Honestly, it could be worse.

Sei told himself that every day.

It could be worse. Maybe he wouldn't be allowed to leave his room. (Not that it mattered, of course, considering he stayed in there of his own volition.)

Maybe they would starve him. (Not that it mattered, since he barely ate anyway.)

Maybe he'd be left in a dull, dark cell. (Not that it mattered. The bright colors did nothing but hurt his eyes, and the toys hadn't held his attention for a number years.)

But, still, he'd bear it, and tell himself that he was lucky.

Sei slowly curled his fingers around the wooden ends of his chair's armrests. This was his throne - Toue had told him that, perhaps in an effort to cheer him up. This was his throne, and he was king. He was the king of his own land, of sickening fluorescent lights and children's toys and empty gifts.

He smiled weakly.

He knew, deep down, that nothing could be worse than living in this poorly disguised hell. He would have rathered be tortured openly and physically than sweetly and secretly.

The only thing that kept him going was the sweet promise of death.

The boy shut his eyes and let his body relax.

Some day. Some day soon. Aoba would come for him, and he would be waiting, right in the same spot he'd been waiting in for years.

Destroy me...

His brother would come for him, and he would thank him from the very depths of his frail heart.

With your power...

His brother would come for him, and he would never have to lie to himself again.