Troublemakers: Unrepentant [BL RenXRyuji]

Morning, Thursday, 3/31/20XX

"Ren. Ren!"

His mother was calling him again. It was a fuzzy sort of calling, but he was sure it was her. No one else had that crystal-clear voice—so certain and yet so indifferent—that could cut through his subconscious haze. He wanted to call back, to tell her he was on his way, but nothing was coming out. Half-dreaming, half-awake, he hoped she would call out to him again. He hoped she'd give him a second chance to answer her back.

The pressure behind Ren's ears had been building up for the past couple of days, accompanied by an incessant, pounding headache which gradually drowned out the sounds of his surroundings. He thought that maybe it was a part of his punishment for trying to be a hero.

He'd started having strange dreams, too, both at night and during the day, when he'd inevitably dissociate from reality—he'd come to in a prison somewhere, arms and legs chained, blurry figures pointing and muffled voices shouting at him to accept his punishment.

"He truly is a perfect candidate for rehabilitation, wouldn't you agree?"

"Perhaps. If he can make it that long."

"Now, now. Give the boy time to rest, girls."

He couldn't make out much more, nor did he have the will to. He'd lain back down in his bunk, which was indeed more comfortable than it appeared (and much more comfortable than the cot in juvenile hall), listening to the wardens bickering among themselves about his fate.

"Ren! Are you listening to me?" the woman in front of him said. He snapped back to reality, realizing that the disembodied voice belonged not to his mother, but to his case manager. Of course, it wasn't that his mother wasn't allowed to see him—she simply wasn't there anymore. She and his father had left him as soon as they had been given permission.

"Sorry," Ren said. "I wasn't listening."

"Third time's a charm...I guess," the woman said, flipping back to the first page of the manual she was holding and looking him up and down. "Have you eaten breakfast yet? You seem out of it."

"I'm not hungry," Ren said, shaking his head. The woman looked unconvinced.

"You should eat something. You're still just a kid," she said. Before he could protest, she put the manual face down and rose to pour him a Styrofoam cup of hot water from the cooler in the corner of the room. "At least have something. We've got to get through this today."

Ren accepted the cup but couldn't help from scoffing.

"What?" the woman asked, unamused.

"What good'll it do?" Ren wondered aloud, as requested. Despite the shock of his situation still fresh in his mind, and despite him wishing desperately for someone to actually listen to him, Ren was convinced that regardless of what attitude he took on, he wasn't going to be given a second chance.

"Listen. Even if you really assaulted that guy, I don't give a damn. I have a troublemaker back home, too. Kids your age are the product of society—I can't blame you any more than I blame the mother and father who dumped you here."

It seemed the silent, shut-in office somehow grew quieter then. Ren could make out the faint small talk in the hallway—more big-gutted middle-aged men nonchalantly discussing the futures of kids like himself.

"What are you trying to say?" Ren asked, not so much irritated as he was genuinely intrigued about the woman's intent.

"On one hand, you can say I'm pitying you," she said, clicking her pen and scribbling something on the paperwork in front of her. "On the other, I can relate to your situation. As presumptuous as that sounds."

Ren was surprised by her words. He held his chin in the palm of his hand, leaning his elbow against the table and letting his fatigue set in. He forced a little smile.

"Oh yeah?" he muttered, holding back a tired yawn. "Tell me about it."

"I will," she said. "But first you have to let me help you, Ren. You need someone on your side."

He closed his eyes for a moment, pretending to deliberate her offer. Despite his trying to look cool, he couldn't force his heavy eyelids back open.

"Well. Alright," he said, lowering his head to the table separating them as he drifted back to sleep.

The woman smiled victoriously, subconsciously checking her watch.

"Hey, don't sleep here!" she prodded him vainly. "It isn't even ten o'clock!"

"You said you'd help me," Ren murmured half-heartedly. "Give me ten minutes, will you?"

The woman sighed, organizing the papers in front of him. She closed the blinds on the little frosted window in the door and turned off the light.

"I'll be back in exactly ten," she whispered. "I expect you to have read through them by then."

"Got it," Ren muttered. "Ten minutes."

She cracked the door open, preparing to make her escape for a second cup of joe.

"If anyone walks in and bothers you, tell them to come to Mrs. Sakamoto  about it. Alright?" she instructed him. When he didn't reply, she spun around. "Ren? Are you asleep already?"

For once, he didn't dream of the velvet prison he'd been summoned to day and night. Nor was he stuck dreaming of home—of the mother he'd come to hate. Thanks to Mrs. Sakamoto, after a long, exhausting, sleepless week, Ren finally fell into a restful, dreamless sleep.