Chapter Text
Chuuya cards his hand through rough locks of hair, steady breathing the only sound in the room. The child atop his chest sleeps in peace and he can’t help but wonder how long that will last. He’s come to terms with his life and where it’s led him, hasn’t ever lingered on whether he’d want to change it or not. But laying in bed he has a burning urge to protect him, shield this child away from all the horrors that await in his future.
For now, there’s nothing he can do.
So he cards his hand through rough locks of hair and listens to the only sound in the room.
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Twelve people have disappeared within the span of a day, all on Port Mafia territory. Twelve, unrelated people from the past have arrived in their stead.
The Armed Detective Agency came marching in with demands and plans and usually, Chuuya doesn’t mind. Except for two specific men the agency has been nothing but helpful since their tentative truce. It’s come to the point where they expect an agency member or two to tag along on their higher ranking jobs.
But today he has a headache that won’t leave and one of the two detectives that arrived just happens to be Dazai.
“Chuu-yaa,” he calls from the ground. “If you go any slower she’s gonna get away~”
“Shut the fuck up!” he yells without taking his eyes off of their target.
The girl runs ahead, leaping from building to building. She’s too fast for a teenager who’s shorter than even Chuuya. They’d arrived at the location provided by Ranpo, an old abandoned hotel. They had no information on their ability user, other than being loosely tied to the disappearances and people’s past selves appearing, so really, they came in blind. But still, Chuuya doesnt think any of them were expecting to find a young girl sobbing in the corner of a room.
She panicked at the sight of three grown men, not listening to a single thing they said. And with as small as she is she managed to wriggle away, jumping out of the sixth floor balcony to the building beside them. He has to say he’s impressed, though it’d be easier for everyone if she’d just listened.
Chuuya had followed, Dazai and Kunikida taking to the streets.
Now, she lands on another roof, not as graceful as before. She scrambles to get up, Chuuya watches her stumble on her way to the edge. She jumps, and he sees it. The moment her foot falters, it slips just as her feet leave the ground.
Ah. She won’t make it.
Chuuya jumps after her, hand outstretched. She twists mid-air, eyes wide and reaching for his hand. Chuuya stretches and there, he grabs ahold of her, tugging her close and activating his ability. Between one blink and the next her palm is on his forehead and all Chuuya can see is blinding white.
He shuts his eyes, trying to regain his bearings, remembers he’s falling and opens them again. His vision has gone to shit, but he’s a professional, he’s not going to die over this. At the same time, the mafioso notices there’s a different, smaller child in his arms, screaming and flailing. Fuck.
Chuuya uses his gravity to slow their descent. They land on the ground with a dull thump.
“Chuuya!” he hears Dazai’s annoying voice. He groans, blinking his vision back and turning his attention to the struggling kid in his arms.
Chuuya blinks again.
“Oh fuck.”
The kid is without a doubt a younger version of himself. Same strawberry blond hair, familiar brown eyes. He’s a perfect replica of the picture Chuuya has safely stashed at his apartment.
Wait. Brown eyes? One of Chuuya’s eyes is blue.
“Hey—” he begins.
Younger Chuuya screams.
“Get away from me!” he squirms in Chuuya’s grip, kicking his stomach before Chuuya holds him in the air, an arm’s length away. It feels reminiscent of holding a cat.
“Chuuya!” Dazai also yells. “Chuuya, Kunikida-kun isn’t responding, did they– huh?”
Dazai comes to a stop beside him, the joke of a smile leaves his lips and shock blooms on his face. Of course Chuuya doesn’t even get to savour it. His gaze flits between him and mini-Chuuya, who’s still kicking his legs in the air and pounding at his arms with tiny fists.
“Let me go!” he screams. “Let me go right now!”
Flickers of red glow around him and there’s blood rushing to his face due to the sheer efforts of his struggles. He’s on the verge of tears taking in shuddering breaths. Chuuya feels the boy’s reign on his ability slipping.
“Hey,” he says softly, loosening his hold a little. He struggles to sit down against the nearest wall while the boy is still trying to wiggle out, but once he does, he moves to settle the kid in his lap. “Hey, I’m not gonna hurt you.”
He cringes at himself, because talking from both universal knowledge and personal experience, saying that has, in the history of the world, never worked.
He moves the kid again, placing him in front of himself, making a gamble to only hold on to his hands. It seems to pay off because the gentleness confuses the kid enough that he stops screaming, and that’s the opening Chuuya needs to speak.
“Can you look at me?” he says in the same soft tone. The younger him blinks wide eyes, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace. If possible his eyes grow wider, mouth falling open. But still, Chuuya notes, no more screaming.
“Mm-hmm,” The older man nods at him. “Look, I know it’s gonna sound insane but I’m pretty sure I’m an older you and you’ve been brought here from your timeline ‘cause of an ability.”
Younger Chuuya’s lips thin, eyes narrowing in distrust and the familiarity of it throws Chuuya off guard.
“Okay,” he agrees in a voice that says he doesn’t agree at all.
He stops himself from narrowing his own eyes.
Dazai’s foot scuffs the ground. He’d almost forgotten about him.
Chuuya stands, one hand still holding the child’s. He’s doing his best to be careful, but his grip is tight enough the boy won’t be able to run with at least a little warning of struggle.
Dazai seems to have gotten over his shock, which is a shame because seeing it is always fun, and gives him a contemplative look on his face.
“Kunikida still not responding?” Chuuya asks, looking around for confirmation.
“Yeah. It has to do with the ability I’m sure. So here’s what we’ll do—”
Chuuya yelps, bending over. The little shit kicked him in the balls. He wrenches his hand out of Chuuya’s grip and begins to float in the air. So much for a warning.
“Oh no you don’t,” Dazai tuts, grabbing his leg and pulling him to his chest when the boy begins to fall. Younger Chuuya is back to screaming as all his weight returns to him and he’s squished to Dazai’s chest.
His struggles start anew too.
“Dazai!” Chuuya growls, gritting his teeth through the pain. “Put him down, you can't just nullify his ability like that, what are you, stupid?”
“It’s a precaution.”
“You and I both know your noodle arms can’t hold him longer than three seconds.” Chuuya says.
Dazai grumbles, something about how he isn’t appreciated enough, and how the boy’s snot is already staining his coat, but the important thing is that he complies.
The second he’s placed down, the child bolts, but Chuuya intercepts him easily, holding him by the shoulders and shaking him the slightest bit.
“Chuuya,” he says in a tone he’d perfected as a kid, when he needed people to listen. The use of his first name grabs the kid's attention. “I know it seems impossible for us to be the same person. I wouldn’t believe me either, but you have to think– Look, I'll show you.”
He holds the kid's right hand, palm up and brings his own beside it.
“You see that?” It's the same scar. You– We attacked a kid for talking shit about our parents. Then we got a pencil stabbed in there and it left that mark.”
It's darker on his younger self, but there's no doubt it's the same scar. The kid stares at it a while longer, pokes at both their skins and then, with an impressive scowl, demands, “Show me your ability.”
Chuuya does. His coat floats off his shoulders and settles back. He raises an eyebrow.
The kid tugs his hand away and crosses his arms.
“Fine,” he says, still unsure but with much less suspicion than before. “I'll go with you.”
He glares at Chuuya, Chuuya smiles back.
He hasn’t earned the boy’s trust, who knows how long that could take, but it’s a win. This is better than getting his balls kicked, at the very least.
“Just stick with me, okay?”
He nods. Chuuya gets up and turns to Dazai.
“I'm going home. I'll update the Boss on the situation. You do your job and talk to Ranpo about tracking the girl down. And do not” —he points a finger at him— “slack off, or you’re going to have worse problems on your plate.”
Dazai gives a serious nod that is anything but.
“Yes, Chibi,” he drawls. “I’ll be good.”
Chuuya gives him a glare that makes the Mackerel laugh.
“So violent today! Don’t forget there are children present.” His eyes flick to his younger self. The child tenses.
Chuuya kicks Dazai’s leg, shooing him with his free hand. “Get going! And I expect updates!”
Dazai turns around, giving him a thumbs up.
“Everything!”
Dazai laughs, but doesn’t look back at him.
“So,” Chuuya says, turning to the kid. Or him. It’s weird. He’s met with an unimpressed stare. “You ever been on a motorcycle?”
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To say the kid loved the ride is an understatement.
His eyes are sparkling, looking at the bike with newfound awe.
Chuuya’s glad to see him smiling.
They’ve come to a children’s clothing store. The kid’s wearing a ratty medical gown that falls to mid-shin and it leaves a sour taste in his mouth. It’s a disgusting, pure white, a sharp contrast to the many, many needle punctures dotting his arms. He doesn’t look for too long. He can’t bring himself to.
Younger Chuuya just about falls over himself when he’s told he can buy whatever clothes he wants. Then he pauses and asks if there’s a catch. Chuuya’s surprised he’s this distrustful even before being on the streets, but then again he was kidnapped at age five, he has good reasons. He shrugs and tells him there’s none, the worst he’s going to do is ask him to clean up after himself at home.
Then. “How old are you?”
“Seven,” the kid says, admiring the whale print on one of the shirts.
So a few months away from his escape.
Chuuya doesn’t interfere as he shops, going wild with colours and the limited options in shorts and t-shirts. They get a reasonable amount of clothes, the cashier’s eyes don’t even pop at the bill.
As they’re heading out he feels a tug at his pant leg.
“Thank you,” younger Chuuya says. “Um Ni— What should I call you? ”
“Chuuya,” he replies on instinct.
“But I'm Chuuya.”
Chuuya stops walking, stumped at the sudden question.
“Chuuya-san?” the child tries, face twisting like he ate a lemon.
Chuuya agrees, shaking his head no.
One of the store employees had hesitantly called him the younger one’s father, confused by their ages no doubt. Chuuya shudders at the thought and discards that idea as it forms.
“Ni-san is fine. And I’ll call you Chuuya-kun from now on. You good with that?”
He thinks it over for a second before giving a serious nod, arms crossed and brows drawn.
“Let’s go home then.”
The boy gives him a face splitting grin when they reach the motorcycle. Something light settles in Chuuya’s chest.
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Little feet run around the house as Chuuya-kun looks through every nook and cranny of it. His eyes widen in newfound awe at every little thing he deems interesting, loud comments making their way to Chuuya’s ears, who follows behind.
He’s at the window now, face pressed against it, mouth agape and fogging the glass.
“This is the tallest building I’ve ever seen!”
Chuuya smiles, though he misses something Ane-san says on their call. She huffs in amusement, repeating her words.
“Boss has updated me on the situation. It’s quite a hassle that one of their senior detectives vanished.” Her voice holds a light irritation as if Kunikida could have prevented being targeted by an unknown ability somehow. He refrains from commenting, given the ability was activated on him. “I have assigned Hirotsu-san your duties so you needn't fret, we'll handle everything while you supervise your past self.”
He breathes a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Ane-san.”
Chuuya-kun whirls to face him at that. He raises a hand to placate the kid.
“No need, my boy. Though I must say this is an unprecedented situation. Will you be alright?”
“Haah? It’s only me. Why wouldn’t I be fine?”
Ane-san sighs on the other end.
“Yes, but you must not underestimate the past, Chuuya. It comes to haunt the best of us, and yours has arrived in the flesh. All your years won’t shield you from this.” She pauses. “Promise me you’ll call for help if you need it.”
“I promise,” he says, feeling like the child currently staring at him.
“Wonderful. Do keep me updated and of course, click pictures!”
Before he can say anything else she ends the call. Chuuya massages the bridge of his nose.
“We have a sister?” Chuuya-kun asks mouth agape.
“Not by blood but yeah she’s no different than one.”
“Cooool,” he says with all the adoration he can muster and yeah, Chuuya gets it.
The boy opens his mouth again, Chuuya speaks before all the brewing curiosity in his eyes can spill out.
“How about you take a bath first? Then you can try your new clothes.”
The thought of new clothes distracts him and Chuuya watches the boy dash for the bathroom. The man listens to the boy marvel at how big it is and how much stuff there is as he gathers his clothes. It makes him smile.
“The bathroom at home is less than half of this one. And there’s a tub! I haven’t had a bath in ages!” he exclaims, arms thrown wide.
“Don’t they give you baths in the lab?”
He gets a strange look from the kid. “Don’t you remember? They just disinfect me in the chamber. Or they use a wet towel to wipe away the blood. They don’t like to touch me.”
He gives an absentminded nod and doesn’t push it further. There’s a pit at the bottom of his stomach, but he guesses that’s at least one blessing for not remembering. There’s so much he could learn though, with just a few well placed questions. He could have answers to things he hasn’t even let his thoughts stray to for his own sanity, because he’d accepted he’d never really get to know. And sure, he’d decided he was fine not knowing his past, and stayed away from it. But now … it’s in front of him. And he can’t deny there’s a simmering curiosity that burns brighter the longer the younger one stays with him.
Instead of asking anything though, he walks to the bathroom and says, “I want to wash your hair. It looks like someone swapped it out for string.”
“I want to do it myself,” the boy whines. Then in angry realisation he yells, “And I don’t have string hair!”
Chuuya doesn’t miss the tension in his frame rising.
“Okay, sorry, it’s not that bad,” he chuckles, though it’s an obvious lie. “But washing it is sooo much work.”
He tips his head back as he says that, then looks at the kid again
“You have to comb, rinse, shampoo, rinse, condition, rinse, dry.” He puts up a finger for each exaggerated step and hums as if trying to remember anything he’s forgotten. “You can wash yourself, all I want is to wash your hair. And it’s still fine if you don’t want me to. I just thought I’d make your life easier.”
The kid considers it, arms crossed and face set in a familiar scowl.
Chuuya’s sure the kid will actually relax once he’s shown Chuuya’s hands bring no harm. A hairbath is one of the best ways he can think of. Not to mention the child’s hair is in terrible need of cleaning, it sits greasy and limp on his head like no one’s touched it other than to cut it. He supposes that’s exactly what happened.
The man pushes the thought away and gives him a smile.
“Fine,” the kid grouses. “But I’m going to comb them by myself.”
“Alright,” Chuuya agrees, not liking the implications.
The bath fills as the boy drags a comb through his hair, slow and careful, confirming Chuuya’s suspicions. Whoever brushes his hair doesn’t do it gently, most definitely pulling at the knots until they come undone. His hair is almost chin length, overgrown and unkempt. Untreated and uncared for.
Chuuya throws the medical gown with his dirty blood-stained clothes, only touching it with the tip of his finger and floating it away. He’s glad to be rid of the sad cloth. Chuuya-kun doesn’t spare it a second glance as he settles in the water.
He lets the boy splash around, playing more than bathing. He already added soap to the water, bubbles forming around the kid to his utter glee.
Chuuya pulls a stool beside the tub. “Come on. Lemme wash your hair.”
The kid gives him a look he can’t decipher, but complies, settling near the edge, fingers trailing through the water in lazy circles.
Chuuya starts slow, pouring water over his hair and massaging his scalp. The kid’s spine is ramrod straight, trying to hide his flinches at every touch. He continues on, with slow and steady movements, until the tension starts to seep out and the boy leans into the contact.
“I’m putting in the shampoo now,” he announces, rubbing some between his palms and putting it in his hair. He doesn’t straighten again and Chuuya takes that as a win.
“How come your hair’s long?” the kid asks as he’s massaging his head.
“Because I grew it like that. It’s how I like it.”
The kid’s face is set in a contemplative frown. Chuuya lets him think.
“You’re allowed to?” It’s a cautious question.
“No one allows me to do anything, if I wanna do it I do it, as simple as that.”
“The lab?”
“Gone,” he assures. No room for doubt in his voice.
The kid gets quiet after that, still tracing slow circles with his finger tips.
“I’m washing the shampoo off,” he says, cupping a hand over his eyes. The kid hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t say anything else. He remains quiet, thinking hard while Chuuya applies the conditioner and washes it off.
He can tell that the hair will be coarse and frizzy once dry. His mouth twists at the thought but there’s not much a single wash can do.
By the time they’re done, the young one’s eyes are drooping. He struggles to keep them open, jerking himself awake whenever he thinks Chuuya isn’t looking. He clothes himself in silent awe, choosing a red shirt with a dog on it and soft blue shorts.
Chuuya guides him to his own bed, tucking him under the covers. He runs a hand through the damp hair, smiling to himself when the boy leans into it.
“Sleep well,” he says, heading to the door.
The kid sits up, eyes wide. “Can you–”
He stops, bites his lips and shakes his head.
“Nothing.”
He ducks under the covers again.
“No, no. It’s okay. You can tell me. Nothin’ wrong with asking things.”
He peeks out from beneath the blanket, wide, brown eyes staring at him.
“Can you sleep here?” He covers his mouth with a loud clap after and throws the blanket over his head. It’s endearing in a way Chuuya never thought he’d see.
“Of course,” Chuuya answers immediately and puts a stop to whatever spiral the boy was ready to go down on. “Let me clean up and change.”
A quiet okay follows him out the room.
He takes a quick bath and puts away his work clothes. When he goes back, moonlight is the only light in the room. He lays down, careful not to disturb the boy but despite his best efforts, tiny hands reach for him, half asleep and hesitant. After a few minutes, he climbs right on top of Chuuya’s chest. The mafioso’s heart drops at how light he feels. But it’s a comforting weight all the same.
Laying a hand on his back, he whispers, “Rest now, Chuuya-kun. I’ll keep us safe.”
Soft breathing fills the room after.
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Chuuya wakes up to shrieking sobs, half disoriented for a moment before remembering the kid thrashing on his chest, he opens his eyes.
“Chuuya!” he calls, shaking him. The boy is twisting and shaking, incoherent words slipping past his lips. “Chuuya-kun, wake up!”
The kid doesn’t quite wake up, though his shouts turn to whimpers, mumbles remaining unintelligible.
Chuuya shakes him again, gentler with a hand resting on his head, calling his name.
The boy gasps awake, trembling and clutching his shirt. He continues to sob quietly, a string of apologies falling from his mouth.
“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay.” He rubs a hand over his back, “You’re at my house in Yokohama, the twentieth floor of the tallest apartment building you’ve ever seen. You’re safe.”
Chuuya-kun shakes his head, pressing his face deeper into his clothes.
“Can you talk to me?”
He shakes his head again.
“That’s okay. We’ll stay here and you can cry as much as you want.”
That sends another wave of tears soaking into his shirt and Chuuya moves to settle against the headboard, evening out his breathing to give the boy something calm to cling to. He ignores the fact that the kid’s having a nightmare at all, he can mull it over later. He knows he hasn’t once dreamt since he woke up at seven years old. If he did cry— and those times were few— he’d wake up with silent tears and hitching breath, never loud enough to disturb anyone asleep.
He does know what he’d want after something like this. That wouldn’t have changed, memories or not.
He cards a hand through his still coarse hair, the other firm on his back. It takes a while until the child’s calm enough to peek puffy, red eyes at him.
“Better?” he asks.
“Mm-hmm,” the kid nods.
“You wanna talk about it?”
He gets a vehement shake of the head, not having expected much else.
“Wanna try sleeping again?”
To his surprise he nods yes. Chuuya lies back down, his arms around the kid’s torso. Fifteen minutes later and neither of them are anywhere near sleep. He knows if they keep this up his younger self won’t sleep all night.
“Chuuya-kun,” he whispers.
He smiles a bit when he whispers back a quiet, “What?”
“I can’t sleep anymore,” he says, voice still quiet.
“Me neither.” His eyes have found Chuuya’s again, tired and dark ringed.
“Wanna have some hot chocolate?” he asks, making sure to sound like it’s something they absolutely should not be doing, a secret spoken between them in the night.
The child’s eyes widen, then narrow and it crushes his heart to see the terrified hope glimmering there.
“Really?”
Chuuya sits up a bit, little him’s hands clutched to the collar of his shirt. “Yup. I’ve got marshmallows too, they’re super sweet, you’ll feel like exploding.”
To his horror, the kid’s eyes fill up with tears again, hands tightening in his shirt.
“Hey. Hey kid what’s wrong? You won’t actually explode I promise, it’s just a figure of speech.” He wipes away the newly spilt tears that keep coming. Fuck. Fuck, what did he say?
“You’re real?” the child cries. “This isn’t- isn’t an experiment? I’m out of the lab?”
“Fuck. No, no you’re not there anymore, I promise. The lab doesn’t exist in the future, I blew the damn place up.” He clutches him close, wiping away the fresh wave of tears. “This isn’t any sort of fucked up experiment. Come on. It’s okay. We’re okay.”
He stands up after a minute, carrying the boy to the kitchen and setting him on the counter. He turns on the dim yellow lights and peers into his fridge for milk.
Turning around he finds the kid peering at him through watery eyes. Chuuya grabs the cocoa powder and sugar, then sets a pot on the stove.
“What’s this for?” Chuuya-kun asks, voice wobbling.
“I’m gonna heat up the milk and add cocoa powder and sugar to it.”
“Where’s the chocolate?”
“Hmm?”
“It’s hot chocolate right? You need to heat the chocolate.”
“This is a different type. You see the cocoa powder? They crush cocoa beans to get that and then they use the powder to make chocolate.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. There’s a lot more steps I don’t know about. And this might not have actual chocolate but it tastes pretty darn good.”
“I’ll tell you after I drink it,” he replies, pouting at the pan.
Chuuya can’t stifle his sudden laugh. They stay quiet while he stirs the warm drink.
Once it’s done, they sit at the dining table, nursing their own cups, a bunch of marshmallows bobbing in the little one’s.
Chuuya suddenly lets out a soft groan as he remembers he swore in front of the boy. Twice. Ah shit. He’ll just have to hope it didn’t stick quite yet.
The boy’s feet swing back and forth and it doesn’t seem like he’ll start shouting expletives. Chuuya catches himself before reprimanding the boy for swinging his legs. It’s a habit Ane-san forced out of him even in casual settings. She always said it would cross over into his professional life one way or another, fidgeting showed anxiety and anxiety meant weakness.
“Why are our eyes not the same?” the boy asks into his cup, feet swinging higher.
Chuuya purses his lips. “I assume that since my body was experimented on so much to be able to handle Arahabaki—” the kid flinches, “—some gene or the other shifted and changed my eye colour.”
The kid doesn’t like the answer as evident by the deep furrow in his little forehead. “Why do you assume?”
“I— I don’t remember having two brown eyes, kid, there’s not much else to it. You forget things from when you were a child, that’s how growing up works.”
The furrow doesn’t leave, his legs keep kicking the air. He meets Chuuya’s eyes. “How old are you?”
“Twenty two.”
“Oh,” the kid says. Chuuya’s not sure what to make of it.
“That’s old,” he continues. Chuuya waits for him to say more but that’s all for a while.
Both of their cups are drained when he asks, “When did you get out?”
“I was your age, in June.”
He grips his cup tight and says nothing, staring into the empty bottom, legs not moving anymore.
They stew in silence, Chuuya not sure how to proceed. They still don’t know how the ability works and he’s decided for now it’s best not to reveal too much to the kid. Most of the information Chuuya has to offer would freak him out. At the same time, he doesn’t want to disrupt the space-time continuum. He’s done it before and he’s not eager to deal with it again.
It doesn’t leave him with a lot other than false sounding platitudes. What is he supposed to do? He’d like to distract the boy, most of his questions will go unanswered. Chuuya’s not in a position to give him all his answers right now. It’ll only add more misery to the uneasy air. The lab’s shadow is strong. Chuuya’d like to dispel it, if only for the night.
An idea forms, a slow grin spreading across his face at the thought.
“Let’s burn the hospital gown.”
Chuuya-kun’s head shoots up.
He doesn’t mention the tears, getting up and grabbing his keys.
The kid scrambles to follow.
-----------------------------------
A short bike trip has them standing on some empty land owned by builders. It’s fenced off with barbed wires, about eight feet tall. Chuuya parks outside and throws the bag with the gown over it. Then he picks up the kid and throws him over too. He giggles as he slows his own fall with Tainted. Chuuya climbs over next and lands on his haunches.
The night’s cool and quiet. Crickets are the only sound accompanying their footsteps. They’re away from the ports, the smell of salt gone from the air.
They walk to one corner of the plot, away from the sparse shrubbery. Chuuya shakes the gown out of the bag. It falls in a sad heap, stirring up dust.
The boy’s cheeks puff up at the sight of it. He releases the air in a slow breath, crossing his arms.
Chuuya stomps on it once, twice, then raises his brow at the kid.
The boy hesitates for a second, but after Chuuya giving him an encouraging nod, proceeds to stomp on it repeatedly until he’s panting and the stupid thing’s covered in dirt and angry footprints. He jumps on it with laboured grunts the last few times. Something vindictive curls in Chuuya’s chest at the sight of ruined, pristine white.
Once the kid’s done, Chuuya calmly ushers him away and pours the cooking oil he brought, dousing it until the bottle’s empty. He shows the kid how to light a match, his eyes glimmer when he lights it for himself. The kid throws it on the gown, a sense of glee filling Chuuya as the fire catches and spreads. Watching the boy beside him, he’s not the only one.
He lets the boy throw a few more because he enjoys lighting them up so much. The kid stares at the fire, entranced. The shadows on his face flicker between harsh lines and soft curves.
They stand and watch in silence until it’s nothing but burning embers.
“We should go before someone calls the police,” Chuuya says, not in any hurry.
The kid nods, grinning at him. There’s life looking up at him, burning bright.
The ride back is uneventful. They slip into bed without a word, the boy taking his earlier position. He holds onto Chuuya’s shirt again, but it’s not so desperate this time. He’s holding him just for the sake of having something in his hands. His head rests over Chuuya’s heart and he’s asleep within minutes. Chuuya wishes him a soft good night, falling asleep not long after.