WELL: Chapter 2

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The beep of an electronic chime snapped him awake. Glancing at his wrist, he saw the numbers glow in the dark—October 14th, 11:00 a.m. On October 10th, the ceiling of annys had collapsed. That meant it had been four full days. He’d spent those days without food or water—three of them unconscious. Realizing that, an unbearable hunger and thirst surged up in him all at once.

He shook Shinobu roughly, who was sleeping beside him with zero self-awareness. But the guy just mumbled vaguely and didn’t wake up. Ryousuke lost his temper and smacked Shinobu’s head hard as he lay there, mouth stupidly hanging open. “Ugh,” Shinobu grimaced, clutching the spot with his right hand as he finally cracked one bleary eye open.

“Go find something to drink. I’m dying of thirst over here.”

Rubbing his eyes, Shinobu said “Okay,” and got to his feet—only to trip with a loud crash barely two or three steps in. Ignoring Ryousuke’s sigh, he got up sluggishly and asked, “Hey, Ryou-chan, what time is it?”

“Eleven.”

“Huh… then I guess it’s already bright outside.”

With heavy, clanging steps, Shinobu trudged up the iron staircase and flung the door wide open. Blinding light poured into the dim basement. The sudden glare made Ryousuke squint and avert his eyes—he couldn’t look at it directly for a while. When his eyes finally adjusted to the brightness, he scanned his surroundings. The full view of the basement, which had been hard to make out the day before, now lay plainly visible.

In his childhood memories, it had seemed a little bigger. But in reality, it was no larger than his own bedroom—about ten tatami mats. Shelves built along the walls were packed tight with wine bottles. Two smaller shelves in the center were just the same, every slot filled. In front of the central shelves sat a small wooden table and a single chair. There was even a light fixture on the ceiling—but given the circumstances, he didn’t expect it to work.

Leaving the door wide open, Shinobu came back down the stairs.

“Is it okay to leave it open during the day? Otherwise, it’s too dark and I can’t tell where anything is.”

Maybe Ryousuke’s silent gaze made him worry he was about to get scolded for doing something presumptuous. His voice shrank as he asked for permission.

“…Whatever,” Ryousuke said. That seemed to relax Shinobu, who let out a small breath. He approached the wall shelf, pulled out a bottle at random, and picked up a wine opener.

“Hold it. Don’t tell me you’re planning to make me drink wine.”

“…I was,” Shinobu admitted.

“You think I can drink booze on an empty stomach? What about water?”

The wine opener in Shinobu’s hand wobbled aimlessly.

“There’s nothing else to drink.”

“Then go find something.”

“I don’t even know where anything is…”

Shinobu murmured the words with a hopeless look on his face.

“I said go look! It’s bright out now—maybe there’s water out there somewhere.”

Ryousuke glared at the drooping man in front of him, exasperated by just how slow-witted he could be. They had to secure food and water or they’d starve to death. How could something so obvious not register in that thick head?

Still, sending Shinobu out now meant it would take time for him to get back. Ryousuke clicked his tongue.

“Fine, give me the damn wine then. My throat’s dry as hell.”

With a gloomy expression, Shinobu pulled the cork and handed the bottle over. Ryousuke wiped the rim with the sleeve of his dress shirt and took a deep swig. He knew it was alcohol, but he couldn’t help it—he gulped it down greedily. His stomach flared with heat, and his face flushed instantly. Wine dribbled from the corner of his mouth, and he wiped it off with the back of his hand. His breath now reeked of alcohol.

His late grandfather had loved his drink, and as an old-fashioned man, he’d believed “a real man should at least be able to handle his liquor.” At family celebrations, even Ryousuke as a child had been made to drink. He didn’t exactly hate alcohol, but right now, water would’ve been far better.

With his thirst somewhat quenched, the irritation inside him dulled just a little. He turned to his servant, who was watching with bated breath.

“Go find something to eat.”

Shinobu looked hesitant and mumbled, “But… I already looked nearby. There’s nothing edible.”

“So you’re planning to just sit around here forever? You think that’s gonna fill your stomach? I’m telling you, there’s no way I’m dying of starvation next to you.”

“But I’m telling you, there really isn’t anyth—”

Ryousuke hurled the empty wine bottle. It hit Shinobu square in the stomach with a dull thud. “Ugh,” he groaned, clutching his gut and crumpling to the floor. The bottle rolled away across the wooden floor with a clatter.

“Get going. And don’t you dare come back until you’ve found something to eat. I mean it.”

That terrified expression—that was the same one Shinobu had shown every time Ryousuke got mad since they were kids. Slowly, Shinobu got to his feet, his small eyes glistening with tears, and gave a loud, wet sniff.

“Quit crying, it’s annoying!”

The more Ryousuke shouted, the worse Shinobu’s sobbing got.

“Everything looks the same around here... If I go too far, I might get lost and never find my way back. I don’t want that...”

If his servant left and never came back—Ryousuke pictured himself all alone, and the feverish edge in his thoughts cooled in an instant.

“Then take the desk or the chair or whatever and put it outside as a landmark. Either way, we’ll die if we don’t get food. I’m injured, so you’re the only one who can go.”

The idea of leaving a marker finally convinced Shinobu, though reluctantly. He carried both the table and the chair outside and, with a pitiful voice, said, “Okay, Ryou-chan, I’m going now,” and left.

Once alone, the basement became deathly quiet. From the open door, the occasional whisper of wind came through, along with a trickle of pure white sand. Staring at the endless sameness of it all, the lingering effects of the wine made Ryousuke nod off. But in less than thirty minutes, a fierce urge to pee yanked him awake.

“Damn it…”

He cursed, dropping to all fours and crawling across the floor. His right ankle throbbed with stabbing pain even from the slightest vibration—there was no way he could put his right knee down. Crawling with just his left knee and both hands made his movements jerky, like an inchworm hopping forward.

He somehow made it to the iron staircase, but from there, things only got harder.

Clinging to the steps, he began climbing. By the time he finally reached the top, his need to pee had become unbearable. Panicking, he grabbed onto the doorframe—and just then, a strong wind blew in, dumping a torrent of sand down on him.

It hit his upturned face square on, and reflexively, he shut his eyes and arched his back. That moment of imbalance was all it took.

“Uwaaaaahhh!!”

He screamed, flailing. But there was nothing to grab onto. He tumbled backward, bumping and bouncing down the steps until his back slammed hard against the floor.

For a second, the breath was knocked out of him. Lying still, the shock slowly ebbed away, leaving only sharp, lingering pain in his back.

“Heh... hah...”

He laughed weakly. Even now, the need to pee hadn’t faded. There was no room left in his lower body for hesitation. Ryousuke once again faced the stairs. His hips trembled with the desperation of it. He forced himself to hold on and this time climbed with his head bowed low.

The sheer effort it took just to get to the toilet was enough to make him feel like passing out. But finally, when he reached the doorframe and thought I did it—the tension inside him snapped loose.

“Ah…”

A warm dampness spread between his legs. Even as he tried to stop it, he couldn’t. He’d wet himself. The shock of that reality rooted him in place, unable to move. The stench of ammonia rose sharply, and nausea twisted his gut. After tossing sand over the dark puddle pooling on the stairs, he dragged himself outside.

Stretching in every direction was nothing but desert. That endless white expanse was overwhelming. His sense of depth started to blur, and for the first time, he truly understood why Shinobu had been so afraid to go searching. Wandering out into this—he was scared too.

Right beside the door, the desk stood, with the chair stacked atop it. Shinobu’s unease had taken shape in this strange makeshift landmark, a lonely silhouette in a white void.

Ryousuke sat heavily on the hot sand and stared blankly at his own shadow. Then, without a word, he began furiously piling sand onto his crotch. Maybe it would help with the smell.

But no matter how much sand he covered himself with, no matter how dry it got, the stench never truly disappeared. It only faded. And with every faint whiff of urine that crept back to his nose, the same crushing self-loathing would return, again and again.

A thin sheen of sweat formed on his brow. His skull felt as if it were baking under the heat. Then, a damp breeze ghosted across his cheek. The shadow pooling beneath him began to fade, then vanish. Looking up, he saw that the once-blue sky had turned heavy with gray clouds, casting the world in sudden twilight like someone dimming a light.

Little black dots began to dot the sand—drip, drip. The irregular raindrops quickly turned into a torrential downpour, a wall of water that crashed from the sky. Drenched, Ryousuke laughed. Laughing, he stripped off his school uniform pants and underwear and began scrubbing them clean in the falling water. He opened his mouth wide and drank the falling water.

At first, the rain had been salvation—merciful, a blessing. But in less than five minutes, it transformed into something else entirely: a bitter chill that sucked the warmth from his bones. He panicked and rushed back into the basement.

He hung the wet clothes over the handrail of the stairs. Shivering, his teeth chattering, he considered reaching for more wine—it might warm him up a little. But remembering the ordeal with the toilet killed any desire for alcohol.

Even with the door closed, the rain must have found a way through the cracks. Drip… drip… the sound of water falling echoed steadily as he curled his back in on himself. He’d pissed himself. He was naked and shaking. Everything about it was miserable.

After about an hour, the sound of the rain stopped. The effort it took to climb the stairs made him reluctant to check whether it had truly stopped—but the cold soon became too much to bear, and he dragged himself up again.

Panting, he reached the top of the stairs and pushed open the heavy door. What greeted him was a rising steam from the white sand, and above it, a perfectly clear sky, smug and blue, showing no trace of the storm that had just passed.

By the time the setting sun began to spill through the open door, his soaked clothes were completely dry. Peeking out, Ryousuke narrowed his eyes, scanning the sharp divide between vivid orange light and white sand.

No sign of another human.

Once the sun set, the makeshift marker wouldn’t mean anything. Even if the moon lit things up, it wouldn't be enough to rely on. Couldn’t that idiot even figure out he needs to come back before it gets dark? Ryousuke glared at the horizon in frustration.

And then, from beyond the edge of sight, something appeared—a tiny speck, like a fleck of trash against the pale expanse. It started out no bigger than an ant. As it grew closer, its shape came into focus. And yet, by the time the figure stood before him, night had already swallowed the desert.

...Shinobu had returned empty-handed.

Aside from a torn shirt, a badly swollen right cheek, and a dark expression, he brought nothing back.

The moment he saw Ryousuke’s face, Shinobu began to cry. “They hit me,” he sobbed.

No matter how many times Ryousuke asked what happened, all Shinobu could manage were sniffles and sobs. Ryousuke yelled, “Spit it out already!” and finally, Shinobu started to speak in halting fragments.

Shinobu had found an underground arcade where people were still living and asked the residents for some food—only to be suddenly punched. He fled in shock, but another older man who arrived later with the same request was surrounded by several younger men and violently beaten. When Shinobu went back to help, he too was mercilessly attacked and passed out. When he came to, he rushed to the bloodied older man’s side, but the man was no longer breathing.

“They’re all crazy, Ryou-chan…”

Still clutching his head, Shinobu moaned, voice low and shaking.

“They beat a man until he died. It’s terrifying… I’m scared, Ryou-chan. I don’t wanna die.”

Shinobu clung to him, trembling. Ryousuke couldn’t push him away, even though part of him wanted to. As he sat there, he thought. If there were other survivors out there—people like them, still alive—and if they were all trying to get their hands on the dwindling food supplies left only in underground shelters, then it made sense that fights would break out. In a place thrown into chaos, with no police, no judges, no rules or order, violence fueled by desperation and self-interest would naturally spread.

He’d missed the critical window—those three days he’d been unconscious had cost him dearly. Now, all he had left was wine. There was no telling how long they could survive on that. A week? Two? It certainly wouldn’t stretch into three. And there was no guarantee rescue would come before they ran out.

“I don’t mind dying anymore,” Shinobu whispered, clutching tightly at Ryousuke’s knees.

“I’d rather just die here, with you, Ryou-chan…”

Ryousuke smacked the annoying head resting on his lap. Hunger surged up from his gut, making him nauseous.

“I’m not dying here. No way in hell am I dying in a place like this!”

I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. Starving to death—why should he have to die like that in this day and age? He couldn’t eat. There was no food. The moment he fully realized that, the hunger intensified. He’d been hungry since morning, but this was something else entirely. He needed to get something—anything—into his stomach. Driven by desperation, he yanked on Shinobu’s filthy shirt.

“Bring me the wine. Doesn’t matter what it is—I just need something in me.”

Shinobu fumbled with the wine opener, and Ryousuke, losing patience, snatched it from him and tore the cork out himself. He drank straight from the bottle, pouring the wine into his empty gut.

“Shinobu, you drink too.”

When he shoved the half-empty bottle toward him, Shinobu shook his head.

“I don’t really like alcohol…”

“You don’t get to be picky right now. If you can’t move, then I’m screwed too!”

He forced Shinobu to drink, then cracked open a second bottle for himself. The wine dulled his hunger and filled his body with heat. Just as the warmth began to spread and the buzz crept in, he felt a pressure building in his lower abdomen. He clicked his tongue in frustration.

He’d forgotten—again—because of the hunger. There was no way he was going to repeat the humiliation from earlier.

“Hey. Take me outside.”

Shinobu, who’d been staring down at the floor, lifted his head. “Why?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter. Just get moving.”

Shinobu crouched in front of him, and Ryousuke climbed onto his back. But Shinobu never stood up.

“Sorry, Ryou-chan… my knees are weak… I think I’m drunk…”

Useless. Ryousuke shoved him aside and started crawling on his own. But his head was spinning like a carousel. With each step, he staggered and swayed. He collapsed more than once along the way, and even when he finally reached the foot of the stairs, he knew there was no way he could climb them.

“Wait… Ryou-chan, is it the toilet?”

Shinobu said it—just like that—without even a hint of shame.

“Shut up!”

Ryousuke bit his lip, his face burning.

“You don’t have to go outside,” Shinobu said, wobbling as he made his way to the corner of the room. He returned holding something in his hand.

“Just use this.”

What he held out was a glass wine decanter, the kind used for pouring out and airing wine. The mouth was wide and flared, and the base shaped like a triangular flask.

“It’s pretty handy. When you weren’t waking up, I used this.”

“You used it…?”

A terrible feeling crept up Ryousuke’s spine.

“Yeah, I’d put Ryou-chan’s thing in the opening, and that’s how I collected it.”

Sweat burst from every pore of Ryousuke’s body in a sudden, humiliating wave. During those three days of unconsciousness, he might very well have needed to use the bathroom. What Shinobu had done was... logical. If he hadn’t, Ryousuke would’ve soiled himself. Still, the thought that a guy his own age had tended to his lower half without his knowledge—being told that afterward—made him feel like death would’ve been the kinder fate.

But he was reaching his limit. The aching in his lower belly was all too real, and the fact that he’d already had one accident wasn’t lost on him. He hung his head and gave an order to his servant.

“Go to the corner behind the shelf. And don’t come out until I say so.”

Shinobu obeyed quietly and shuffled away. Once he was out of sight, Ryousuke picked up the decanter. He wasn’t even sick, and yet he had to use something like this. The sheer indignity of it brought tears to his eyes. Still, the pressure in his bladder was too much. He unzipped his pants and eased himself into the mouth of the glass vessel.

The cold glass made him recoil for a second—but in the next, it was already pouring out. The sound of it embarrassed him, and no matter how he tried, he couldn’t control the volume. That awful noise wrapped around him, blending with his shame. And when it was finally over, all that remained was a crushing sense of defeat.

“Ryou-chan, are you done?”

Shinobu called from the other side. When he didn’t answer, he asked again.

“Ryou-chan?”

“Of course I’m done, idiot!”

Ryousuke yelled, and Shinobu returned, sniffing from the cold, and clinging to him tightly.

“Ryou-chan... Ryou-chan...”

As Shinobu murmured his name like a fevered chant, Ryousuke closed his eyes with the boy clinging to his stomach. If only—if only when he next opened them, all of this would turn out to be just a dream… he thought, earnestly.

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