Chapter Text
This fucking air conditioner was driving Chuuya crazy.
It’s not that he hated summer, the contrary in fact. But the heat that ravaged the car paired with the pathetic excuse of an air conditioner was making him change his mind. He whacked the machine a few more times before giving up and receding into the cruel misery called summer. Even with the windows rolled down, the sleek BMW was still a furnace.
Desperate for some sort of relief or distraction, Chuuya resorted to slamming the buttons for the radio. Soft instrumentals filled the interior of the vehicle offering a momentary peace that was quickly crushed by Kouyou’s cool voice cutting through his thoughts.
“Chuuya. Do not punch my car.” Kouyou, his beloved social worker, scolded.
Chuuya shot her a sheepish grin. “Sorry, Ane-san.”
After ten years of knowing each other, Kouyou was practically his older sister, hell they even shared the same hair color.
The redhead woman sighed as she took another turn, leading to a posh looking neighborhood. “This is your eleventh placement, please try to get along with your foster family this time.”
Ah. The same old spiel, but they both knew how this would end up. You see, Chuuya Nakahara was not human. No, he was simply 2,383 lines of code and nothing more. Prototype A-258, a gravity manipulator created by the government and then palmed off to foster care when they had no use for him. From there, he bounced from foster home to foster home, collecting lovely titles like problem child and anger issues. After nine years in the shitty system his file was approaching thirty-five pages.
Despite this, Kouyou had always been there for him, coaxing his traumatized seven year old lab rat self, and now putting up with his constant trail of misdemeanours, so like always he swallowed down all his biting comments and simply said, “Yes, Ane-san. I’ll try.”
Turning to the window provided Chuuya an escape from her pitying gaze, and it enabled him to see the sloping roof of some mansion. In the driveway, was not one, not two, but three damn Rolls-Royces and a red motorcycle as the cherry on top. Holy shit. Was that a pool with a jacuzzi? Ugh, rich people.
The universe must have been laughing its ass off because Kouyou’s car slowed to a halt right in front of the very house Chuuya's internal monologue had been bullying.
“Oh hell no-“ He whirled around to look at his social worker with desperate pleading eyes.
His previous encounters with financially loaded foster parents hadn't exactly been pleasant. Sure he never had to worry much about food, assuming they let him eat in the first place, but in most cases he was more a trophy than a child to them. A trophy who had cool gravity powers aka party tricks for guests.
Oh god, what if it was like House No. Four.
Like always, Kouyou immediately picked up on his anxiety. Her carmine eyes filled with sympathy as they met Chuuya’s own mismatched ones. “Hey, I’ll check on you in a week, don’t worry. But I really want you to try this time. They’re experienced and know how to support kids like you.”
And so, he unwillingly dragged himself out of the car and took his bag without a complaint. Kouyou offered him a reassuring smile before ringing the bell on the intricate steel gate.
A few moments passed. Nothing happened. The gate didn’t move, no one came outside. Kouyou rang the bell again.
This time an apologetic voice came from the buzzer, “Sorry! Just a second-” and was promptly cut off by a harsh thud and what sounded like an electric mixer. A disapproving frown made its way across Kouyou’s normally poised face and Chuuya couldn’t help but wonder what kind of psychos he was stuck with.
The gate was opened with a dramatic crash and a man with a fuckass grey bob beckoned them inside.
“Hello, you must be Chuuya.” The man greeted him with a friendly smile.
Yeah. Chuuya did not trust this motherfucker.