Chapter Text
The skin on the soles of his feet were cracking. His shoes were frayed and the ends were tearing themselves up, the material cheap and not meant to last long. He stared down at his feet dully and toed the ground. He could feel the pavement through the thin layer of plastic and fake leather. It wouldn’t be long before the bottoms of his feet started to bleed into his shoes, cutting into the skin.
He didn’t care.
It’s worth it, he said to himself as he pressed his back against the wall and slid down. Sighing in relief at now finally being able to rest his feet, he tucked his legs in to preserve some warmth in the shade of the dark, dimly lit alley.
Any pain is worth it as long as I don’t have to be there anymore.
The boy’s name was Nakajima Atsushi. He was nine years old, and he had run away from the only home he’d ever known.
It was a home he never wanted to go back to.
Closing his eyes, Atsushi let his aching legs rest and slept against the wall, not caring about who would see him. There was nothing to steal from him. He had no possessions but the clothes on his back, his decaying shoes, and a little pack he’d found in a dumpster in Tsurumi, filled with whatever scraps of food he could find and a bottle of water.
And given how filthy he was, there was little chance that anyone would dare approach him. He hadn’t had a proper bath in weeks. Maybe he’d be able to find a pond or a river near a park.. that would be enough. He could hide under a bridge and sleep there while his clothes dried. Atsushi was sure he could find some clothes in the trash somewhere that fit him well enough.
Atsushi swallowed down the sudden fear and anxiety churning in his stomach that felt like bile.
He could do this. He would be okay. He’d be fine, he would survive.
He would survive and he was never going back to that place.
Atsushi would not go sniveling back like a coward to a place that didn’t even want him there.
With that resolve, Atsushi steeled himself awake and found himself staring into a dark sky. The lights of Yokohama were still alight in the distance. Atsushi thought they were pretty from his current seat. Shame he couldn’t see them in full.
The lights of Yokohama were but distant stars to those that lived in the slums. They’d burn your fingers if you tried to touch it and soon, you became numb to its warmth and brightness. That brightness could never reach you.
Atsushi always wanted to see its light for himself. But-- what right did he have to that light?
He was thrown into a garbage bag as an infant and lived in place where everyone looked at him as if he were a piece of wet trash they’d stepped on along the curb. Atsushi knew that he didn’t deserve to be in its light.
What right did an abandoned, dirty child have to it?
Atsushi woke up to the shades of the sun on his face and the clatter of a garbage lid falling off of a can. With a yelp, startled tawny eyes followed the tail of a cat darting away. Sighing, he relaxed and leaned back against the wall once more. He stared up at the grey sky and the tall skyscrapers in the distance before forcing himself to stand.
He hissed at the pain in his legs shooting up to the back of his kneecaps. He exhaled harshly as he waited for the pain to pass and then stood properly. Atsushi glanced around him and cautiously walked toward the end of the alleyway to see a tower of ramshackle buildings and houses, stacked on top of each other, reaching towards the walls of the outer edge of the city. It was midday.
A low growl coiled in his stomach and Atsushi gasped at the sudden pain that clawed at his abdomen. He rubbed his stomach and frowned; it was a pain he knew well.
He was hungry.
Atsushi stepped out onto the streets and stood in the middle. That was when it began to sink in; he was truly on his own now. Whatever scraps of food he could get, he would have to find on his own. There were no hands to feed him now.
He was alone.
His stomach coiled with a colder emotion than hunger.
“What am I gonna do?” he breathed.
There was one upside to being refused meals on a regular basis; it had Atsushi already used to the sensation of starving at the tender age of nine. He didn’t enjoy the sensation, but he could survive with it, however briefly. Just mere slices of bread he could find, sometimes barely half a slice, were enough to hold him off for most of the day, if he rationed well enough. Sometimes, he’d be lucky enough to find a stray apple or half-rotting piece of fruit in a nearby trashcan.
There were several convenience stores scattered around the neighborhoods Atsushi filtered through, but with no money on his person it would be useless just to go inside and buy a bottle of water or a snack. Most of the time, he settled for the dumpsters and garbages. It was where he found the most food.
For two weeks, he scavenged for food and slept under bridges or in alleys. He used ratty blankets to cover himself for the cold nights. He was lucky enough to have left the orphanage in late summer; it was still warm most of the time, so he didn’t freeze to death.
Nobody gave him a second glance.
Atsushi wasn’t surprised.
Oh, sometimes he’d receive stares of curiosity from other children, glancing at him once and staring long and hard before they went about their ways. He’d just stare back and move along. Sometimes, he’d see the pitying stare of adults when they saw no one else with him, but they did nothing to change it. Nobody stopped to ask him for his name, if he’d like some water or if he was hungry.
Nobody wanted an orphan, not even in the Nadir.
His stomach gave another angry rumble and Atsushi nearly keeled forward with a pitiful groan.
It was a struggle to force himself to sit upright on the dirty alley floor, his fingers curling into the dirty and dust as he shakily sat up. He curled his legs in and shivered as the hunger pains shook through him.
I think I’m gonna die, Atsushi thought.
It was but a whisper to his nine-year old mind, but one that shook him to the core.
If he didn’t find some food and soon, he was going to die here. Alone in the backwaters of Yokohama, with no family, friends or anyone who gave the slightest inkling him. He would die namelessly and forgotten in a moment.
No. I don’t want to die.
I won’t die.
I’m not going to die.
Atsushi could feel the Headmaster murmuring in his ear, biting in his vowels as he told him that he was worthless, that he would amount to nothing, that he didn’t deserve the food that those who had it far worse than he did struggled for. What right did he have to take what they needed more than he did? Maybe he could just die here, in this alley?
“No,” he whispered, “I don’t want to.”
They would be better off.
“Shut up.”
What gives you the right to live?
“SHUT UP!”
A cat leaped out of a garbage bin with a screech, knocking it over as it ran off. The bin fell with a loud, angry clang and Atsushi jumped, his tawny eyes widened as he panted harshly. He blinked rapidly and the cold hand of his Headmaster’s on his shoulder disappeared. Tension lessening, he sighed and pressed his back against the wall.
He was so hungry.
He had no money to buy himself food with, and rifling through garbage could only bring him so much. There was only one other option available; to steal someone’s wallet or food right out of their hands and run as fast as he could before they could catch him. His chest constricted with reluctance, but his stomach twisted in hunger.
If he didn’t find himself something to eat soon, he was going to die. And Atsushi refused to die. This was nothing compared to the orphanage and he refused to let this outside world defeat him. He would survive just to spite them.
Coming up with how to steal food or money from someone was a much more difficult task, especially in a part of the city where few carried much in their purses or wallets. Atsushi steeled himself, watching the way other children would slip their fingers into coat pockets and run off on silent feet with a wallet in their hand. Then, he started watching the few shops, bakeries and vendors that could be found around town. Some would leave entire loaves out on display and turn their backs on them, not seeing if someone was about to take them.
The thought of stealing someone’s wallet still unnerved Atsushi but stealing just a loaf of bread? He could do that. If he tried hard enough, he could.
If there was one thing he was good about doing, it was making himself go unnoticed.
There were some weeks when punishments were light because Atsushi made an effort to not be noticed, keeping his head down and mouth shut so that he didn’t say or do anything that could get him in trouble. It made for easier nights for sleeping, and meals that didn’t leave him with a shrinking stomach, however rare they were.
And it made snatching food that much easier.
He was nearly caught the first few times because he hesitated out of fear and turned around at the last moment before sharp eyes could catch him. He learned that he had to be casual and quick, to find a blind-spot. He’d seen it done before at the orphanage; older children would nick food from the kitchens without ever changing their expressions, keeping a blank slate and biting down whatever fear they felt through clenching their jaw.
Atsushi tightened his jaw, hauled the minuscule bag over his shoulder and began walking behind a middle aged man carrying a bag of groceries from the convenience store just down the block. Making sure to make himself seem as small and silent as possible, he swallowed down the hammering of his heart in his throat, and clasped the plastic covering between his fingers.
Atsushi pulled it out of the bag and ran before the man could notice that he was even there.
His pulse raced in his ears as he clung the loaf to himself, already feeling his stomach twist in agony and hungry glee as he held it close. The loaf was probably crushed against his chest, but he didn’t care. His legs shook as he tried to calm himself down, breathing heavily and open-mouthed as he waited, straining his ear to find out if he’d been caught.
He waited.
Silence.
No one had seen him.
Sagging, he sighed and pressed his back against the wall.
The plastic rustled as he set it down in his lap, and he frowned at the slightly squished bread in his lap. He ran his thumb over the side.
He stole this.
He really stole this.
His bottom lip trembled and he bit down on it as his stomach growled ever louder. Atsushi closed his eyes and drew his legs closer to himself.
...Well, how else was he supposed to be able to feed himself? He had no other option, right? Then.. that didn’t make him a bad person for stealing, did it?
Atsushi didn’t know.
Too tired, frazzled and hungry to be able to contemplate on the morality of stealing food for the sake of not starving to death, Atsushi sighed and unwrapped the plastic. His parched mouth watered as the smell of warm bread wafted over him and his stomach twisted in desperate glee. Slightly shaking fingers tore off a piece and he began to lift it to his mouth.
He paused when he heard the sound of shuffling feet down the dark shadows of the alley. He sucked in a breath and lowered his hands, tucking his knees in close to his stomach. Atsushi waited, feeling a tremor of fear he’d been to starved to feel this past week.
Grey-blue eyes stared dully at him as a young girl about his age, maybe a year or two younger, stepped out of the shadows, her long locks of dark hair framing her face, some strands in her eyes.
Atsushi stared at her.
She blinked at him.
Her skin was pale, almost sickly, Atsushi noted. Her dress was old and frayed at the bottom, and a grey color. It looked as if it hadn’t been washed in days and it hung mid-shin.
The girl lowered her stare down to the bread still in his lap and then sighed. She moved to the opposite side of the alley and sat down, lowering a little bag to the ground against her leg. She hadn’t said a single word.
Atsushi watched the girl warily, taking in her bored stare, and concluded that she wouldn’t try to do anything to him. Not yet, anyway.
He started unwrapping the plastic, feeling his dry mouth water ever more as his fingers brushed against the bread. It had a faint melon smell to it, and it was soft to the touch. His stomach rolled and groaned low in his gut.
He was about to pull a piece out when his shoulders went rigid. Slowly, Atsushi look up and found the dark-haired girl staring at him. No, not at him; she was staring at the bread. Her grey eyes had a bright sheen to them and she pursed her lips, still staring at the bread in his hands. She still hadn’t said a word.
Oh. She’s hungry, too.
Something grew and twisted uncomfortably in his chest, growing tighter by the second as he tried to ignore the clear hunger and want on her face. He was still so hungry, but each time he tried to bring it up to his mouth, his muscles froze and he’d stop.
And then Atsushi would look back up at her and see her trying not to look at him or the bread anymore.
He bit his lower lip and furrowed his brows down at the bread.
An internal battle swirled in his too-tight stomach and he sighed.
The girl, having lowered her despondent stare to the ground, blinked and looked up when a shadow fell over her. Her eyes widened as they fell on the bread held out to her.
Atsushi’s glance was to the side, not quite looking at her.
Her brows knit together, bewildered. “What are you doing?”
Uncomfortable, Atsushi shifted on his feet, though a bit startled by the girl’s soft voice. It had an almost sweet sound to it, if it weren’t for the obvious suspicion in her tone.
“Y-You, uh,” he fumbled, “You looked hungry, so....” he held it closer to her.
Her frown deepened.
“That’s yours, isn’t it?”
“Uh, well, sort of,” Atsushi mumbled, feeling his face start turning hot out of shame.
She just stared at him. She didn’t have to ask him how he’d gotten it.
“Ju-Just take it!” He managed to squeak out, mortified, as he shoved it towards her, leaving only inches between the end of it and her nose. “Please, take it,” he mumbled, staring down at his feet. Bare. His shoes were but ribbons a week into his living on the streets. He still held onto the scraps, but they were useless now.
Her grey stare lowered from his face to the bread held out to her. She swallowed and raised her hands. She pulled a piece off of the loaf and ate it.
Sighing in relief, Atsushi stepped back and watched the girl eat. The corner of his mouth quirked upward. Some of his guilt ebbed away.
When she was finished, the girl stood and brushed down the front of her skirt. “Thank you.”
“Ah, well, you’re welcome,” Atsushi said, his smile spreading a little further at the girl’s unusual kindness; it wasn’t something he’d seen much of since arriving in Yokohama.
She wasn’t smiling, but her face was not nearly so cold as it was before. “Most people wouldn’t do that. Why did you?”
His smile dropped, confused by her question. “Oh-- I..” He looked down at the arms that were still wrapped around the bag of bread. They tightened their hold a little. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, “I just wanted to.”
She stared at him, silent.
He said nothing and kept staring down at the ground.
“You haven’t been here long, have you?” She said suddenly.
Atsushi started and, shoulders stiffened, turned widened eyes onto the girl. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.
The corner of her mouth quirked upward, giving a soft snort. “I thought so.”
Atsushi wilted, resisting the urge to let out a groan of embarrassment at the amusement on the girl’s face, minimal as it was.
“I’m Gin,” she said suddenly. “Come with me.”
Atsushi was used to bowing to authority, but that power that overcame him usually came from adults, not from girls who were his age but also possibly younger than him. She carried herself not so much like a child as she led him down the dark, shadowy alleyways and streets, but like the tired teenagers that looked down at him with a mixture of pity and apathy back at the orphanage. But Gin was not apathetic, to his relief.
Maybe he shouldn’t have been so willing to trust her right off the bat in this strange city with sharp corners and deep shadows, but..
He stopped when they arrived at a tiny house that resembled more like the shack that held all of the gardening tools at the orphanage than a warm home that housed a family. The wood was damp from rain and on the brink of falling apart, and, confused, Atsushi was about to ask Gin why she’d brought him here and what this place was, when she lifted the curtain hanging in front of the entrance. Looking over her shoulder, he thought he saw the corner of her mouth soften into what might’ve been a smile as she beckoned him over with a hand.
Cautiously, he walked closer and came through the entrance. It was as small looking on the inside as it was on the outside, and Atsushi nearly tripped as he walked in. Looking down, he saw that he nearly stumbled over a pile of books.
His brows furrowed and he jumped at the sound of a raspy cough.
“I’m home, brother,” Gin said softly, lowering herself down into a sitting position. “Did you rest well?”
Atsushi watched her place the bag she’d been carrying in front of her on the floor, right next to a dark shape huddled in the corner of the little room. His back went rigid at the sound of a quiet grunt and the rustle of sheets. The only thing he could do as the shape sat up was stare.
“About as good as ever,” the shape said-- male, young but raspy and croaked, as if his vocal chords were dry and cracking from lack of water. “Did you just get back?”
Gin hummed and opened the bag. She pulled out several bottles of water, what looked like a bottle of pills, and to Atsushi’s surprise and curiosity, a book.
He heard a sigh; reproachful and tired. “Gin--”
“Shush,” Gin chided, “It’s for you to keep. You can’t just keep rereading the ones we have, it’s bound to get boring.”
Silence, and then a resigned, reluctant grunt.
Then, there was a pause, and Atsushi’s skin prickled at the feeling of a stare landing on him; heavy, sharp and cold.
Calculating, suspicious.
“Gin... who is this?”
Atsushi swallowed as another pair of grey eyes joined the ones that stared at him through shadows, and the air was heavy. He thought the shadows behind the boy that was beginning to sit up started moving, as if sentient and alive.
Gin’s were yielding and kind.
The other pair’s were hard and stony.
Never had Atsushi met eyes so intense that he felt locked in place--- but not frightened. No.
They were staring right through him, as if the boy in the shadows were trying to find the soul beyond the body.
The plastic of the bag crinkled in his grip.
“Nakajima,” he whispered out.
The boy with dark grey eyes and black hair that ended in tips of white cocked his head. His eyes narrowed a little.
“My name,” Atsushi said, “is Nakajima Atsushi.”
And so Nakajima Atsushi, nine-year old orphan, found himself in the home of one Akutagawa Ryuunosuke and his sister, Gin.