustomed to natural light after weeks confined within institutional walls. Sunlight splintered through his vision like shards of glass, making him instinctively shrink back against Remy.
Remy observed this reaction with clinical interest before tightening his grip around Mina's shoulders. "No problem, Mina," he murmured, guiding him forward with inexorable gentleness. "I've got you."
With practiced ease that suggested he'd done this many times before, Remy helped Mina into the carriage. "And please," he added with a tight smile, "don't try to sit on my lap again. We'll be moving quickly, and the roads are rough."
Mina hummed noncommittally and said nothing, sinking into the velvet upholstery. Remy allowed the silence to stretch between them, his eyes never leaving his brother's face.
As the carriage began its journey, the road deteriorated quickly—uneven cobblestones giving way to rutted dirt paths strewn with stones. Each jolt sent spasms of pain through Mina's healing body. He bit his lip to suppress a whimper, but a particularly violent bump forced a gasp from his lungs.
Without hesitation, Remy moved to his side of the carriage and pulled Mina onto his lap in one fluid motion. "Come here," he whispered, positioning Mina carefully to absorb the shocks of the journey. The gesture seemed kind, protective even, but Mina couldn't help noticing how Remy's arms formed a cage around him, how his brother's body heat seemed to penetrate his clothes and seep into his skin like an invasive presence.
The carriage traveled beyond the town boundaries, winding through dense forest before eventually arriving at a cottage set back from the main road. Contrary to Mina's expectations of a noble's residence, the structure was modest yet charming—a traditional country home with exposed timber beams and climbing roses framing leaded windows. Something about its isolated position among the trees struck Mina as deliberately secluded, as if it were designed to keep secrets.
Inside, the cottage revealed itself to be more spacious than it appeared from the exterior. It was decorated in a traditional style—comfortable rather than ostentatious, with warm wooden furniture and hand-woven rugs. A maid appeared immediately, her face lighting up at the sight of Remy.
"Mr. Remy, you're home!"
"Yes, I'm home," he replied, his hand still firmly guiding Mina by the elbow. "This is Mina. He's going to be living here from now on."
The maid's eyes widened almost imperceptibly as she took in Mina's appearance, but her professional demeanor returned quickly. "Of course, sir. Shall we bring in the luggage?"
"Yes, please."
Remy led Mina upstairs to a bedroom that seemed at odds with the rest of the house. It was decorated in a distinctly feminine style that made Mina feel as though he had stepped into someone else's life. Delicate floral patterns adorned the wallpaper, and gossamer curtains filtered the afternoon light into a dreamy haze.
The centerpiece was a massive double bed draped in plush blankets and nestled within an ornate wooden frame. Mountains of pillows were arranged meticulously against the headboard—enough for several people, though Mina suspected he would be sleeping alone. Unlike his apartment, which had always been drafty and damp, this room radiated warmth and comfort. Yet something about it felt staged, like a beautiful cage constructed specifically for him.
From the bedroom, Remy guided Mina to an adjoining private bathroom—a luxury that made Mina's eyes widen despite himself. The space was a testament to opulence: gleaming white marble, silver fixtures that caught the light, and a massive clawfoot tub that dominated the center of the room. It was a bathroom fit for royalty, not for someone who had spent years scrubbing himself with cold water from a cracked basin.
Before Mina could fully process the surroundings, Remy began to unbutton his coat.
"What are you doing?" Mina asked, alarm sharpening his voice as he stepped backward.
"You're having a bath," Remy replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You haven't had a proper one in days. It's time."
Steam rose from the tub as Remy filled it with water so hot it turned his own hands pink. Despite Mina's protests—his feeble attempts to push Remy away, his clothes falling to the floor in a dejected heap—Remy was relentless in his gentle insistence. When Mina tried to physically resist, Remy simply pressed him against the wall, one hand splayed across Mina's chest.
In that moment of enforced proximity, Remy seemed transfixed by Mina's eyes—blue as deep ocean waters, startlingly bright against his Asian features. These eyes, incongruous with his heritage, were now fully dilated, making them appear even more unnaturally vivid.
"Such unusual eyes," Remy murmured, his voice soft yet penetrating. "They've always been blue, but right now... they're practically glowing."
Something in Remy's tone suggested he knew exactly why this was happening, a knowledge he had no intention of sharing.
With methodical precision, Remy captured Mina's wrists in one hand, holding them above his head in a grip that was firm without being painful. The position left Mina exposed and vulnerable as Remy completed the task of undressing him. What struck Mina as most disturbing was not the action itself, but the clinical detachment with which Remy performed it—as if he were handling a doll rather than a person.
Oddly, Mina found himself surrendering to the process. His resistance melted away under Remy's persistent care, leaving him compliant as he was guided into the bath. The water, infused with salts and antiseptic, embraced his battered body. The warmth penetrated his muscles, seeping into wounds that had begun to show signs of infection. The sensation was so overwhelming—so foreign in its comfort—that Mina closed his eyes and sank deeper, temporarily forgetting the strangeness of his situation.
After the bath, they returned to the bedroom where fresh clothes awaited on the bed—crisp linen garments that smelled of sunshine and lavender. Remy stood by as Mina changed, his gaze unwavering. There was nothing overtly lascivious in his observation; rather, it felt like a doctor monitoring a patient or a scientist studying a specimen.
A small table had been set with an array of food: delicate pastries, fresh fruits, cured meats, and fragrant tea. The sight of such abundance made Mina's stomach clench uncomfortably—it was more food than he would typically see in a week.
"Please, eat," Remy invited, pulling out a chair for Mina with exaggerated courtesy.
Mina sat gingerly, eyeing the food with suspicion. He took tiny bites, chewing each morsel thoroughly before swallowing.
Remy watched him intently, brows knitting together in concern. "Is something wrong with the food?" he asked.
"No," Mina replied softly. "It's just... strange. I've never had so much food at once."
Something flickered across Remy's face—pity, perhaps, or satisfaction. "Well, from now on, you'll have plenty," he declared, as if bestowing a great gift. "Three proper meals every day."
They ate in silence after that, the only sounds the delicate clink of silverware against fine china. As the meal progressed, Mina found himself growing inexplicably drowsy. His eyelids became heavy, his thoughts sluggish. He struggled to focus on Remy's face, which seemed to waver and shift in his vision.
"I must be going now," Remy announced, standing abruptly. "Work calls, but you'll be well cared for here."
Panic flared briefly in Mina's chest. "You're leaving?"
"Only temporarily. There's always staff here—just ask, and they'll bring you anything you need."
Mina nodded dumbly, his body feeling increasingly disconnected from his mind. He allowed Remy to help him to the bed, sinking into its softness as if falling through clouds. Sleep claimed him almost instantly, dragging him down into darkness.
When he awoke, disoriented and groggy, he was surprised to find Remy seated in a chair beside the bed, watching him with that same unreadable expression.
"You came back," Mina mumbled, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth.
"Of course I did," Remy replied smoothly. "You've been asleep for nearly four hours."
"Four hours?" Mina blinked in confusion. "It felt... dreamless."
"Yes, I imagine it was quite pleasant. Now, how about lunch?"
"Lunch? But I just had breakfast..."
"Yes, and now it's time for your next meal. Tell me, Mina, how many times did you used to eat in a day?"
"Once," Mina answered truthfully. "Sometimes not even that."
Something dark and satisfied passed across Remy's features before he carefully composed his expression into one of sympathetic concern. "That's going to change now," he said firmly.
The days began to blur together in a strange rhythm. Remy would appear and disappear at irregular intervals, but his presence permeated the house even in his absence. The staff watched Mina constantly, their gazes following him as he moved tentatively through the rooms. They treated him with careful deference, as if he were made of fine porcelain that might shatter if handled incorrectly.
Mina began to feel less like a guest and more like an exhibit—or perhaps a prisoner in a very comfortable cell. Every aspect of his life was regulated: when he ate, what he wore, how long he walked in the garden. The staff reported his every movement to Remy, who would casually reference these details later, letting Mina know that nothing escaped his attention.
On the third day after his arrival, Mina made a disturbing discovery. While Remy was out, he found himself drawn to his brother's private study—a room he had been subtly discouraged from entering. Inside, he located a medicine cabinet containing his prescription bottles. Curious about the medication that left him so compliant and drowsy, he examined the pills more closely.
They were in the same bottles from the hospital, with his name clearly printed on the labels, but the pills themselves were different. Subtly different in color and markings from what he remembered being prescribed.
"They're drugging me," he whispered to himself, cold realization washing over him. "But why?"
Later that afternoon, feeling suddenly claustrophobic, Mina descended the stairs with the intention of going outside. A maid appeared almost instantly, materializing as if she had been waiting for him to make such an attempt.
"Mr. Mina, are you all right?" she asked, her voice honey-sweet but her eyes watchful.
"Yes," he replied, attempting to sound casual. "I just thought I'd get some fresh air."
"But sir, it's raining heavily," she pointed out.
Mina glanced toward the windows in surprise. He hadn't realized how much time had passed, hadn't even noticed the change in weather. The rain lashed against the glass in sheets, reflecting his own trapped expression back at him.
"Oh," he said simply, allowing himself to be guided to a plush sofa in the living room instead. He sat there watching the downpour, feeling the walls of his comfortable prison closing in around him.
"So you're poisoning me," he murmured under his breath, eyes fixed on the distorted world beyond the rain-streaked glass. "The question is... what exactly are you trying to do to me, brother?"
As he sat there, seemingly docile, something hardened within him—a small kernel of resistance taking root beneath the chemical fog that clouded his mind. Whatever game Remy was playing, Mina was determined to understand it. Even as his body betrayed him with its weakness and his mind struggled against the effects of the mysterious medication, he made a silent promise to himself: he would discover the truth, no matter how disturbing it might be.