36. Terror

"No, please!"

The shout of pure terror echoed through the cold concrete room. Hearing it, Y/N clenched his teeth shut, closing his eyes as he shouted right back inside his head. Couldn't they just keep quiet like everyone else?

"Nooo!" The scream continued. "It hurts... Stop! Stop stop stop stop!"

Y/N's small fingers clenched at the side of the plastic chair he was sitting in, knuckles turning white. He didn't want to look at the other boy, even though his cries filled the entire room. He didn't want to see what was going to happen.

Around him, other boys shifted nervously on their own chairs. All of them were in various states of terror, some quivering in place, others biting lips hard enough to draw blood as they stared at the floor. Quite a lot of them were on the verge of crying, emotions easily readable on their youthful faces.

A coach walked up and down the line of boys. They were arranged in neat rows, with around fifty of them in the room.

Though, calling him a coach would be slightly incorrect. He acted more like a guard, with a face hidden behind a mask, a black jumpsuit and baseball cap.

When he got in front of Y/N, he paused. Y/N wasn't watching him. He only saw the guard's booted feet stop in front of his chair, gulping anxiously.

"You're a good boy, aren't you?" The guard spoke quietly, without a hint of emotion. "No tears. No screaming."

Y/N nodded slowly, hands gripping the sides of his plastic chair even harder. His fingers were turning purple, but he didn't pay any attention. "Yes, sir."

"Hey!" The guard spun around, the loud yell startling Y/N. The little boy's heart pounded as he stared at the floor, not daring to look up. Next to him, another boy gasped with surprise at the sharp noise.

"Is that kid done?" The screaming had subsided slightly, reduced to a pitiful whimpering. Y/N risked a glance up, spotting a group of people huddled around a medical bed.

They didn't look human. They looked like aliens, all in their blue and white scrubs, fingertips stained with crimson. One of them carried an enormous syringe, the needle at the end dripping blood. He swiftly returned his gaze to the floor.

Someone who Y/N assumed was a doctor spoke, his voice muffled. "We're just gonna give him the final injection now. Why, is there a rush?"

"After, you should do that kid. See him right there?" Y/N's fingers were turning numb. He concentrated on the feeling of pins and needles, never once taking his eyes off the concrete floor. "He's braver than the others."

"Gotcha." Y/N's heart was going to rip out of his chest. It was so painful, banging on the inside of his ribcage. And his head hurt. And he wanted to go home. His hands were rapidly losing strength, holding onto the chair so hard he might cut himself.

"W-wait! No! I don't wanna!" The pathetic kid's noises resumed, a mindless, fearful babble that only served as white noise to Y/N. "I wanna go home! Plea-"

The voice was abruptly cut off. Y/N's next breath caught in his mouth.

Then a deafening scream echoed through the concrete walls, bouncing off the hard material and rebounding on Y/N's ears. It was long, high-pitched, full of agony. Y/N grimaced, bile rising in his throat. He clenched his teeth shut. He couldn't show weakness.

It only stopped for a second. In the gap between, what should've been silence was broken by a ragged, desperate breath, before the screaming began again.

Y/N's head was hurting. He didn't move a muscle, clinging to his chair. Every muscle was tensed up, every instinct telling him to run. He didn't care about what his fellows were doing. He didn't care how they were reacting. He gritted his teeth, body shaking, and remained silent.

He didn't know how long it was before the screaming stopped. It was replaced by a quiet sobbing, and the clinking of metal on metal as boots scuffled across the concrete. Y/N didn't know what was going on. He didn't want to know.

"Take him to the dorm. He's done." The muffled voice commanded. "Right, so it was this kid next?"

Y/N swallowed thickly as a pair of black boots entered his vision. The voice was louder than before now. "Hey. Get up."

Lips parting just slightly, Y/N withdrew his hands from his chair, cradling them in his lap. The palms were crisscrossed with red lines from where the plastic had cut into them, fingers swollen and discoloured. "M-me?"

"Yes, you." The voice came back. "Stand up. Chin up."

Y/N obeyed. He forced his shaking legs to work, pushing himself to his feet. With enormous effort, he raised his head, properly seeing what was happening for the first time.

Needles. So many needles. A dozen huge syringes lined up against a metal rack. A medical bed, right there in the centre of the concrete room. The white paper on top had been replaced, but the bed itself was stained with hundreds of dark red splotches.

The doctors surrounded the table, sorting out equipment as they gathered swabs and packets of strange liquid. One of them cleaned blood off a long needle.

"Well? Get over to the bed, then." The voice compelled Y/N forwards, him stumbling along like he was a zombie. "I swear, kids nowadays. Braindead creatures."

Y/N took a shaky breath as he clambered onto the medical bed, palms stinging with pain. The doctors didn't even look him in the eyes, swarming around him like piranhas. The babble of long medical words filled the background, as well as their talking.

"Which one are we doing first?"

"The pituitary gland alterant."

"Got it." A gloved finger rested on the side of Y/N's neck. He flinched violently away, but another hand grabbed his head. His heart was beating so hard. His entire body was flushed and sweaty, and if he unclenched his teeth, he would be sick. "Kid, relax."

Y/N squeezed his eyes shut, trying to take deep breaths even as more fingers held his head in position. He breathed in, slowly, as the sound of a syringe being unracked filled the room.

He held the breath, counting to three in his head. A small prick on the side of his neck as someone aligned the needle.

He released the breath.

And his neck exploded with agony.

Y/N awoke, hands shooting to his neck as the ghost of a scream built up in his throat. It was dark in the room, the only light coming from the bathroom light, which was always on. They'd left the door a little open, so in the early morning people could still navigate around.

He could barely breathe, wheezing as he sucked in air. Tears were beginning to form at the corners of his eyes, and he squeezed them shut. Only for images to flash on the insides of his eyelids, returning him right back to that room.

Y/N needed light. He couldn't sit any longer there in the semi-darkness. Hands shaking, he grasped the edge of his bed, standing up slowly. He made his way across the room, trying to not wake anyone else up even as sobs built up in his throat.

Why was he like this? Why did he have to remember?

When he got into the well-lit bathroom, eyes stinging under the bright light, he immediately went for the sink. Y/N cupped his hands under a stream of cold water, splashing the water on his face as he groaned.

It helped to ground him, in a way. The cold water woke him up slightly, pushing the memory slightly further away.

With both of his hands gripping the edge of the sink, Y/N leant heavily forwards. He was an absolute mess in the mirror. Hair messed up, eyes bloodshot and drawn, a small tremble in his lips that really shouldn't have been there.

It was at times like these when he doubted himself. Was soccer worth it? He was so much better, so much stronger, so much more powerful, but at the same time he was so much more broken.

What would've happened if he'd quit early? Would he be happy? Would he have been able to live with himself?

What kind of person would he be?

He'd left the door half open, as he was supposed to. His attention was drawn over to it, as slowly, it creaked open. Long, slender fingers held the door handle.

Y/N froze. Did he look alright? Could he pass it off his appearance as just being tired?

Rin walked into the bathroom, slowly poking his head into the small room. Upon spotting Y/N, he sighed tiredly under his breath. "So that's who's awake at this hour."

"What time is it...?" Y/N quietly questioned.

"Three-twenty." Rin replied. He didn't seem as cold as usual, nor as aggressive. "In the morning."

"Oh." Y/N returned his gaze to the mirror, hands clenching around the rim of the sink. "Did I wake you up?"

"Yeah. I'm a light sleeper."

"Sorry."

They both stood there in awkward silence. Y/N really didn't feel like talking. He was tired, hurt, and needed to get himself together before the morning.

Rin took a breath. "Nightmare?"

"Mhm." Y/N kept staring at the sink, waiting for the inevitable tease, insult or just cold behaviour. He got nothing.

Instead, Rin's hand gently took hold of his shoulder, turning him to face the taller boy. "I have them too. Sometimes..." He quietly admitted.

Y/N swallowed nervously. He nodded, trying to show he understood. Rin's hand was oddly comforting, long fingers warming his shoulder as he talked. "But as my brother said, they're always over in the morning. Don't worry."

Was that Rin's attempt at comfort? Y/N couldn't lie, it was pretty shit. His quiet, serious words did nothing but make Y/N want to cry more. He's probably trying to copy what his brother did.

Then... somehow, they were moving together. Y/N slumped forwards into Rin's torso, his whispery sigh of sorrow filling the bathroom. Rin exhaled slowly, his arms around Y/N's shoulders as he placed his chin on the shorter boy's head.

It wasn't strange. It didn't feel like it, at least. Rin felt safe, and warm.

"I'm here with you for as long as you need, tonight." Rin murmured. He didn't look at Y/N. "Just calm down."

Y/N didn't bother questioning the odd, caring action. He burrowed into Rin's embrace, hiccuping softly.

And they stayed like that, for a long while.