Behind Closed Doors

The air in the interrogation room was thick, not with the sterile chill of Milgram’s usual atmosphere, but with a stifling, artificial heat that seemed to radiate from the very walls. It was a physical manifestation of the tension between them, a humidity that made Es’s uniform feel heavy against his skin. Yet, despite the closeness, the girl sitting in his lap felt strangely light, as if she were made of nothing more than porcelain and lies.

Yuno’s hands were soft as they cupped his face, her thumbs tracing the line of his jaw with a practiced ease that made Es’s stomach flip. He was the Warden. He was the one who held the keys, the one who dictated the flow of their lives within these walls. But in this position, with her heart thrumming against his palm and her breath ghosting over his lips, the power dynamic felt dangerously skewed.

When their lips met, it wasn't the explosive collision Es might have imagined in a moment of weakness. It was soft, tentative, and tasted faintly of the cheap strawberry sweets Yuno always seemed to have tucked away in her pockets. It was a kiss that felt like a question—one he wasn't sure he was ready to answer.

Yuno pulled back just an inch, her eyes half-lidded and sparkling with a mirth that never quite seemed to fade. "Wow, Es. You’re better at this than I thought a 'pure' boy would be. Did you practice on Jackalope?"

Es felt the heat rush to his face, a stark contrast to his usual composed demeanor. He tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her slightly closer to ground himself. "Don't be ridiculous. And don't bring that creature into this."

"Hehe, sorry, sorry! It’s just... you’re so serious all the time." Yuno leaned her forehead against his, her smile softening into something more melancholic. "It’s nice. Having someone look at me without wondering how much I cost per hour."

Es looked at her, truly looked at her, searching for the crack in the mask. He saw the way her eyes flickered toward the camera in the corner of the room before returning to him. She was always performing, always aware of the gaze of the 'audience'—whether that audience was him, the other prisoners, or the unseen entities that governed Milgram.

"Is that why you do it?" Es asked, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "The compensated dating. The 'warmth' you mentioned. Is it just about being looked at?"

Yuno hummed, a melodic sound that vibrated through her chest. She began to play with the collar of his shirt, her fingers nimble. "Maybe. It’s better than being invisible, right? When you’re with someone who’s paying for your time, you’re the most important thing in the world to them for that hour. You’re a dream they bought. And dreams don't have to be real to feel warm."

"But they aren't real," Es countered, his rational mind struggling to reconcile her logic. "They’re transactions. You said it yourself—it leaves you cold and worthless at the end of the day. Why pursue something that you know will fail you?"

Yuno let out a sharp, airy laugh that didn't reach her eyes. "Because the cold is terrifying, Es. Have you ever been so cold that you can’t feel your own fingers? So cold that you start to wonder if you’re even alive? In those moments, even a flickering match feels like a bonfire. I’d rather burn my fingers on a temporary warmth than freeze to death in the truth."

She shifted her weight, her legs brushing against his. The intimacy was overwhelming, a sensory overload for a boy who had spent his known existence surrounded by concrete and judgment. Es felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to protect her—not from the law, but from the void she seemed so intent on filling with trash.

"You don't have to pay for warmth here," Es said, the words feeling clumsy as they left his mouth. "Judgment isn't a transaction."

"Isn't it?" Yuno tilted her head, a lock of hair falling over her eye. "You give me 'Forgiven,' and I give you... what? My gratitude? My compliance? Everything in this world is a trade, Es. Even your 'mercy' has a price. You just haven't realized what you’re charging yet."

Es frowned, his hand moving from her waist to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. "I am the Warden. I don't 'charge' anything. I seek the truth of your soul to determine the weight of your sin."

"And what if my soul is just an empty room with the heater turned off?" Yuno whispered, her playful facade slipping for a fleeting second. "What if there’s no 'truth' left, just a bunch of used-up parts and pretty wrapping paper?"

The silence that followed was heavy. Es could hear the hum of the ventilation system, the distant sound of a door clanging shut in another wing of the prison, and the frantic, rhythmic beating of Yuno’s heart. He realized then that she wasn't just teasing him. She was genuinely hollow, a girl who had traded pieces of herself away until there was nothing left but the transaction itself.

"Then I'll stay here," Es said, surprised by his own resolve. "Until the room warms up. Until you stop looking for matches and start looking at the person in front of you."

Yuno blinked, her long lashes fluttering. For the first time since he had entered the room, she looked genuinely caught off guard. The practiced tilt of her head vanished, replaced by a raw, searching expression.

"You’re a weird one, Es," she breathed. "Most people would have called me a slut by now and moved on to the next prisoner. Or they would have taken what I offered and left the money on the nightstand."

"I am not 'most people,'" Es replied firmly. "And this is not a nightstand. This is Milgram."

Yuno stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, the smile returned—but it was different. It was smaller, less theatrical. She reached up and tucked his hair behind his ear, her touch lingering.

"Okay then, Mr. Warden. If you’re going to be like that, I guess I have no choice but to be 'extra' well-behaved." She giggled, the sound more genuine than before. "But don't think this means I'm going to make your job easy. The song is still going to be a mess."

"I expected nothing less," Es sighed, though there was a ghost of a smile on his own lips.

He looked down at his hand, still resting near her heart. The pulse was still fast, but the erratic rhythm had smoothed out into something more stable. He felt a strange sense of accomplishment, a small victory in the ongoing war for these prisoners' souls.

"Yuno," he said, his voice regaining its professional edge even as he kept her close. "About the murder. You said it was the result of 'sugar-daddying.' An abortion. You speak of it as if it were a simple consequence, like a receipt for a purchase."

Yuno’s posture stiffened slightly, but she didn't pull away. "Because that’s what it was. A mistake that needed to be erased so the business could keep running. It wasn't a person to me, Es. It was a complication. Does that make me a monster?"

"That is for me to decide," Es said, though the words felt hollow even to him. "But I have to ask... did you feel any 'warmth' then? Or was that the coldest moment of all?"

Yuno looked away, her gaze fixing on the blank wall behind him. The pink in her cheeks had faded, leaving her looking pale under the harsh fluorescent lights.

"It was quiet," she said softly. "The kind of quiet that happens after a loud party ends and you’re the only one left in the room. I didn't feel cold. I didn't feel warm. I just felt... empty. Like I’d finally succeeded in becoming nothing."

Es felt a pang of something akin to grief. He wasn't supposed to feel for them—he was supposed to judge them. But Yuno’s emptiness felt like a vacuum, threatening to pull him in along with her. He realized that her cheerfulness wasn't just a mask; it was a life jacket. She was drowning in her own apathy, and she was using him as a buoy.

"You aren't nothing," Es said, his voice ringing with a conviction he didn't know he possessed. "You are Prisoner Number Two. You are Kashiki Yuno. And as long as you are in this prison, you exist. I see you."

Yuno turned her head back to him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears that she quickly blinked away. She let out a shaky breath and leaned back into his embrace, her head resting in the crook of his neck.

"You’re really bad at being a cold-hearted judge, you know that?" she teased, though her voice was thick. "You’re supposed to look down on me. You’re supposed to tell me how much I’ve ruined my life."

"I’ll get to the judging later," Es muttered, his hand tracing soothing circles on her back. "For now... just stay. The interrogation can wait five more minutes."

Yuno didn't argue. She simply closed her eyes, her breathing syncing up with his. For those five minutes, the humid air of the room didn't feel oppressive. It felt like a shield, protecting them from the harsh reality of the trials and the bloodstained memories that awaited them both.

As the silence stretched on, Es found himself wondering about his own memories. He didn't know who he was before Milgram, or why he had been chosen for this role. He was a blank slate, much like Yuno claimed to be. Perhaps that was why they gravitated toward each other—two hollow vessels trying to find something to fill the space.

Eventually, Yuno pulled back, smoothing her skirt and patting her hair back into place. The mask was back, but it was sitting slightly askew.

"Well! That was a lovely break," she chirped, hopping off his lap with a grace that shouldn't have been possible in such a cramped space. "But I suppose we should get back to the boring stuff before Jackalope comes in here and starts screaming about 'duty' and 'responsibility.'"

Es stood up, adjusting his uniform and picking up his hat from the table. He felt a bit dizzy, as if he had just stepped off a spinning ride. "Yes. We need to discuss the timeline of events leading up to the... procedure."

Yuno sat back in her own chair, crossing her legs and resting her chin on her hand. She looked like the same carefree girl he had met at the start of the trial, but the way she watched him was different. There was a spark of recognition there, a secret shared between them that didn't need words.

"Ask away, Warden-kun! Or should I say... Es?" She winked at him. "I’m all yours. For the next hour, at least."

Es took his seat, opening his notebook to a fresh page. The pen felt heavy in his hand. "Let’s start from the beginning of that year. Who was the man?"

"Oh, just another 'client,'" Yuno said, her voice breezy. "He liked to buy me expensive dinners and talk about his boring job. He called me his 'little angel.' Isn't that ironic? An angel who sends things back to heaven."

Es flinched at the callousness, but he kept writing. He knew now that the sharper her words, the deeper the wound she was trying to hide. He would peel back the layers, one by one, until the truth was laid bare. Not just for the sake of the judgment, but for her.

"And when you found out you were pregnant?" Es asked, his eyes never leaving the page. "What was your first thought?"

Yuno paused, her fingers drumming a restless beat on the table. For a second, the interrogation room seemed to disappear, replaced by the ghost of a cold clinic and the smell of antiseptic.

"My first thought?" Yuno whispered, her smile faltering. "I thought... 'Oh. I guess I’m going to need a bigger heater.'"

Es stopped writing. He looked up, meeting her gaze. There was no mirth there now, only a vast, echoing loneliness.

"We have plenty of heaters in Milgram, Yuno," Es said quietly.

Yuno laughed, but it was a small, fragile thing. "I know, Es. I know. That’s why I like it here. It’s the warmest prison I’ve ever been in."

As the interrogation continued, the sun began to set outside the high, barred windows of the facility, casting long, orange shadows across the floor. The trial was far from over, and the weight of the coming judgment hung over them like a guillotine. But for now, in this small, humid room, the cold had been kept at bay.

Es knew that he would eventually have to stand on the podium and declare her 'Forgiven' or 'Not Forgiven.' He knew that his feelings couldn't interfere with the sacred duty of Milgram. But as he watched Yuno talk, watched the way she used her hands to describe a life she didn't value, he realized that some sins weren't just about the act of killing. Some sins were about the slow, agonizing process of dying long before your heart stopped beating.

And if his job was to judge the dead, he would first have to find a way to make them feel alive.

"Next question," Es said, his voice steady. "Tell me about the gifts. What did you do with the things they bought you?"

Yuno grinned, her eyes lighting up with a familiar, predatory gleam. "Oh, Es, you wouldn't believe the amount of designer bags I’ve thrown in the trash..."

The dance continued, a rhythmic back-and-forth of truth and lies, warmth and cold. And in the center of it all sat the Warden and the Prisoner, bound together by a kiss that cost nothing and meant everything.