Chapter Text
The room is too quiet.
Not silent—never silent—but the kind of quiet that presses in from all sides, thick and suffocating, until Rudo can’t tell where it ends and he begins. He sits curled in the chair, knees pulled tight to his chest, making himself as small as possible.
The air hums around him.
A low, constant buzz from the vents overhead, pushing cold air into the room in uneven breaths. It fills the space between sounds—between the muffled voices outside the door, the occasional shout that breaks through but doesn’t form words. Just noise. Just sharp, jagged bursts that scrape against his ears. Rudo doesn’t move from his chair. His gloved hands rest on the table, folded one over the other. The leather is stiff, darkened where blood has soaked through and dried, crusted into the seams. It sticks when his fingers twitch, faint and involuntary.
He stares at them with big red eyes, strained from the tears and lack of sleep.
Rudo needs to wash his gloves.
The thought comes suddenly, loud—too loud—cutting through everything else. It spirals, sharp and frantic, clawing its way to the surface.
He needs to wash them now.
His breath stutters.
The voices get louder.
They’re not coming from outside, but inside his head.
They echo in his head, layered and overlapping, too close, too much—
Regto’s voice chokes first.
Wet and utterly broken.
“Run—Rudo—just go—”
It cuts off into a gurgle, thick and awful. Rudo hears it again, and again, and again—the sound of blood in his throat, the way his body jerks when Rudo tries to help him sit up, the sickening squelch beneath his hands.
Rudo squeezes his eyes shut.
The voices don’t stop.
They pile on top of each other, tormenting rudo from the inside.
He hears accusations, sharp and vile with spit flying in every direction.
“Murderer.”
“You killed him.”
“You’re just like your father. Damn Surebrecs.”
They sneer the words at him, over and over, until they blur into one long scream. His own voice joins them, hoarse and shredded, clawing its way out of his throat until it burns.
And then he hears her.
Soft, achingly familiar, yet absolutely soul crushing.
Chiwa, the older girl that he grew up with next door, who always found the time to spend time with Rudo, who cared for Rudo and said that she loved him, came into the investigation room. She had been holding the stuffed animal Rudo fixed for her, when he said he loves her and she said it back. But when Rudo looked up at her, his last bit of hope clinging to his heart, she had been glaring down at him.
“I was wrong about you.”
Rudo’s hands curl in his gloves as the words slice at the edges of his mind.
“You really are a killer. I should’ve listened to the other neighbors and stayed away from you when I could.”
Then there was a thud.
There, thrown on the table, was the stuffed animal rudo gave Chiwa.
Discarded. Forgotten.
“Rot in hell, you disgusting monster.”
And then she left.
Rudo’s eyes snap open.
The room comes back in pieces. The table. The chair. The door. His hands.
His face feels tight. Dry. The tears that had burned down his cheeks earlier have already crusted over, leaving behind salt and stiffness. He doesn’t lift a hand to wipe them away. Instead, his gaze shifts to the stuffed animal on the table, laying there lopsided and weightless.
It stares at Rudo.
Rudo stares back.
His chest tightens.
It doesn’t deserve that. To be thrown away like that. Just because—
Just because—
His jaw clenches.
He doesn’t deserve this. He didn’t do anything wrong. He didn’t kill Regto. None of this makes sense. None of it—
His hands twitch, then curl into fists.
Pain flares instantly. Sharp. Burning. The raw, peeled skin beneath the bandages pulls and stings, heat blooming under the tight wrapping. It feels like it’s tearing all over again, like the wounds are fresh instead of half-healed.
Rudo sucks in a breath.
It hurts.
It hurts so much.
His grip tightens anyway, nails digging into the leather of his gloves as if that might ground him, as if that might make the ache stop.
It doesn't work. It never does.
Regto, who had wrapped his hands in bandages, is dead.
Chiwa, who helped dull the pain in his hands and promised him love, is gone.
Rudo’s shoulders hunch further in on themselves.
There’s no one left.
Rudo is now completely, utterly alone.
His throat tightens, something sharp and desperate rising up again, threatening to break through—
Click!
Rudo jolts.
His head snaps up, spine straightening instinctively, body going rigid as his eyes lock onto the door. It creaks open. Light spills in from the hallway, cutting through the dimness of the room. Rudo stares. Waiting. Watching.
The figure in the doorway isn’t another detective or a cop.
It’s someone entirely new.
The person who steps inside is tall.
Not in an imposing way—not like the officers who filled the doorway earlier—but in a loose, unbothered way, like he takes up space without trying to. His clothes hang off him in layers, baggy and worn, sleeves pushed back just enough to reveal slivers of skin inked in black and red. The tattoos twist and curl over his arms, disappearing beneath fabric like something alive.
His hair is blonde, pushed back from his face, exposing a small scar along the side of his head. It catches the light when he moves, faint but noticeable.
His expression is…calm.
Too calm, for Rudo’s tastes.
Laidback in a way that feels completely wrong in a place like this—wrong against the buzzing air, the tension soaked into the walls, the lingering echoes still clawing at Rudo’s ears.
And at his side, held loosely but firmly, is an umbrella. Old. Worn. The fabric looks thin in places, edges slightly frayed like it’s seen too much use. Not neglected—no, it’s been taken care of—but used enough that it carries its age openly.
Rudo’s eyes flick to it for half a second before snapping back up.
The man moves without hesitation, pulling out the chair across from Rudo and sitting down like he belongs there. The legs scrape softly against the floor, the sound cutting through the room’s hum. He doesn’t look at Rudo right away. Instead, his gaze settles on the stuffed animal lying on the table.
Golden eyes stare at it curiously.
“This yours?” he asks.
His voice is low. Easy. Almost thoughtful.
It doesn’t belong here.
Not with the sharp-edged questions, not with the accusations and shouting that still echo in Rudo’s skull. It feels out of place—too soft, too steady.
Rudo doesn’t answer.
His body moves before he can think about it.
He lunges forward, quick and sudden, snatching the stuffed animal off the table and pulling it tight against his chest. His arms wrap around it instinctively as he curls back in on himself, knees pressing harder into his ribs, shoulders hunched.
The fabric bunches under his grip. It’s already been thrown away twice. He won’t be the one to do it again.
“Ah,” the man hums, like that told him everything he needed to know. “Guess that answers that question.”
He leans back in his chair, one leg shifting lazily as he settles in. The umbrella lifts slightly in his hand, spinning once between his fingers by the curved handle before coming to rest again.
“Good to know,” he continues, glancing at Rudo now. “It’s cute. Be a real shame to leave something like that behind.”
Rudo says nothing. He glares instead. Hard. Sharp. Suspicious.
His grip tightens around the stuffed animal, arms tense like he’s ready to bolt or bite or both. He doesn’t know who this guy is, why he’s here, or what he wants—but the way he’s acting, so relaxed, like none of this matters—
It grates on Rudo’s nerves.
His muscles coil.
For a split second, he imagines it—launching himself across the table, knocking the chair back, attacking the man, making a run for the door before anyone can stop him.
His body leans forward just a fraction—
“I’m proud of you, Rudo.”
The voice slips in before he can act.
Regto’s voice, warm and steady, as it praises him for not fighting back.
He remembers that soft smile, those black eyes that hold a heavy sadness to them as he tends to Rudo’s wounds, and his careful words that didn’t make Rudo feel less than trash.
…he leans back in his chair, not as motivated to escape as he was before.
The tension stutters.
Rudo stays where he is, shoulders tight, breath shallow, forcing the violent thought down until it disappears under everything else.
“Well,” the man starts again, like none of that just passed through Rudo’s head, like he didn’t almost bolt across the table. He clears his throat, then flashes a small, easy smile.
“Guess introductions are in order.”
Rudo doesn’t return it.
“Name’s Enjin,” he says. “I work with foster care and CPS. I take care of kids in situations like yours.”
The words land heavy. Cold. They sink into Rudo’s chest like stones dropped into water, the ripple slow but suffocating.
Foster care.
Cps.
Rudo’s grip on the stuffed animal tightens.
There’s no one left.
The thought hits fully this time, no denial to soften it.
No Regto. No one to come get him. No one to take him home, because there is no home to return to, not with Regto dead.
Understanding settles in, sharp and absolute.
He’s going back into the system.
Back to being passed around like something broken—like something no one wants to keep for long. House to house, face to face, always temporary, always waiting for the moment someone decides he’s too much. Too loud. Too quiet. Too strange. Too much like his father.
His stomach twists.
He remembers it too clearly—the constant shifting, the unfamiliar rooms, the way people looked at him like he was a problem they hadn’t agreed to solve. He had hated every second of it. Every single one.
And now he has to do it all over again.
Rudo’s vision blurs.
He blinks hard, but it doesn’t stop the sting. Tears gather anyway, clinging stubbornly to his white lashes, threatening to spill over despite everything in him that screams not to let them.
Not here.
Not in front of this stranger.
His jaw clenches.
Quickly, roughly, he lifts a sleeve and scrubs at his eyes, wiping them away before they can fall, before they can be seen.
He won’t cry, especially not in front of someone who’s going to toss him away when he realizes what kind of mess Rudo is.
Still, he doesn’t utter a word. He can’t bring himself to. The silence stretches, thick and stubborn, clinging to him just as tightly as his grip on the stuffed animal. His throat feels locked, like anything he tries to say will come out wrong—too sharp, too weak, too much.
It takes Rudo a second to realize Enjin is speaking again.
“For the time being, I’ll be taking care of you.”
Rudo’s eyes flick up, surprise flickering across his face before he can stop it.
For the time being. Not forever. Not “you’ll stay with me from now on.” Just… for now.
It’s honest and blunt, doesn’t try to dress itself up as something softer than it is.
Rudo’s grip loosens just a fraction. All the other foster parents before Regto had tried to sell it differently. They’d smile too wide, speak too gently, promise things they didn’t mean. You can stay as long as you want. You’re part of the family now. We’ll take care of you.
And then one day they didn’t.
But Enjin doesn’t bother with that. He doesn't try to pretend that this is permanent.
Rudo… appreciates that, even if he won’t admit it outloud.
“However—” The word cuts through the small, fragile thread of something almost neutral. Rudo’s shoulders tense again.
Enjin’s expression shifts. The easy, laidback look fades, replaced with something deeper. Something heavier. His brows knit slightly, his mouth flattening—not cold, not harsh, but serious in a way that makes something in Rudo’s chest twist. It’s too much. Too close to something genuine.
“I will do everything in my power to ensure you’re happy and taken care of under my watch.”
Rudo’s expression hardens instantly.
Never mind.
His glare sharpens, cutting and defensive. There it is. The promise. The same one they all make. Take care of you. Make you happy. Love you.
But then he becomes too loud, too broken, too much.
And they leave him.
Rudo’s fingers tighten in the fabric of the stuffed animal, nails digging in through the worn seams. He doesn’t need that. He doesn’t want that.
Enjin’s voice cuts in again, interrupting the spiral before it can fully take hold. “I know ya don’t trust me yet and that’s all fine and dandy—I’m not expectin’ you to jump straight into my arms, especially after what you’ve been through—but at least trust in the fact that if I don’t legally take care of you, I could get into a lot of trouble.”
Rudo blinks. The words settle differently. Not warm or soft, just practical. Detached, even.
He hums quietly under his breath, noncommittal.
Past foster parents had said a lot of things. Rules hadn’t stopped them before. Adults got away with hurting him all the time, so he takes that reassurance with a grain of salt.
Then, just like that, the moment ends.
Enjin knocks his chair back and stands, the legs scraping lightly against the floor. The umbrella spins once in his hand again, casual, like it’s second nature. “So, Rudo Surebrec,” he says, tone shifting back to something lighter, easier, like the weight from a second ago never existed, “you ready to leave this place? ’Cause I’m starvin’ my ass off right now and I could really use a burger.”
Rudo stares at him.
A burger?
Food sounds awful right now.
His stomach twists at the thought, nausea curling low in his gut—but at the same time, it aches. Empty. Sharp in a different way than his hands, but just as persistent. He hasn’t eaten. He doesn’t know how long.
Slowly, stiffly, Rudo nods. The motion is jerky, almost mechanical, like his body is moving without fully checking in with him first. He pushes himself out of the chair, the legs screeching softly against the floor as he stands. His limbs feel heavy, sluggish, like they don’t quite belong to him.
Still clutching the stuffed animal tight to his chest, he moves around the table to stand beside Enjin.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees it—
Movement.
Enjin’s hand lifts, reaching out.
Toward his head.
Rudo reacts before he can think.
His entire body jerks back violently, feet stumbling as he nearly slams into the door behind him.
“Don’t touch me!”
The words rip out of him, loud and sharp, breaking through the silence he’d been clinging to like a shield.
The room stills. Enjin freezes. For a split second, something like shock flashes across his face—quick, unguarded, there and gone too fast to fully grasp. But Rudo sees it. Of course he does.
Slowly, carefully, Enjin lowers his hand, pulling it back like he’s retracting from something fragile. “You got it, kid. My bad.” The apology comes easy. Too easy. But it doesn’t sound fake.
Not entirely, at least.
There’s something in it. Something quieter. Regretful, maybe. Rudo doesn’t let himself sit with that thought. Doesn’t let it settle. Doesn’t let it mean anything.
Enjin tilts his head slightly toward the door, stepping aside. “After you, Rudo.”
Rudo doesn’t move right away. He glares for another second, eyes sharp, searching, like he’s trying to find the catch. The trick. The part where this turns into something else.
Nothing comes.
Just the open door and open hallway beyond.
Rudo turns, shoving the door open harder than necessary.
The stuffed animal stays clutched tight against his chest as he steps out, shoulders tense, every muscle still coiled and ready.
Behind him, Enjin follows.
And just like that, Rudo leaves the room behind.
Enjin knew, from the information given to him by CPS, that Rudo Surebrec was going to be a tough kid to take care of.
That had been clear from the start, but seeing it on paper and seeing it in front of him are two very different things.
Rudo is in a whole league of his own—and not in a good way.
From having to grow up with the knowledge that his blood-father was a murderer, to the incurable wounds that stretch from his fingertips to the bony knob of his elbow, to being ostracized by society, bullied relentlessly, passed from home to home like a broken doll—and now, with a dead father who loved and cared for him—
Yeah…it was going to take more than a couple of soft words and touches to get the boy to even consider healing.
But Enjin is a patient man.
He has to be. No one becomes a licensed foster parent without learning how to wait, how to sit in silence, how to take one step forward and three steps back without giving up.
The past kids he helped take care of—he’d ended up adopting them.
Zanka had been the first. The kid had been so jumpy, so tightly wound, that even the smallest brush of contact made him flinch like he’d been electrocuted. Hands near his shoulders, a sudden movement in his space—anything could set him off. But Enjin had waited. Given him space. Spoken softly. And eventually, Zanka had come to him on his own, hesitant but seeking, asking for those quiet reassurances, those gentle pats on the head he once recoiled from.
Then there was Riyo. She’d been… gone. Not physically, but mentally—like she was living in a world just out of reach. Detached to the point where Enjin had honestly wondered if she’d been on something when she first came to him. But she hadn’t been. She’d just been somewhere else. And with time, with patience, she’d come back. Little by little, she’d stepped out of that distant place and joined him and Zanka in the real world, choosing—choosing—to try and enjoy it.
They were both tough cases. Pasts riddled with trauma and abuse. But eventually, they learned how to take the first steps toward healing. Enjin had helped them do that. He’d like to think he did it right.
But as he sits across from Rudo Surebrec now, he can already tell—this is different.
Rudo sits across from him at the diner table, shoulders hunched, posture guarded like he’s bracing for something that hasn’t happened yet. He holds his burger close to his chest, like it might be taken from him if he lowers it too far. Those gloves—big, leather, far too large for his small hands—wrap awkwardly around it, making his grip clumsy but tight. Protective.
His eyes are what really stand out. Big. Red. Strained. With big bags beneath them that stain his skin. So wide they look like they take up half his face. They track Enjin’s every movement. Every bite. Every shift. Like he’s waiting for something to happen.
Enjin keeps his own movements slow, deliberate. He takes a bite of his burger, chewing like that’s all he’s focused on, like the kid across from him isn’t analyzing every little thing he does. He pretends to be more interested in eating. It’s easier that way. Less pressure and expectation.
Beside Rudo, propped carefully against the booth, sits the stuffed animal. Enjin glances at it briefly.
It’s… strange-looking.
A mismatched thing—bear body, dog face, bunny ears. Objectively odd. But somehow, it works. It’s cute in its own way. And the way it’s positioned—upright, facing the table like it’s part of the meal—like it belongs there— says more than anything else.
Despite the rough patches, the visible seams where it’s been fixed and re-stitched, it’s been taken care of. Loved, even.
Enjin’s gaze drifts back to Rudo’s hands. Those oversized gloves. Worn. Beaten. Old. But maintained. Not neglected. Not thrown away. Taken care of better than the kid wearing them.
The realization settles in quietly.
Rudo cares about his things deeply.
Enjin’s grip tightens slightly around his own burger, and for a brief second, his mind drifts to his umbrella. Old. Worn. But his. Something he’s kept close, something that’s stayed with him through everything.
…Yeah, he gets it.
Enjin exhales softly through his nose, dragging himself back to the present, back to the boy in front of him.
Rudo hasn’t spoken since they left the station. Not a word. The only sound Enjin’s gotten out of him was that sharp, panicked shout when he tried to ruffle his hair earlier. Big mistake. Not one he plans on repeating anytime soon.
Still, he wants to hear the boy talk.
Not just react. Not just glare. But Talk. Say something that isn’t fear or anger or instinct, a voice that belongs to him and only him.
Enjin shifts slightly in his seat, setting his burger down.
“If ya want seconds all you gotta do is ask,” Enjin teases half-heartedly as he continues to watch Rudo scarf down his burger. Rudo doesn’t seem to find it funny in the slightest. If anything, his eyes narrow further, the glare sharpening into something harsher, more pointed, as he keeps eating. He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t respond—just keeps going, biting and chewing like the food might disappear if he gives it even a second too long.
Enjin lets out a quiet sigh through his nose. “…That’s fine,” he mutters, lifting his hands in mock surrender before resting them back on the table. “Just don’t eat so fast, we have all the time in the world.”
Rudo’s glare doesn’t go away. If anything, it deepens. There’s heat in it—rage, sharp and jagged, but underneath that, something tighter. Caution. Fear. The kind that keeps his shoulders hunched and his movements tense, like he’s expecting something to be taken from him at any second.
It makes the hair on the back of Enjin’s neck prickle. He’s seen that look before. Not exactly like this—but close enough. Still, he doesn’t back off completely.
He nods his head toward the stuffed animal sitting beside Rudo. “So…that thing got a name?” he asks, tone light but careful. “It’s too cute to not be named.”
That finally gets something.
Rudo slows down, just a little. His chewing falters, throat bobbing as he swallows down a mouthful of food before setting the burger down on the crinkled wrapper in front of him. For the first time since they sat down, his gaze leaves Enjin. It drops down to the stuffed animal.
And his gaze softens.
Not enough to erase everything else, but it's enough for Enjin to notice.
“It doesn’t have a name,” Rudo says quietly. His voice is rough. Strained. Like something is wrapped tight around his throat, squeezing every word on its way out.
Enjin files that away.
Sensitive topic.
Got it.
He shifts gears.
“Well, what about your gloves?” he asks, nodding toward Rudo’s oversized hands. “Surely you’ve named those with how well you’ve taken care of them.”
Rudo looks up and the softness vanishes. All that’s left is confusion. Sharp and irritated.
“…Why the hell would I name my gloves?”
Enjin laughs. The bluntness doesn’t bother him. If anything, it feels familiar. Like talking to Zanka back when the kid was still all sharp edges and suspicion, his small hands tightening around his walking stick until his tiny knuckles turned white.
“Because they’re special to ya,” Enjin replies easily. “For example—” He reaches down, grabbing the umbrella leaning against the booth, and lifts it up between them with a small amount of pride. “This is Umbreaker,” he says, tapping the curved handle lightly. “She’s gotten me out of a lot of really bad thunderstorms. It’s only right I name her after all the work she’s done for me.”
Rudo stares at it. Really stares. And just like before—
His big red eyes soften.
It’s subtle. Easy to miss if you’re not looking for it. But Enjin is. Through the lingering tension, through the caution and the distrust, something else flickers to the surface. Care. Understanding. Something dangerously close to admiration.
Enjin’s grip tightens slightly around the umbrella.
His chest does something weird. Stutters, almost. He’s never seen anyone look at it like that before. Not like it’s… more than just an object. Not like it matters. Even Zanka and Riyo don’t look at it that way—too wrapped up in their own things, their own treasure, to pay his any mind.
But Rudo seems to get it.
And for a second, just a second, it feels like something quiet passes between them.
Then its gone.
Rudo looks away, expression tightening again as if he caught himself doing something he shouldn’t have.
“You’re weird,” he mutters.
Enjin chuckles, unfazed.
“Well, so are you,” he shoots back easily. “So I think we’ll get along just fine.”
Rudo’s head snaps back up, eyes narrowing in disbelief.
“Don’t lie to yourself,” he says flatly. “You know we ain’t gon’ get along.”
There’s certainty in his voice.
A challenge.
A warning.
And Enjin?
He takes it exactly as that: a challenge.
A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he leans back slightly in his seat, umbrella resting casually against his shoulder. “Hmmm,” he hums thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”
Rudo’s brow furrows, suspicion flickering across his face. “What does that mean?”
Enjin just shrugs. He doesn’t give him a straight answer, not when Rudo has all the time in the world to figure it out himself. “Give it some time,” he says instead, voice light but certain. “You’ll understand what I mean.”
Rudo doesn’t look convinced, not even a little, but he doesn’t argue further. Rudo doesn’t say anything else. He stares at Enjin for a long moment, eyes narrowed like he’s trying to pick apart whatever hidden meaning he thinks is there. Like he’s waiting for the catch, the twist, the moment where everything turns. It doesn’t come. So, eventually, he looks away.
His attention drops back down to his burger. He picks it up again, the wrapper crinkling softly beneath his gloved fingers, and takes another bite. Slower this time. More measured. Despite there not being much left after how quickly he’d been devouring it before, he makes an effort to stretch it out, chewing carefully like he’s forcing himself to pace it.
Enjin watches for a second, then looks back down at his own food.
Huh.
Speaking of food, He’s gonna have to stock up on snacks when they head back. Zanka eats like a bottomless pit when he’s stressed, and Riyo—well, she forgets to eat half the time unless someone reminds her.
And now there’s Rudo.
Yeah.
Definitely gonna need more food.
Ah, speaking of which…
“Now, there is something you need to know.”
Rudo perks up at that. It’s subtle, but Enjin catches it instantly—the way his posture shifts just a bit, the way his cheeks puff slightly with food still in his mouth, making him look like a chipmunk. His big red eyes lift, attentive despite everything, locked onto Enjin.
Gah, the kid’s adorable…
Enjin clears his throat lightly, forcing his focus back on track.
“I got two kids of my own: Zanka and Riyo,” he begins. “They’re pretty close to your age, so you might end up getting along with them.” Rudo’s chewing slows. “They ain’t bad kids,” Enjin continues, tone easy but firm, “but they’re pretty blunt. If they say or do something that makes you uncomfortable, let me know and I’ll straighten them out.”
Rudo’s expression shifts. His brows pull together slightly, his gaze dropping for a second as he swallows his mouthful of food.
“…Are they like me?” he asks, voice quieter now. “In the system?”
Enjin’s smile softens; There’s something wistful in it. Proud, too.
“They were,” he says. “But I grew to like them so much, I adopted them.”
There’s a beat. Rudo’s face twists again. And this time, Enjin recognizes it immediately.
Bitterness.
“Good for them…” Rudo mutters.
Yikes…
Yeah, okay. That one’s on him.
Enjin exhales quietly, scratching the back of his head for a second.
Right. He can’t forget, this kid just lost the one person who chose him. He’s back at square one.
“Anyway—” Enjin clears his throat, shifting the conversation before it can sink too deep. “Tomorrow, when we got time, we’ll have to stop by the store to buy some stuff for your room.”
That gets a reaction. Rudo’s burger slips from his hands, landing back on the wrapper with a soft thud as his head snaps up. “My room?” he repeats.
There’s something bright in his eyes now. Surprise, disbelief, something fragile.
Enjin grins, leaning back slightly in his seat.
“Yep, your very own room!” he says. “No roommates, got a window, a desk, and a bed. Hasn’t been used in a while, though, so we’ll need to pick up some stuff to spruce it up.” He pauses, then snaps his fingers as another thought hits him. “Oh—and we’ll need to get you some clothes. Can’t have you showin’ up to your new school in old scrubs.”
And just like that, the sparkle is gone.
The light in Rudo’s expression flickers out. His face falls flat, like a switch was flipped. “I can’t pay you back with anything…” he says.
Enjin’s chest tightens.
That one hits a little too close to home. Riyo had said the same thing once. Almost word for word.
He leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. “I’m not askin’ for anything,” he says simply. “I just want ya happy and comfortable, kid.”
Rudo’s eyes narrow immediately. Disbelief. Sharp and cutting. “So you’ll just spend a lot of useless money on me to make me happy and comfortable when this arrangement isn’t permanent?” he shoots back. “That’s stupid. I don’t need all of that.”
Enjin pauses.
Huh.
…yeah. The kid’s got a point.
Dropping everything on him all at once would probably just freak him out.
Gris had told him that before, too—called it love-bombing and said he needed to tone it down. Guess this is proof. Enjin hums thoughtfully, nodding to himself.
“Hmm… yeah, you’re right,” he admits. “Probably don’t need to throw everything at ya all at once.” He leans back again, taking his umbrella from his shoulder so it now rests in his lap. “So let’s start small, okay?” he continues. “We’ll swing by the store tomorrow, pick ya out some clothes for school.” He pauses, then adds, a little softer—“And when you’re feelin’ more up to it, we can find stuff to decorate your room with.”
Another beat.
Then, with a small grin—
“And just ‘cause you might not be stayin’ with me long doesn’t mean I can’t spoil you a bit.”
Rudo’s glare snaps back instantly.
Sharp, almost vicious.
“You’ve got your own kids to spoil,” he mutters. “So don’t bother.”
Enjin blinks.
And he laughs.
A loud, unrestrained cackle that cuts through the tension like a knife.
“Hah!” he barks, shaking his head. “They’re already spoiled rotten! Wouldn’t phase ‘em much if I just threw a couple dollar bills at ’em.”
“So they’re a couple of spoiled brats? Just great,” Rudo grumbles it under his breath, rolling his eyes as he shifts in his seat, arms tightening faintly around himself.
Enjin can’t help it—he laughs again. Not loud this time, but warm, amused in a way that comes easy.
Yeah.
His kids are gonna love Rudo.
“Yeeeep,” he drawls, rocking back slightly in his seat. “Just a couple of spoiled brats!”
Rudo’s eye twitches. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”
Enjin tilts his head, genuinely curious. “Isn’t it?” he asks. “They get what they want ‘cause they’re loved and they deserve it.” He pauses, then adds, just as casually—“Same goes for you too, Rudo.”
Rudo freezes. It’s small. Barely noticeable. But Enjin catches it—the way his shoulders lock, the way his eyes widen just a fraction. Shock flashes across his face, raw and unguarded.
An adjust as quickly, he hides it.
Rudo ducks his head, grabbing his burger again and stuffing his mouth with it like that’ll bury whatever just slipped through. “Whatever,” he mumbles around a mouthful of food.
Enjin doesn’t push. He just watches as Rudo chews, swallows, and finishes off the rest of his meal with that same stubborn intensity.
When he’s done, Rudo looks up again. Straight at Enjin. Expectation written plainly across his face.
“Can we leave now?” he asks. “I need to clean my gloves.”
Enjin’s gaze drops automatically. To the gloves. They’re smeared with grease now, shiny in places from where Rudo’s been gripping his food.
But underneath that, there’s something darker embedded into the leather.
The faint, uneven crust of dried blood.
Enjin’s stomach twists. A cold chill slides down his spine before he can stop it.
Right.
It hasn’t been that long.
From what the detectives told him, the forensics team couldn’t even collect those gloves as evidence. Every time they tried, Rudo had freaked out—screaming, thrashing, fighting like they were trying to tear something vital away from him. Screamed his throat raw and bloody.
Enjin forces the thought away.
Locks it down for the time being.
He lifts his head again, and by the time Rudo’s eyes meet his, there’s nothing but an easy, carefree smile on his face. “Yeah, sure,” he says lightly. “We can start heading out.” He pushes himself up from the booth, grabbing his umbrella as he stands. “Just stay here real quick while I pay the bill, alright?”
Rudo nods, short and jerky.
Enjin gives a small nod in return and turns, heading toward the counter.
He doesn’t get far before he feels it.
The stares.
They’re not subtle.
His grip tightens slightly on the umbrella as his eyes flick toward the workers behind the counter. They’re already looking. Not at him.
At Rudo.
One of them narrows their eyes, suspicion clear as day. Another looks pale, gaze flicking between Rudo and Enjin like they’re unsure what they’re seeing. Fear. Judgment. Recognition.
Enjin’s jaw tightens.
Of course. News travels fast, especially the ugly kind.
He steps up to the counter anyway, pulling out a couple of bills. He’s halfway through sliding them across when one of the workers opens their mouth.
“Sir…would you like me to call the cops for you?” they ask, voice hushed but urgent. “That kid—that’s the one who killed their own—”
The crack of the umbrella tip hitting the floor cuts them off.
The entire counter goes silent.
Enjin doesn’t raise his voice.
He doesn’t need too.
“Shut your mouth,” he says flatly. “And mind your business.” There’s nothing laidback about him now. Nothing easy. “That’s an innocent kid you’re talking about.”
The workers pale instantly. Any trace of curiosity or boldness vanishes just as quickly as it came. They nod—fast, almost frantic—as they take his money, fumbling slightly before handing him back his receipt. Enjin watches them for a second longer. Just long enough. Then he turns away.
The moment passes like it never happened.
By the time he makes his way back to the booth, his expression has smoothed out again, the earlier edge gone like it was never there.
Rudo hasn’t noticed. Or—if he has, he doesn’t show it. He’s too busy with the stuffed animal in his lap, adjusting it slightly, fingers fidgeting with one of the worn seams.
Enjin’s chest eases, just a little.
Good.
He’s glad he didn’t see that.
“Ready?” Enjin asks.
Rudo looks up. Big eyes—too big with even bigger eyebags. Thin lips pressed together. White hair sticking out in uneven, unkempt ashy strands. Something about the way he looks right now makes Enjin’s chest tighten all over again.
How could anyone look at this kid and think he had something to do with the murder of his own dad?
Rudo gives a small nod.
Enjin smiles down at him, easy and gentle.
“Good,” he says. “Then c’mon.”
He gestures toward the exit with his umbrella.
“Lets head out.”
The neighborhood Enjin lives in is in a better state than the one Rudo lived in with Regto.
That’s the first thing he notices, even before the car fully rolls to a stop and before Enjin can fill Rudo’s ears with more nonsense.
Rudo stares out the window of the old, sputtering truck, cheek pressed faintly against the cool glass as the world outside passes by in quiet stretches of dim streetlights and neat rows of houses.
It’s different. His old neighborhood had trash piling up and down the sidewalks. Bags split open, spilling their guts across cracked pavement. People were too busy—too tired—to care. Focused on their jobs, their kids, their own problems. No one bothered picking up after themselves. Rudo never really minded. If anything, it worked in his favor. Trash meant opportunity. Broken things meant parts. Parts meant something new, something better—if he could just fix it right.
But here…
His eyes narrow slightly as he takes it in. There are still trash bags sitting out on the curbs—but they aren’t thrown around like before. They’re lined up. Tied properly. Placed neatly like someone actually expects them to be taken. There are even separate bins. Boxes marked for recycling.
It’s really weird.
Like people here actually care about what gets thrown away. About what stays and what doesn’t.
Rudo doesn't linger on that thought for long.
Because the truck slows. It turns. Its wheels pull them up into a driveway that must be Enjin’s. The moment they stop, a bright sensor light flicks on overhead and Rudo flinches. His eyes squeeze shut as the sudden brightness floods his vision, sharp and buzzing, sparks dancing across the backs of his eyelids. The hum of the light feels too loud, too close, like it’s drilling straight into his skull. He turns his head slightly, trying to blink the brightness away. It doesn’t help much.
Through the glare, the house in front of him is nothing more than a vague shape.
Blurry.
Indistinct.
But that doesn’t matter. As long as the house has four walls and a roof, then Rudo will be just fine.
The truck lurches as Enjin parks, the engine coughing before finally dying with a rough sputter.
And just like that, it’s over.
Enjin’s already moving, already stepping out of the car like this is nothing, like this is normal. He rounds the front and gestures for Rudo to follow, casual as ever.
Rudo doesn't move from his seat.
Not right away.
His gloved hands hover around the metal buckle of his seatbelt, fingers twitching slightly as they curl and uncurl without committing.
If he leaves this car, then that’s it. His old life will be officially over.
He’ll never go back.
Not to that rickety neighborhood. Not to the cracked sidewalks and overflowing trash. Not to the kids who spat at him and shoved him and laughed like he was nothing. Not to the house where Regto waited, always ready with a roll of gauze and a kind smile—always prepared with a meal that would make Rudo’s stomach feel warm and full. Not to the nights where he’d sneak out of his window, slipping through the dark just to make it to Chiwa’s house when she called him over, whispering promises of warmth and something that felt like love.
All of it…would be gone.
Vanished.
…But wasn’t it already?
Didn’t it all disappear the moment that bastard took Regto away?
Rudo’s jaw tightens.
His grip on the buckle shifts.
Leaving the car shouldn’t be a big deal. There’s nothing to go back to. His new life has already started. Or maybe it hasn’t? Maybe this is just…a continuation. Like a sequel no one asked for. A story that should’ve ended already but keeps going anyway.
He doesn't know.
The thought makes his stomach twist into knots.
Rudo inhales slowly, the breath catching halfway in his chest.
And then he sees him.
Enjin, standing outside the car, looking in. Waiting. His expression is hard to read through the tinted glass of the car window.
Rudo exhales. His fingers finally move. The buckle clicks. Loud. Final.
Tucking the stuffed animal under one arm, he reaches for the door handle, hesitating only a second before pulling it open. Cool air rushes in immediately, brushing against his face, slipping beneath his clothes. Rudo steps out. His shoes hit the cement with a dull sound that feels heavier than it should.
For a second, he just stands there.
Then, quietly, he moves—following after Enjin as they walk towards the entrance of the house.
Enjin falls into step beside Rudo as they begin to approach the intimidating door before them.
“Remember—if Zanka and Riyo give you shit about anything at all, don’t be afraid to let me know,” Enjin reminds him.
Rudo tries to respond. He really does, but the words don’t come. It feels like something is lodged halfway down his throat, thick and unmoving, choking off anything he might try to say.
So instead, he nods. “Mmhm,” he forces out, the sound barely scraping past his lips.
When he glances up, he finds Enjin already looking down at him, lips curling up into a smile, like that’s more than enough.
“Awesome! Now give me a second…”
Rudo’s breath stills as Enjin turns toward the door, pulling out a set of keys. The metal jingles softly in his hand as he fumbles for the right one, trying one, then another, until—
Click!
The sound echoes louder than it should in Rudo’s ears.
The door swings open.
Light spills out immediately, bright and warm, hitting Rudo head-on—
And then the music hits.
A sudden, overwhelming blast of pop music crashes into him like a physical force.
His eyes widen as the sound slams against his ears, loud enough to make them ring, the bass thudding so hard it feels like it’s vibrating through his chest. For a second, he can’t process anything. Then, slowly, the world starts to piece itself together.
The entryway is a mess. Picture frames hang crooked on the walls, trembling slightly with every heavy beat of the music. Coats are strewn across the floor like they’d been yanked off and tossed aside without care. The entry way is blocked by carelessly thrown shoes that he almost trips over. The rug beneath his feet looks worn, edges curled and fraying like it’s seen one too many rough days. It’s chaotic. Lived-in. Nothing like what he expected.
Rudo steps inside slowly, shoes dragging slightly against the floor as Enjin moves ahead of him.
And then he sees them in the living room.
Sitting on the floor instead of the worn-in couches behind them are two kids—older than him, maybe by a year or two.
The first one is a girl. She’s singing or more like performing. Her long red hair spills across her thin shoulders, barely covering the loose tank top and pajama shorts she’s wearing. Her eyes are closed, face tilted up slightly as her hands move along with the rhythm of the song, completely lost in it. She doesn’t even notice them.
The second one is a boy. He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, completely still. Focused. There’s a mess of papers spread out in front of him, though from where Rudo stands, he can’t quite make out what they are. The boy’s navy blue eyes move across them quickly, dotted brows pinched together in concentration. His hair is…strange. Brown, slicked back in parts, with a long strand falling down the center of his face, blending into a longer mullet that dips past his neck. Blonde streaks peek through the layers.
And he looks completely unfazed by the music blasting throughout the house.
Neither of them look up, not even when Enjin steps fully inside.
“OI! RIYO! ZANKA!” The shout cuts through everything. Sharp and loud.
Rudo flinches hard, his entire body jolting at the sudden volume. Instinct takes over. He jumps away from Enjin, putting space between them as fast as he can, shoulders drawn tight, heart hammering against his ribs.
The music lowers a second later, the girl lazily reaching for the remote and pressing a button. The pounding bass dulls to a steady hum.
And Enjin—
He looks pissed.
Rudo feels it immediately. The tension in his posture. The sharpness in his voice. His muscles lock up. His mind races.
Run.
Hide.
Grab something—someone—
“ARE YA UNGRATEFUL BRATS REALLY LISTENING TO THE NEW TOO LILY ALBUM WITHOUT ME?!”
…
Rudo blinks.
Once.
Twice.
The panic in his chest stutters away, leaving behind a face of total confusion.
Enjin…isn’t upset about the loud music?
But rather that they were listening to it without him?
The girl opens her eyes, and Rudo finally sees them—bright, vivid green, like something alive and glowing as they flick lazily toward Enjin without an ounce of fear or surprise. Then to him. “Ya snooze, ya lose, old man,” she hums, her voice smooth, almost musical even without the song backing her.
The boy finally looks up. His gaze lands on Enjin first. Then he inclines his head slightly in greeting.
“We were gonna wait ’til ya came back with the newbie,” he says, voice thick with a noticeable accent, words rolling together in a way that sounds almost lazy, “but Riyo kept sayin’ ya were takin’ too long an’ made us listen ta it without ya. Blame her.”
Then his eyes shift to stare at Rudo.
Rudo can’t help but jolt beneath his gaze.
His shoulders snap up toward his ears, heart kicking hard in his chest as instinct screams at him to move—to hide, to get away.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he clutches the stuffed animal tighter against his chest, fingers digging into the worn fabric as he forces himself to stand his ground. He takes a small step forward. Narrows his eyes. Stares right back.
Something flickers across the boy’s face. Irritation? Confusion? Gone as quickly as it came.
“So this the kid?” he asks, glancing briefly at Enjin before looking back at Rudo. “Rudo Surebrec, right?”
A pause.
Then—
“He don’t look fifteen.”
Rudo’s hackles shoot up instantly.
His grip around the stuffed animal tightens.
What a bitchy thing to say!
His glare sharpens, teeth grinding together as heat flares up in his chest, hot and immediate.
He already doesn’t like this guy.
“The hell’s that supposed to mean?!” Rudo snaps, the words ripping out of him before he can stop them. “Ya makin’ fun of me? Of my height? Of my weight? Of what? Go on—say it!”
His chest heaves, breath sharp and uneven, and his grip on the stuffed animal tightens until the seams creak faintly under the pressure.
“Cool it, Rudo.”
Enjin’s voice cuts through the rising tension, easy but firm.
Rudo whips his head toward him, glare snapping away from Zanka and locking onto the man instead. Enjin is looking down at him, one brow slightly raised, something dangerously close to amusement flickering across his expression—and that just makes Rudo angrier. “Remember what I said about them being blunt?” Enjin adds, tone casual, like Rudo isn’t on the verge of biting someone. “Well, this is what I meant.”
Before Rudo can fire back, Zanka speaks again, dragging Rudo’s attention right back to him. “I wasn’t makin’ fun of ya,” Zanka says, voice steady, that thick accent curling around every word. “Just makin’ an observation, newbie. Ya look unhealthy but fine. Nothin’ food can’t fix—and we got lots of that.”
…huh?
The heat in his chest stutters, confusion flooding in where anger had just been. His shoulders loosen slightly, tension unraveling in uneven threads. He…wasn’t making fun of him? But—no. That couldn’t be right. The tone, the way he looked at him—?
Rudo narrows his eyes again, suspicion creeping back in.
He’s lying.
Yeah. That’s it. Just trying to save face.
Satisfied with that conclusion, Rudo gives a small, sharp nod to himself.
Zanka, however, seems to take this as a cue to continue.
“I’m Zanka Nijiku,” he says, gesturing lazily to himself before nodding toward the girl beside him. “And this is Riyo Reaper.”
Riyo, who has been staring at Rudo this entire time with an intensity he’s definitely not used to, suddenly breaks into a wide grin. “Wassup, new guy!” she chirps. “Ya got some sick hair. Did ya dye it, or is it natural?”
Before Rudo can even process the question, she’s already moving. She pops up from the floor in one smooth motion, brushing her knees off before hopping over the worn couch like it’s nothing. Rudo stiffens instantly. His spine straightens, shoulders locking as she approaches, every instinct screaming at him to back up—but his feet feel rooted to the ground.
She moves like a predator tracking their prey.
And then, before Rudo can take a step back, Riyo is shoving her hands in Rudo’s hair.
Rudo’s entire body shivers.
“Woaaah,” Riyo breathes, fingers combing through the strands like she’s discovered something fascinating. “It’s so soft…nothing dyed can be this soft, it’s incredible…” Her voice is distant. Muffled.
Because Rudo’s brain is short-circuiting.
Heat floods his face, crawling up his neck and into his ears. His grip on the stuffed animal falters, nearly dropping it as his thoughts scatter in every direction at once. Run. No—stay. Push her away. No—don’t—
It’s warm.
Her touch is really really warm.
Like Chiwa’s.
The moment that thought surfaces, something in him snaps.
Rudo jerks back violently, stumbling as he yanks himself out of her grasp and bolts behind Enjin, clutching the stuffed animal tight against his chest like a shield.
“Who the hell said ya could just touch me like that?!” he shouts, voice sharp and raw. “Are you crazy?!”
Riyo blinks, genuinely confused.
“Huh? But everyone likes having their hair played with,” she says, tilting her head. “I like it, Zanka likes it sometimes, and Enjin—”
“Riyo.”
Enjin’s tone cuts in again, this time carrying a bit more weight. Rudo peeks out from behind him, still tense, still glaring. “Just ‘cause most people like it doesn’t mean everyone does,” Enjin continues, rubbing the back of his neck. “And ya know you’re supposed to ask before doin’ somethin’ that ballsy…”
Riyo hums thoughtfully, like she’s actually considering that, then she nods.
“Ohhh. Yeah, that makes sense.” She shifts to the side, leaning just enough to peek around Enjin and look at Rudo again, her grin snapping right back into place. “My bad, new guy!” she says brightly. “Didn’t mean to freak ya out! Just got ahead of myself is all. Forgive me?”
Rudo glares at her. Hard.
That’s it? No arguing? No snapping back? No acting like he’s the problem?
…Weird.
This whole place is weird.
His head is starting to hurt from all this weirdness.
After a long second, unsure what else to do, he gives a stiff, reluctant nod.
Riyo’s grin somehow gets even bigger.
“Wonderful!”
Before he can react, she’s already stepping closer again—though this time she stops just short of touching him—and gestures excitedly toward the living room.
“Now c’mon! Listen to Too Lily’s new album with me!” she insists. “Zanka’s too busy with homework to appreciate it right now, and Enjin’s gonna be in the kitchen makin’ us somethin’ for dinner, so that just leaves you and me. Sounds fun, doesn’t it?”
Rudo stares at her. One second passes. Then another.
He blinks, confused once more.
“…What’s a Too Lily?”
Silence.
Enjin freezes. Riyo gasps so loudly it sounds like she swallowed a frog. And Zanka—who had already gone back to his papers—snaps his head up so fast it’s almost concerning.
“EHHHH?!” all three of them shout in unison.
Rudo jumps a full half-foot into the air.
Did he…do something wrong?
Say something wrong?
Why are they so upset?
Why—
“Where have ya been for the past fifteen years? Under a damn rock?” Zanka asks, staring at him like Rudo just confessed to not knowing what air is.
Rudo flinches slightly, caught off guard by the sheer disbelief in his tone.
“Oh c’mon, you know Too Lily!” Enjin jumps in, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple like this is some kind of crisis. “Like her song—y’know the one—that’s like ‘dum de dahhh yayaah’?” He gestures wildly with one hand, like that somehow explains everything. “That’s Too Lily! You’ve heard her on the radio, I’m sure!”
“Yeah, what Enjin said!” Riyo adds quickly, nodding along so hard her hair bounces. “It’s impossible not to know a Too Lily song! She’s on the radio, like, all the time!”
Rudo’s stomach twists. They’re all staring at him. Waiting. Expecting something that Rudo can’t provide. Uncomfortable, unsure what else to do, Rudo takes a small step back, clutching the stuffed animal tighter as his glare returns full force.
“Why’s it such a big deal anyways?” he shoots back, voice rough. “She’s just a singer, right? So what’s the big deal?”
They freeze.
Then, somehow, they look even more baffled than before. Something shifts in their expressions—confusion melting into something else. Realization. “Woah,” Enjin breathes, blinking at him. “Ya ain’t joking.”
Rudo shrugs, but it’s stiff. Awkward. His face burns, heat creeping up his neck as he turns his head away, gaze snagging on a crooked picture frame hanging on the wall. “No, I ain’t,” he mutters. “It’s whatever.” The words feel hollow even as he says them.
But Riyo doesn’t let it go.
“It’s not ‘whatever,’ Rudo!” she exclaims, voice bursting with energy again. And yeah—she’s definitely waving her hands around like crazy. He doesn’t even have to look to know that. “But ya know what?” she continues, suddenly grinning. “This…this is a good thing!”
That makes Rudo snap his head back toward her, brows furrowing.
“Oh, is it?” he snaps. “’Cause just a second ago—”
“I’ll show you all my favorite songs and I want you to rank them!” she declares, cutting him off completely, eyes sparkling like she just came up with the best idea in the world.
Rudo blinks.
“...what?”
“You can’t include any of the songs from the new album,” Zanka cuts in from the floor, not even looking up from his papers. “That ain’t fair.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever—no songs from the new album,” Riyo waves him off dismissively before immediately locking back onto Rudo like he’s the most interesting thing in the room. “Sounds fun, doesn’t it?” she presses, leaning forward slightly. “This way you can finally experience the greatness of Too Lily!” Then, quieter—more to herself than anyone else—“Ahhh, man…what I’d do to listen to her songs for the first time again…”
Rudo just stares at her. At all of them. His head feels like it’s spinning.
This entire situation is just too much for Rudo. It's too loud in this house. Everything is moving so fast. They’re all looking at him like…like he matters. Like his answer actually means something. And there’s no fear. No disgust. No hatred.
Rudo shifts on his feet, tightening his hold on the stuffed animal as he tries to ground himself. He doesn’t know what to do with any of this. Doesn’t know how to respond.
Not sure how else to respond, Rudo nods his head. “…Um,” he starts, voice quieter now. “Yeah. Sure.”
Riyo’s face lights up instantly.
“YES!” she cheers, practically bouncing in place. “C’mon—follow me—” She suddenly stops mid-sentence, her gaze dropping to his feet. “Oh! Don’t forget to take your shoes off before coming into the living room!” she adds quickly. “You’ll give Zanka an aneurysm if you don’t.”
“Stop spreadin’ lies, Riyo,” Zanka shoots back flatly, his body turning back to focus on the papers sitting on the table Rudo nods quickly, like he’s just been given instructions he doesn’t want to mess up. He shifts awkwardly, toeing off his shoes and leaving them by the entry before following after Riyo. His movements are stiff, careful, like he’s afraid of doing something wrong.
As he steps into the living room, his eyes flick to the side and land on Enjin. The man is slipping off his own shoes, already turning away, heading in a different direction of the house, toward what Rudo assumes is the kitchen.
Rudo watches him go. Watches him disappear down the hallway, and something tight curls in his chest. Unease. Dread. He doesn’t like that Enjin’s leaving. Doesn’t like that he’s not going to be in the same room anymore—
Rudo immediately scowls.
What the hell is he thinking?
He doesn’t care. He doesn’t need Enjin hovering over him like some kind of guard dog. Yeah. That’s it. He doesn’t care. Nope—not at all.
With a sharp inhale, Rudo forces the feeling down, shoving it somewhere deep where he doesn’t have to think about it. Then he moves. Slowly, cautiously, he rounds the couch and lowers himself onto the floor beside Riyo, keeping a bit of space between them.
Riyo is already focused on her phone, her fingers swiping quickly across the screen as she pulls something up. “Alright, alright—lemme find a good one to start with…” she mutters, more to herself than anyone else.
Rudo sits stiffly beside her, the stuffed animal still clutched tightly in his arms.
His big red eyes flick nervously around the room.
To Zanka.
To the TV.
To the scattered papers on the table.
To the doorway Enjin disappeared through.
Then back to Riyo.
He doesn’t understand any of this.
But he stays.
Not like he has much of a choice anyways.
Rudo doesn’t know how much time passes.
At some point, the sharp edge in his shoulders dulls. The constant tension in his spine loosens, bit by bit, until he isn’t sitting stiff and ready to bolt anymore. Instead, he finds himself leaning back against the base of the couch, the worn fabric pressing into his shoulder blades. The stuffed animal rests in his lap, one of his gloved hands absentmindedly curled around its ear.
An earbud sits snug in each ear, muffling the world outside as yet another Too Lily song plays. They all kind of sound the same to him.
At least—that’s what he thought at first.
But now… there are differences. Small ones. Things he didn’t notice before. Certain beats that hit harder. Certain voices that stretch and crack in ways that make his chest feel tight for reasons he doesn’t understand.
The current song fades out.
Rudo reaches up, pulling one earbud out, the wire dragging lightly against his cheek as he turns his head toward Riyo. She’s already staring at him. Waiting. Expectant.
“…This one is better than the last one I listened to,” Rudo says after a second, voice quieter than before.
Riyo’s eye twitches. Her mouth pulls into a slight frown. Rudo notices, but only vaguely. He’s gotten used to her reacting like that by now. And despite how passionate she is about this Too Lily person, she hasn’t snapped at him once for disagreeing. It’s…weird.
“Huh?” Riyo leans forward slightly, brows furrowing. “But the chorus in the last one had that cool key change—y’know, the one you said you liked?” She’s already reaching for her phone again, thumb swiping as she scrolls through something. “And you still like this one better? I mean, it’s good,” she continues, almost to herself, “but it isn’t great.”
Rudo shrugs, shoulders lifting and falling. “I liked the screaming in the end,” he says simply. “It sounded cool.”
Riyo pauses. Her eyebrow arches. “Screaming, huh?”
The way she says it makes Rudo’s stomach twist. Is she making fun of him? Heat creeps up his neck instantly, crawling across his cheeks as he taps his gloved fingers awkwardly against the table.
“Y-Yeah,” he mutters, suddenly very aware of how stupid that sounds out loud. “The screaming. It, uh… like echoed? And also sounded like singing?” God. Why is he explaining it? Why does he feel like he has to explain it? His face burns hotter the longer he talks, words stumbling over each other as he tries—and fails—to make it sound less dumb.
Riyo hums. Not mocking or dismissive. Just…thinking.
Her eyes flicker with something like recognition, interest sparking as her thumb starts moving faster across her phone. “Ohhh,” she murmurs. “I know what you’re talking about now. The ending where she’s screaming in different notes, right?”
Rudo nods quickly. Relief flickers through him when her frown disappears, replaced by something closer to amusement.
“Y’know what, Rudo?” she says, a smirk tugging at her lips. “I think I finally found the perfect song for you.”
Rudo only hums in response, slipping the earbud back into his ear. He waits.
The second the song starts, it hits him. Hard. No gentle build-up. No soft introduction. Just—noise.
Raw. Harsh. Screaming that tears straight through the silence and crashes into him like a wave. Rudo’s breath catches. The sound is chaotic, layered—like a dozen voices overlapping, clashing, harmonizing in ways that shouldn’t work but somehow do. There’s a rhythm buried beneath it, something steady that keeps it from falling apart completely. It still has that pop-like structure from before, but this—This is different. It’s louder. Angrier. The screaming cracks, breaks, rebuilds itself into something almost melodic, like it’s forcing its way into being heard no matter what.
Rudo’s heart starts pounding. Fast and hard.
The chorus hits. And suddenly—everything drops. A hush. A voice speaking, quiet and strained—
Then it explodes again. Back into screaming. Back into that overwhelming, consuming noise. Rudo feels his head start to move. Small at first. Then more noticeable. A steady bob, matching the rhythm without him even realizing it.
He… really likes this one.
By the time the song ends, he’s almost disappointed. The silence that follows feels too quiet. Too empty.
Rudo pulls the earbud out slowly, blinking as he looks back at Riyo. She’s watching him like a hawk, waiting for his reaction.
In the end, Rudo nods his head.
“...This one is my favorite.”
Riyo’s grin snaps into place instantly.
“I knew it!” she cheers, pumping her fist like she just won something. Then, like she suddenly remembers they’re not alone, she twists around, looking toward Zanka with a shit-eating grin. “Looks like we got ourselves a metal head~”
Metal head? Rudo frowns slightly. “What’s that?” he asks.
But before anyone can answer, Zanka groans. “Oh god,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “Not another one…August is enough to deal with, and now this newbie’s gonna be listenin’ ta metal when he’s feelin’ angsty? Fuckin’ great.”
Rudo stiffens. He doesn’t understand half of what Zanka just said, but he understands the tone and it definitely isn’t a compliment.
His hackles rise instantly. “What the hell?” Rudo snaps, twisting toward him like an angry cat. “I don’t like the way ya said that, asshole! Got somethin’ against my taste in music?!”
Zanka’s eye twitches. Slowly, deliberately, he lifts his gaze from the now neatly stacked pile of papers in front of him and looks at Rudo. “Yeah,” he says flatly. “I do.”
Rudo can’t help but gape in offense.
“Riyo and Enjin are already terrible about blastin’ their music,” Zanka continues, completely unfazed. “And if you end up a metal head, you’re just gonna be another pain in my ass when I’m tryin’ ta study.”
Rudo’s jaw drops further.
The audacity!
The absolute nerve of this prick!
“Oh yeah?!” Rudo snaps, slamming his fists down onto the table, making the papers jump and rattle. “Then what kind of music do you listen to?!”
Riyo snickers.
Zanka opens his mouth—
“This weirdo listens to Enka,” Riyo cuts in immediately, grinning.
Rudo blinks, stunned for a second.
Enka?
Rudo’s gaze shifts over to Zanka who—for his part—is trying to get back to studying, but even Rudo can see the way the tip of his ears are turning red.
“Enka?” Rudo echoes, squinting. “The hell is that?”
Zanka grinds his teeth, his cool guy facade cracking at the edges. “Riyo—!” Zanka starts, clearly annoyed.
“Think classical music, but romantic~” Riyo sings, pointing her thumb toward him.
Zanka glares daggers at the back of her head. “RIYO!” Zanka shouts, his composure cracking completely now, voice sharp with outrage over something Rudo still doesn’t understand.
Rudo blinks between them, shoulders still tense from earlier, confusion settling deep in his chest. “…I still don’t get it,” he mutters under his breath, not even sure if they can hear him over the noise.
“It’s more than just cheesy romantic classics!” Zanka snaps, pointing an accusatory finger at Riyo, his accent thickening with every word. “They’re sentimental ballads! Nostalgic symphonies that express deep emotions like love, loss—”
“Boringggg,” Riyo cuts in immediately, dragging the word out with a smirk, completely unimpressed. She flops back onto her hands, kicking one leg lazily. “Where’s the excitement? The fun rhythms? The catchy beats?”
“It’s meant ta be music ya can relax to!” Zanka snaps, his brows knitting together as he gestures sharply toward her.
“Hey, you can still relax to Too Lily’s music!” Riyo shoots back without missing a beat. “Hell, you were studying just fine when I was blasting her new album earlier!”
Zanka’s eye twitches again. “That’s because I’ve grown used to it!”
“Ughh whateverrrr!”
Rudo watches them go back and forth, his head turning slightly between them like he’s watching a tennis match. It’s loud. It’s fast. And somehow—there’s no real bite behind it. No real threat. Just…noise.
Again. Weird.
“Kids!”
The single word cuts clean through the argument. Rudo turns his head toward the voice, and the smell hits him first. Warm. Rich. Something savory that makes his stomach twist and growl all at once. Enjin steps out from the kitchen, smoke curling lazily behind him in thin wisps. There’s an apron tied around his waist, bright and out of place against his usual look, and oversized oven mitts covering his tattooed hands.
Rudo blinks. Enjin looks…ridiculous. Like those fake smiling people in magazine ads Rudo used to flip past without thinking. A stay-at-home parent playing house. And yet—Enjin doesn’t look embarrassed in the slightest. If anything, he looks pleased with himself.
His grin is wide, teasing, eyes crinkling at the corners as he waves those bulky mitts at them. “Food’s ready! Stop yer yappin’ an’ get to eating!”
“On it,” Riyo practically purrs, already springing to her feet like she’s been waiting for this exact moment. She darts off immediately, light on her feet as she disappears down the hall toward the kitchen, following the trail of smoke and smell.
Rudo pushes himself up a second later, slower, clutching his stuffed animal as he moves to follow her.
But he stops. Something catches his attention.
Zanka.
It takes the boy longer to get up. At first, Rudo doesn’t understand why. Zanka plants one hand on the floor, pushing himself up—but there’s hesitation in the movement. A stiffness. Then Rudo sees it.
The stick. Blue. Worn. A walking stick. Zanka grips it, using it to steady himself as he rises to his feet. There’s a slight hitch in his posture, a subtle shift of weight before he starts moving. And when he does, there’s a limp; small and controlled, but a limp nonetheless.
Rudo can’t help but stare.
He hadn’t noticed before. Not the stick. Not the way Zanka stayed seated the whole time. Not the way he avoided unnecessary movement.
Disabled.
Is that the right word?
Rudo isn’t sure, but the realization settles in his chest, quiet and strange.
Zanka moves past him without saying anything, already heading down the hall, the soft tap of the stick against the floor marking each step. Controlled. Practiced. Normal.
And for some reason, it makes something in Rudo’s chest loosen.
He’s not the only one.
The thought is small. Barely there. But it’s enough—enough to make him notice the faint burning crawling along his own hands, creeping up his forearms beneath the gloves. That familiar ache. That constant reminder that he’s different.
Rudo tightens his grip slightly. Then he shoves the feeling down. For now.
Without another word, he follows after Zanka, trailing behind him down the hallway toward the dining room, where the smell of food grows stronger with every step.
The dining room is small. Not cramped—just…simple.
There’s a table in the center that looks like it’s been through years of use, the surface scratched and uneven in places, edges worn down like people have leaned against it one too many times. The chairs around it don’t match at all. One looks newer, another slightly crooked, one with a cushion that’s definitely seen better days. Like they’ve all been collected from different places and just…made to work.
But on top of the table—Rudo’s attention locks onto it immediately. Plates. Four of them.
Each piled high with hotdogs and fries, steam still curling faintly off the food like it had just been made. It smells…good. Really good. Almost like something straight out of a fast-food place, salty and warm and heavy in the air.
Zanka and Riyo are already seated by the time Rudo steps in, like they’ve done this a hundred times before. Riyo’s bouncing slightly in her chair, already reaching for a fry, while Zanka settles more carefully, adjusting his position with his walking stick resting against the side of the table.
Enjin follows in right after, already pulling out a chair for himself before gesturing toward the last empty one.
“Go on,” he says, nodding his head toward it.
Rudo hesitates for half a second. Then he moves. He takes the seat next to Zanka, movements stiff, deliberate, like he’s not entirely sure what to do with himself. The stuffed animal stays clutched in his hands until he finally settles, placing it carefully in his lap like it belongs there.
By the time he looks up again, Enjin’s already different. The apron and mitts are gone—Rudo didn’t even see when he took them off—and now it’s just him again. Casual, relaxed and with those same tattooed hands, Enjin reaches across the table and slides a plate toward Rudo. It stops right in front of him. Full.
“Eat up, scrawny,” Enjin says, grinning. “I didn’t slave over your food just for ya to stare at it.”
“…Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, barely audible as he picks up the hotdog.
He takes a bite.
And he doesn’t taste anything. Not really. He chews, but there’s no taste. Just texture. Bread. Meat. Salt, maybe—but it doesn’t register the way it should. It’s like his mouth is working, but his brain isn’t catching up.
Still, he keeps eating.
Across from him, Riyo is already talking.
A lot.
“…and then the bridge comes in, right? And it’s like—boom! Completely different vibe, but it still works—”
“Oi, don’t spoil it!” Enjin groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I told ya I wanted to listen to it myself!”
“I’m not spoiling, I’m explaining!” Riyo shoots back immediately, waving a fry at him like it proves her point.
Zanka snorts softly from beside Rudo. “It ain’t that deep,” he mutters, picking at his food. “Album’s mid at best.”
Riyo gasps like he just insulted her entire existence. “Mid?! You have no taste!”
“I got better taste than whatever that is,” Zanka shoots back, jerking his chin toward her.
They keep going. Back and forth. Voices overlapping. Complaints. Arguments. Teasing. Normal.
Rudo can’t stop staring.
He keeps chewing, keeps swallowing, but he’s not really there. His eyes move between them, watching the way they talk so easily, the way Enjin leans back in his chair like this is just another night, the way Riyo rolls her eyes dramatically, the way Zanka barely reacts but still engages.
Rudo doesn't belong here.
The thought creeps in quietly.
He shouldn’t be here. He should be back home. Back with Regto.Listening to him ramble about whatever book he picked up this time, voice warm and steady, filling the quiet space between them—
Pain shoots through his hands.
Rudo gasps under his breath, the sensation racing up his fingers, crawling beneath his gloves like something alive. His grip falters and the hotdog slips out of his hands.
It hits the plate with a loud clatter.
The sound cuts through everything. Conversation stops. Silence drops heavy over the table.
Rudo freezes.
He feels it. Every pair of eyes at the table boring into his skin.
His chest tightens, breath coming faster, uneven, like he can’t quite get enough air in. His hands burn, his stomach twists, and suddenly everything feels wrong. Too loud. Too close.
“I’m done eating,” he blurts out. It comes out rushed, desperate, like his insides may explode if he doens’t leave his seat now.
“Rudo? Is everything—”
“Where’s the bathroom?” he cuts Enjin off immediately, voice sharp, strained. “I need—the bathroom.”
There’s a pause. Enjin studies him. For a second too long. Then he sighs, something quieter slipping into his expression. “…Down the hall. To the left.”
Rudo nods quickly. Doesn’t wait.
He shoves his chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the floor as he stands. The stuffed animal is clutched tight against his chest again, fingers digging into it like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. He doesn’t care about the noise. Doesn’t care about the way they’re still watching him. Doesn’t care about anything except getting away. Now.
He bolts.
Down the hallway, steps quick and uneven, breath catching in his throat. The walls blur slightly as he moves, the burning in his hands refusing to ease, the nausea in his stomach climbing higher with every second. Left. He turns. There’s a door. He doesn’t hesitate. He grabs the handle, yanks it open—
And there it is.
The bathroom.
The door slams shut behind him with a sharp crack that echoes through the small bathroom. Rudo doesn’t hesitate. He twists the lock into place with shaking fingers, the click loud—final.
The stuffed animal slips from his grasp and hits the tile floor.
In seconds, he’s on his knees in front of the toilet, hands gripping the porcelain as his body lurches forward. It all comes up at once—violent, uncontrollable.
The half-stale crackers the detectives gave him at the station. The greasy burger from the diner. The hotdog he barely managed to choke down just minutes ago. It all spills out of him in harsh, choking waves until there’s nothing left.
And still—his body keeps trying. Dry heaves rack through him, painful and empty, his throat burning, eyes watering as tears stream freely down his face.
He can’t breathe.
He can’t think.
All he sees—
Is him.
Regto.
Regto smiling as he holds up a shirt, asking if Rudo likes it for school.
Regto’s hand—bloodied—reaching out, trembling, begging him to run—
Regto laughing, teasing him for the way he looked at Chiwa.
Regto’s eyes—rolled back, empty, lifeless—
Regto pressing the gloves into his hands, voice soft, telling him they’ll help with the pain.
Regto choking on blood, red spilling from his lips, pooling on the floor—
“Stop—” Rudo chokes, voice breaking, but the images don’t stop. They don’t stop.
His body gives out.
Rudo collapses sideways onto the cold tile floor, curling in on himself as everything inside him twists tighter and tighter. His stomach knots, his chest aches, his throat burns—every part of him feels wrong. Broken. Like something inside him has been tied into a knot so tight it’ll never come undone.
“I want—” his voice cracks, barely more than a whisper. “I wanna go back…”
Back home.
Back to where Regto was waiting. Back to where things made sense. Back to where he belonged.
Because this? This isn’t it.
No matter how nice they are. No matter how weird they act. No matter how warm that house feels, It’s not his.
He doesn't belong here.
He belongs with Regto.
With his dad.
With someone who’s dead.
Someone who was killed right in front of Rudo.
The pain in his hands flares suddenly—sharp, searing, like fire licking beneath his skin.
Rudo gasps, body jerking as he grabs at his gloves with frantic movements. He yanks them off, letting them drop to the floor beside him. His fingers fumble with the bandages, clumsy, desperate as he starts peeling them away. Layer by layer, until there’s nothing left for Rudo to hide.
There, beneath the gloves and the bandages, are Rudo’s bare hands.
The skin is wrong. Dark red and raw, like it’s been peeled back over and over again, like it’s been burned and never allowed to heal. It looks cooked. Ruined. Pain pulses through it, stronger now that it’s exposed, throbbing in time with his heartbeat.
Rudo’s breath hitches. He grabs his gloves.
Tears drip from his chin as he scrambles to his feet with the gloves clutched tightly in his hands, nearly slipping on the tile as he rushes to the sink. His hands shake so badly he almost fumbles the faucet, but he manages to turn it on.
Water rushes out. He shoves his gloves under it first.
Washes and scrubs.
He gets rid of the grease.
The oil.
The faint, dried remnants of blood still clinging to the leather.
Gone. All of it.
When he’s done, he just…stares.
His chest rises and falls too fast, breaths uneven and shaky as he grips the edge of the sink, knuckles white.
And then, slowly, he looks up.
His reflection stares backat him through the mirror.
Too big red eyes. An ugly worn face that’s always pinched in a scowl. Weird white hair that fades to black at the ends.
He’s one ugly, hell of a creature. A monster.
But Chiwa didn’t think he looked like a monster. She thought he was cute.
But yet again, she still left.
As did Regto.
They all left.
His grip tightens on the sink as another unforgiving flare of pain runs through his hands.
He’s all alone now.
He can’t stand it.
He falls to his knees with a deafening crack.
Rudo spins around, ignoring the throbbing in his knees until his back is pressed up against the cabinet beneath the sink. His head tips forward, his vision swimming with tears as they slide down his cheeks.
Tired red eyes dart around the bathroom. The clean tiles. The neatly hung towels. The cluttered tub, filled with bottles and hair products.
They land, finally, on the stuffed animal he dropped.
Rudo stares at it for a long moment. Then, slowly—carefully—he reaches out.
He picks it up. Pulls it close. Buries his face into the soft fabric, clutching it tightly against his chest like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely. His shoulders shake. Quiet and small.
This is it.
This is his life now.
Alone.
Hurting.
Without the people he loved most.