Thin Walls

by ContagiousParadise

Summary:

Wolfwood and Livio recently moved in downstairs from Roberto, Meryl, and Vash—who they can hear fucking all the time. But the more Wolfwood ends up talking with them, the more he realizes it's not just sex. It's about communication and relief and dealing with whatever is wrong with them. It's why between the moaning, he can usually hear laughter. It’s why he wants to be apart of that too.

Chapter 1: Drawbacks

The small, shiny little silver key that Wolfwood was handed was tangible proof that things had changed. It sat silent in his large palm, the garage key dangling from the shared ring. Livio gave a final parting thanks and a firm handshake to their new landlord, Nai Saverem. Wolfwood gave him a nod that left his head bowed a little lower, the teeth of the key cutting into his palm as he gripped it for dear life. The apartment loomed behind them, the echoing hollow of the bottom floor all theirs.

The landlord got into his shiny white car and left, Wolfwood hesitantly looking over the edges of his sunglasses, the sunlight painful and making bright spots dance before his eyes, his optic nerves throbbing into his skull. Wolfwood’s gaze followed a few moments despite the agony before he pushed the shades back up onto his face and put the keys in his pocket.

He bent down and picked up four huge duffle bags—

“Nico, I can get some, let me help,” Livio insisted.

“You get the door,” he compromised.

—and carried his bags into their new apartment.

It smelled like synthetic lemon and bleach with an undertone of freshly dried paint, the windows open. He trekked his boots across the proper hardwood and into the smaller bedroom, setting his bags down while Livio trailed after him.

Theirs; his.

The first proper apartment he’d ever had in his entire life.

“We should go through and make note of anything we find that might be off or broken and take photos,” Livio reminded, the smell of the chemicals worsening his headache. But it was his apartment that was giving him a headache. It wasn’t the smell of a dark alleyway’s dumpsters. It wasn’t someone else’s uncomfortable couch leaving an ache in his back or their pets waking him up. It wasn’t traffic from nearby after he’d passed out on the first suitable surface outside. It was his goddamn apartment. 

“Sure,” Wolfwood grunted in reply, scared to give Livio too much of his attention. But he was sure his little brother noticed all the same, he was just being polite and not pointing it out. He shoved his hand in his pocket and gripped the key again, letting it bite bruises into his fingertips and the garage key bully up against his knuckles.

He let Livio with his fancy, updated smartphone take the occasional photo that Wolfwood could have believed were a portal they were so high quality. For the most part, it was inscrutable, minor things Wolfwood wouldn’t have even bothered to notice, the apartment well maintained. All of the appliances were relatively new, the time on the microwave, stove, and coffee pot unnervingly aligned with the time on their smartphones.

The garage was cluttered, but organized. Gas cans, tools, an air pump, large rubbermaid bins labeled with different holidays on a large metal rack. Their half of the garage had space for Livio’s car and Wolfwood could squeeze his bike in front of it. A large truck sat on the left side while a smaller car sat out in the driveway behind it, both belonging to their upstairs neighbors.

Livio took several photos, then came back inside, Wolfwood avoiding stepping on his heels. He felt like the little brother with how he was trailing after him and not paying attention. He kept staring at the paint and the ceiling and the cut of the wood floors.

“Nico…?”

“I’m good,” he promised, waving him off as he shuffled back into their apartment. He should take something for his migraine. “You got your friends waiting on you to get your stuff, right? Go on, I’ll be fine,” he promised.

“Okay. I’ll text you when we’re on our way back.”

“No rush. I’ll probably look at nearby places and pick some food or groceries up or whatever.” He wasn’t sure if that was the truth. He was too distracted. But Livio’s footsteps echoed across the empty apartment, then he left through the front door, closed it behind himself, and Wolfwood heard it click.

He quietly made his way into his bedroom. He sat on the middle of the floor cross-legged. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. He could smell the lingering scent of cigarettes on the duffle bags in his room. His eyes hurt, a soreness to them. He pressed his palms up under his sunglasses and rubbed at them, wiping away the tears from pain, exhaustion, and relief. It was only about three or so tears, his eyes too dry and his heart too hesitant for any more.

He listened to the almost electric humming of the insects, the drone of a plane overhead, and the crinkle of the first few autumn leaves in the soft breeze.

He laid back, slow, measured, vertebrate by vertebrate onto the wooden floor until he was staring at the ceiling. He took the keys out of his pocket, set them on his stomach and folded his hands over them. He rolled his thumbs for a moment, awkward, a kid trying to decide where to start.

“Thank you,” he mumbled to God. “For the apartment. And my brother.” He wouldn’t have the apartment without Livio. His job as a personal trainer and his credit was enough to get the two bedroom apartment completely by himself. He didn’t need to bring Wolfwood anywhere with him. He was a competent adult because he’d always been a competent kid. But Livio did because he loved Wolfwood and that love probably kept Wolfwood from doing anything stupid that he couldn’t take back.

“And I know I shouldn’t be apologizing to you, but I am sorry for what I did…I just know Liv probably won’t want to hear any apologies. So I’m just gonna try to keep my shit together and be grateful is all…Oh, and not fuck it up,” he added quickly. “So I—”

Wolfwood was interrupted by someone else calling for God. But the kind of call that made him flush down to his collarbone. It was drawn out, sensual, and worst of all endearing.  

“Well, shit…” he mumbled as he listened to a headboard slam into the wall. He sighed and sat up, keys collected in hand. That conversation was over. No apartment was perfect and the first drawback of this one was apparently the thin walls.

He got up and went over to one of his duffle bags and tugged out his phone charger and a half crushed pack of cigarettes. They probably saw Livio’s car leave and assumed no one was downstairs. It would be rude to do something like blast music and would make a bad first impression. Wolfwood was trying to keep his head down—and trying to keep it so his new upstairs neighbors weren’t loud assholes back.

He sat up against the wall by the window and plugged his phone in, listening to expletives get pulled with ease out of his upstairs neighbor's mouth—and with good reason given the noise of the bed. He lit a cigarette.

Wolfwood looked up the cost of noise canceling earbuds and winced. He looked up a nearby grocery store, nearby restaurants, cigarette between the fingers holding his phone. He listened to his neighbor orgasm, the voice dipping down into a deep tenor. He flexed his toes in his boots. The first thing he should do is pick up laundry soap and fabric softener. He'd heard the second didn’t matter, but he liked the lingering clean smell of fabric softener and that outweighed anything else.

It was also a practical purchase. He would try to use what cash he had before even considering the credit card Livio had given him. Money may burn a hole in some people’s wallets, but Livio’s burned something in his heart, the smoke coiling in a way that felt too familiar to noxious guilt.

He made a small list. Eggs were probably good. Bread. Milk. Rice. Adobo and garlic salt, maybe some turmeric, chili powder, and cinnamon. Chicken, ground beef. Frozen vegetables. Did Livio have cookware? Regular dishes?

Wolfwood chewed on the filter, knowing he should ask him. It was a harmless, easy question.

He added asparagus to the list. Butter. Coffee—coffee filters. What else was reasonable and common to have in a kitchen? Pasta. Pasta sauce. Garlic, onions. He wanted to add fish, but that was expensive. This already was probably over budget. He scratched his nose as his neighbors started going at it again, cigarette to his lips.

He latched his house key and garage key to his bike key, the darkness of the room making him do it more by feel. Livio would need lightbulbs. Unless he already had those.

Wolfwood deleted the entire list and looked at the menu for a cheap burger place. The list felt like it had too many things on it, too many things that might inconvenience Livio or end up being duplicates.

He didn’t even know if he should go grab a towel and shower curtain for himself because Livio might have an extra. He flicked the dead cigarette outside and lit another, blowing smoke through his nose. He had no idea if Livio’s friends would be expecting food too. He should just wait until he came back.

He listened to his neighbor orgasm again as he got up to go smoke outside in their backyard. He was quiet as he pressed the screen door back in place, not wanting to bother them. It was fenced in by white painted wood, the grass mowed and the shavings swept from the narrow cement pathway. A small shed sat towards the back. Wolfwood moseyed along the pathway, allowing himself to be nosy as he looked over the edge of his shades into the dark glass of the shed. A lawn mower, a weedwacker, some chairs, a firepit. Nothing extraordinary, all practical.

He turned around, eyes catching on the way the glass door to the upstairs balcony opened, a plant resting on a stool sprawling out of its pot and over the edge of the balcony and almost right above his and Livio's back door. Soft laughter from a lanky blond whose hair caught on his lashes—who was completely naked, his entire body was covered in scars. His wrists and his thighs were covered in the kind that everyone should mind their business about, but he also had some under his chest that implied he had tits at one point, a massive burn scar that left him without a left nipple, and he had a garish scar along the underside of his stomach. He had a messy thatch of pubes that dripped a glimmering mess along his thighs that caught high noon sunlight.

He turned around to face the yard with that soft smile that would make the moon yearn. Wolfwood swallowed as he watched his eyes go wide and he froze. He bit down on his cigarette filter. Drawback number two: however the hell this was going to make his neighbors act like towards him and Livio. But to be fair, he was the one outside ass naked dripping cum all over his balcony.

“Uh…neighbor,” Wolfwood explained as he pointed to himself, trying to quickly let him know he wasn’t trespassing.

“I—oh my god, I thought that was tomorrow…!” he fumbled, running away like a cartoon character as his limbs failed while he ripped open the door and whirlwind back inside. He poked his head back out, calling out, “I’m sorry! Nice to meet you!” all in one word before slamming the balcony door.

Wolfwood wouldn’t be surprised if there would be a stain on their ceiling from the poor guy melting into the floor. He sighed and scratched his scalp, then made his way back inside. Fuck it. He was being indecisive about what to order, so he’d just go for a drive and come back once Livio texted him.

His head was still killing him.

He locked up all the doors and closed the windows, then made his way out in the driveway. He put out his cigarette, then traded his shades for his dual-sport helmet, zipped up his jacket, then started the tour of his new neighborhood. Maybe he’d find a nearby Costco or an Ikea or something he could squat in for a few hours if the sunlight got to be too unbearable. Some place that was large and handed out food samples.

He felt ridiculous. It was his apartment. His apartment, his home. But for right now it still just felt like another wayward point. He knew he’d have to make it his own before it felt like anything else and even then there would be the nagging that he’d fuck something up and get them kicked out. Or that the longer they were there, the worse it would be and all of their things would be in boxes and bags and they’d have to leave again after a year.

His bike rumbled softly under him at a stop light. He should take something for his migraine. He should text Liv. He should just buy things he needed if he was already out and about. He should go to a library and look up places that were hiring now that he had a proper address. He should be paying attention to where he was. How did that list keep getting longer?

Wolfwood waited until the light was green, counted to two and used those two seconds to imagine some asshole running a red and shattering all the bones in his body and smearing him all over the pavement, then pulled away from the red light.

He pulled over a few times, the phantom sensation of his phone vibrating in his jacket pocket a lie brought on by his own anticipation of the moment. But at some point, the text message was real and Wolfwood headed back and parked in the street since the moving truck was in the driveway.

It was a parade of black gym uniforms, the place Livio worked for, the friends he had made. All capable, all shuffling color labeled boxes in an orderly manner into their proper rooms. Wolfwood wanted to help, but he’d get in the way of whatever system they had going. He could start unpacking, but these were Livio’s things and he might break something or touch something he shouldn’t.

He knocked the kickstand of his bike out and swung his leg over, keeping his helmet on as he made his way inside. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Livio echoed over his shoulder as he carried a box into their apartment. “Did you decide on groceries or just buying dinner?”

“Nah, decided to wait until you got back. I didn’t wanna bug you with fifty questions while you were trying to haul all this shit in a truck and then out here.”

“You wouldn’t have bothered me, Nico,” Livio reassured without hesitation, without any malice, setting a box down in their living room.

Wolfwood felt like his own lack of response stretched for an eternity, it felt rude, it felt like it would speak for him. He knew it could be unnerving when people couldn’t see his face to gauge responses. Where had he read that it took two or three seconds of silence for it to feel like a rejection in a conversation? Was that a real thing?

“I, uh…You know,” he waved his hand, finally moving his stiff leather covered body. He realized his passiveness earlier might have actually been worse. Maybe Livio had been expecting some kind of food when he got back and now there was nothing. “Did you want anything specific?”

“I’m not going to be picky today, I promise,” he joked, his diet ever important for his job. “The only thing I don’t really like is raw onion and avocados. You can get whatever you’d like, Ni. Oh—is your card buried in your bags? Did you need mine?”

Ever considerate.

“Livio, what’s the white label again?” a friend called out from the doorway.

“Bathroom,” he replied, voice deep from his chest as he projected, a tone Wolfwood wasn’t familiar with. To be fair, there was quite a lot he was relearning about Livio.

“Nah, it’s by the top,” Wolfwood replied to their earlier conversation. “Am I getting something for your friends or…?”

“No, they’re fine. They ate before they came over. So really,” Livio insisted, digging his wallet out from his back pocket. He opened it and handed over his credit card anyway. Wolfwood hated how easy it was to take it. “Get whatever you’d like. I can dig out any specific kitchen things if you need them if you decided you wanted to cook something.”

“I mean if I did it would be something basic,” he reminded. Cereal, pasta, toast.

“I mean most things come with instructions now or you can look up a recipe to read or watch on the internet. If you mess it up, it’s not the end of the world. God gave us pizza and cereal for a reason.”

Wolfwood cracked a smile under his helmet. “I’ll skip the food waste and get us a pizza. Topping preferences?”

“What style crust?” Livio asked instead, making his way back outside, the metal water bottle clipped to his hip clicking with each step.

“Normal?” Wolfwood replied, confused. He watched Livio crack a soft smile.

“Then how about sausage and peppers then?”

“Sounds good. Delivery boy, out,” Wolfwood announced, carefully tucking his card into his jacket breast pocket.

“Oh, Nico?” he called after him, Wolfwood stopping and doubling back, the heat from the sun and his clothes making him sweat.

“Hm?”

“Do you like pineapple on pizza?” Livio asked, loitering by the truck, some soft sparkle in his eyes like when they were kids. It was some harmless little question, but he had been doing it quite often and despite Wolfwood starting to find them annoying at times, he could never seem to deny him an answer.

“Depends on the sauce, I guess. They still got like…fruit pizzas? Like when we were kids?”

“I don’t think many places do, if at all, no. Same with dessert pizzas.”

“Well, shit,” Wolfwood grumbled awkwardly, looking at his bike, then back to Livio. His brother gave him a smile that he felt undeserving of, so he turned back to his bike again. Maybe he’d learn to make dessert pizza. Worst he did was ruin the oven and piss off their landlord and get them kicked out. Or maybe start a house fire. Maybe he’d have Livio help him when he wasn’t busy. Brother bonding. Was there a way to make a dessert pizza that wouldn’t ruin his diet? He could only make so many exceptions for the restart of their lives together before it became a problem.

There had to be some sugar free cream cheese or whatever the hell it was. He wouldn’t fuck this up. All he was doing right now was getting them a regular pizza. He was staying out of the way. He wasn’t going to fuck this up.

When Wolfwood got there, he paid for the pizza with his own cash.

He stood outside with his bike and waited until it was ready.

Once he brought it back, the moving truck was gone.

“I’m back!” he called out, helmet still on, visor still down, pizza in hand.

“I’m in the kitchen!” Livio called back. He had opened the windows again at some point. Livio had a couch. How nice. Wolfwood made his way into the kitchen and set the pizza down on the counter as Livio dug through a box.

“What’cha looking for?”

“Plates. I thought they were in this one, but…”

“I don’t think eating pizza with our hands and getting a little sauce on the floor is going to make much of a difference given all the mud we all tracked in here,” Wolfwood snorted as he pulled out Livio’s credit card and handed it back to him.

“Fair,” Livio laughed as he tucked it back away into his wallet. Wolfwood washed his hands with the dish soap that had already been put out, Livio waiting behind him to do the same. Familiar habits from Livio made him uneasy. They had changed and yet so many things were still the same about them. How easy would it be to fall back into moments from their childhood? At what point would they progress from that? At what point would Wolfwood round right back into someone who ruined everything?

He flicked his hands into the sink, no paper towel or hand towels out yet. He took his helmet off and set it on the counter, put his shades back on, then opened the box and tore off a slice for himself. He folded it in half and started chewing over the sink, Livio following suit, but didn’t fold his pizza.

“So I saw one of our upstairs neighbors,” Wolfwood decided to tell him around a mouthful of warm cheese and bread.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup. Saw a lot more of our neighbor.”

“Nico—!” Livio smacked the back of his hand against his chest.

“Hey, woah, no!” he quickly insisted. “He came out onto the back porch naked as the day he popped out of his momma! I had nothing to do with that! I was dicking around outside and having a cigarette!”

“Oh my God…” Livio half choked.

“Tell me about it…” Wolfwood grumbled. “I’m waiting for the really awkward interactions to start. Also—we should buy earplugs. I could hear what led up to the being naked on the balcony.”

“Ah. Heavily noted. Also, Ni, do you not have an air mattress or anything to sleep on?”

“Nope,” Wolfwood replied, popping his p.

“Are you gonna go get one?”

Wolfwood chewed, a large mess of pizza in his mouth. He took another bite without answering him, without acknowledging the face his little brother made.

“So I’m eating and then forcing a real mattress on you?”

“They’re expensive,” he reminded.

“Not as expensive as being old and decrepit before you’re thirty from sleeping on the floor.”

“Slept on and in worse,” Wolfwood shrugged, biting into the crust of his pizza.

“That’s only helping my case, you know.”

Wolfwood grabbed another piece of pizza.

“Nico…” he scolded lightly. “Please? There’s like, a Lowes or Home Depot or something that can’t be too far, we can get it from there.” Livio was already looking it up on his phone and Wolfwood let him. He was aware he was losing whatever argument this was, but he also didn’t want to fight.

They finished eating, they got in Livio’s car, and Livio bought him a four hundred dollar mattress in a box, some pillows, and then sheets, pillow cases, and blankets. Wolfwood was glad he hadn’t spent any of his money today. The guilt ate through the pizza he had earlier to get to his stomach lining. They drove home and Livio let him avoid saying a single word the entire time.

He carefully unboxed the mattess for him, cut away the plastic, let it stretch out before he made his bed for him.

“Let me know if you need anything else, okay?” he insisted gently, met with more silence. “…Nico?”

“Got it. Thanks, Liv.” His words felt segmented, choked.

Livio left him alone in his room. Wolfwood quietly leaned the door almost completely closed. Privacy, but not wanting to shut him out entirely. He sat on the edge of the new mattress in his day clothes. He still needed to wash everything he had brought with him. He unlaced his boots and set them by the end of the bed, then laid back, vertebrae by vertebrae, until his head was pressed against the pillow. He folded his hands together over his stomach.

He breathed. He laid there on his back in silence. He listened to his brother unpack one of his numerous boxes of things. Then, he slid down to the hardwood floor and studied the ceiling for new stains.

Notes:

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Chapter 2: Viable Solution

There was a staircase in the back hallway that allowed for both sets of tenants to go into the basement and attic as they pleased. That was the door that was knocked on when his neighbor stood on the other side—with clothes on this time. Almost an excessive amount, given the heat. A long sleeve, turtle neck compression shirt, sweatpants, socks, a single glove. It felt like he was overcompensating or insecure, maybe both.

“Hi! I came with introductions, apologies, and cannolis!” The blond explained, offering the plate of dessert out to him. Wolfwood looked down at the charming collection of sweets through his sunglasses, a drawn out response of nothing else after.

“…Those got nuts?”

“Pistachios, yeah.”

“My brother can’t eat those.” He also wouldn't eat them because of the sugar.

He watched the man make the same, mortified panicked expression that he had on the balcony. He half twisted to the upstairs, half fumbled to speak. “I—oh my god, I didn’t…Wow. I’m—okay, uh—”

Wolfwood grabbed one and bit it, a mess of crumbs and powdered sugar he had to catch in his other hand. He chewed.

“S’not bad,” he complimented around the dessert, realizing it wasn’t an actual compliment. “So,” he swallowed. “Introductions?”

“Yes! Hi, I’m Vash! Upstairs there’s also Meryl and Roberto who I’m sure you’ll see around too.”

Wolfwood held back the urge to ask if he’d also see them the way he had seen Vash. It would probably kill the guy and he didn’t want to deal with a dead body on day two of his lease. He chewed more of the cannoli.

“Nicholas D. Wolfwood,” he introduced the way he had to numerous different paper forms that were supposed to help and never really did, a reminder more to himself than to them of who he was. “You can call me anything but Nicky or D.”

“What’s the D stand for?”

He smiled, flat, unanswering as he took another messy bite of the cannoli.

“Uh…” Vash’s eyes flickered to the stairs again. “Right. But I wanted to say I’m super sorry about yesterday and the…Won’t happen again,” he promised.

“I mean you’re on your property and it's your body, so,” he shrugged. “Not like there’s kids down here, either. Makes for an interesting story at parties and bars that my upstairs neighbor is an exhibitionist.”

“I would really appreciate it if you didn’t,” Vash requested softly, tucking his chin down against his collarbone. “No one lives in the house across from us and I swore it was—well I thought it was today, but I thought that you moved in today, not yesterday.”

Wolfwood polished off the cannoli and took another one. “Mhm.”

“When my brother told me I must have written it down wrong or just not been paying attention.”

“Roberto your brother?” Wolfwood asked, brushing powdered sugar off of his shirt that seemed desperate to stick.

“No, Nai.” The landlord.

“Ah.”

“Yeah…Oh, did you just want the whole plate? They were all for you anyway. Well, you and—but he can’t…So yeah, all for you,” Vash insisted, offering him the plate.

“I think if I eat that many all at once I might be sick—but fuck it. They’re good.” He held up the cannoli he was currently eating with a nod, took the plate, then took a step back into his apartment. He debated telling Vash he could also hear him fucking his partner, but he decided against it. The poor guy already was probably one more embarrassment from shriveling up and dying. “See ya, Vash. Was nice to see you a second time.”

He burned cherry red. Whoops.

He closed the door and turned back around into his apartment, setting the dessert on the counter—then realizing he should probably put it in the fridge. Livio was already at work, dealing with the rise and grind types. Which meant Wolfwood was free to loaf around all day until he worked up the nerve to bring himself to do something productive. He still hadn’t been able to bring himself to ask Livio if it was okay if he put some stuff away for him. He still was too anxious to go spend his money and buy laundry soap—or now a razor for that matter.

He had looked at some nearby places that were hiring, be it regular work or trade school—but they wanted things Wolfwood didn’t have like a resume or GED. He wouldn’t mind under the table work, but that meant knowing someone who owned the table. He couldn’t Uber without a car, but Doordash was also off the table with his bike eating shit whenever it felt like it sometimes. There was also no way in hell he was asking to borrow Livio’s decent car.

That really only left him two things: going back to school, freelance work, or panhandling. The first one would require time and money, even if it was Livio’s while he couldn’t have a proper job, the second required some marketable skillset, and the third he was trying to avoid so he wouldn’t embarrass Livio. His stomach growled, annoyed he had fed it, but not fed it anything proper. He opened the pizza box and ate a cold piece as he wandered from room to room until the sensation of hunger was gone. It was weird to have that again.

He felt stuck. His only real options were to be a leech or what would probably boil down to sex work. He didn’t mind it—but he’d been offered drugs too many times the first few times he made attempts for it to be something genuinely viable without it ending up worse for him. He knew what he was like. He knew all it would take was one bump of something, one hit of another and he’d be fucked and he’d fuck up Livio in the process.

He opened his crushed pack of cigarettes with one left in it and sighed. He should save it—he really wanted it. He lit it and tossed the empty box in the trash.

Maybe he could do those internet stream things and make money from that. People played video games or cooked or did crafts or whatever and got paid to do it, right? But that would require people to find him entertaining or money for crafts or food. Maybe story narrations? He thought about fucking up a word and some kid dragging him for it and he decided he couldn’t live through that. He was too mouthy and would get banned.

Wolfwood sat himself down on the floor of his bedroom and stared at the mattress on the floor. Maybe tattoos. He looked up what he’d need for that. Art experience, duh. But to get the license, really just practice. He had fucked around and done stick and poke tattoos as a teenager on other kids and he had done his own piercings, and he didn’t think it was that hard or that he’d done that bad of a job.

Even with his shit conditions, none of them got infected—or himself or anyone else. He just had to get better at lines right? Maybe look up some color theory shit? Get a portfolio? He could use himself for a lot of it and he knew plenty of people bitched about how some artists just were shit at tattooing colors on brown skin.

It felt viable; it felt like a relief.

He’d never put proper thought or time into something like that before. He didn’t have the time. It was eat or starve and if he tried to put effort into something long term, he’d starve in the now. He unlocked his phone and opened his messages with Livio, but his thumbs hesitated over his keyboard.

Most of the messages were from Livio, Wolfwood usually sending emojis to react to show that he’d seen them.

He clicked his phone off and rubbed at his eyes. It wasn’t like he was telling his brother anything bad, but it felt like if he said it and fucked up, he’d be disappointing him. He didn’t want to disappoint him or upset him. Livio deserved better than the shitty older brother he had.

He wandered out into the backyard, wanting some air so he wouldn’t be surrounded by things he might break.

Something had to give and Livio had given plenty already. That meant something had to break and it was probably going to be Wolfwood. He really, really wanted another cigarette. He glanced up at the balcony, the doors open, but no Vash. They had curtains tied to either side and from what he could see from the ground, it was decorated like a normal apartment for normal people that had normal amounts of money. The heavy glare on a television, the top of a couch, some plants.

Someone walked by and Wolfwood looked away before he got caught being nosy. For all he knew, Vash could be wandering around ass-naked again but inside and then it would be his own fault if he saw anything he shouldn’t.

He looked up tattoo parlors, squinting violently down at his phone, the dim setting making it impossible to see anything in the sunlight paired with his sunglasses. He went back inside, raising his sunglasses for just a second to raise the brightness just a hair, then put them back down on his face. He wanted to ask for blackout curtains. He thought about the four hundred dollar mattress in his room. He’d buy his own goddamn blackout curtains once he got a job of some kind.

God. He’d have to work in a room with good lighting. That was going to blow. He was glad he hadn’t texted Livio yet. He paced his apartment again, then tossed his phone on the mattress. He decided to inspect the basement, then maybe shuffle up to the attic.

His timing couldn’t have been better, given he heard moaning from upstairs again. Maybe he wouldn’t hear it in the basement. He wondered if Vash was getting dick for bringing down the apology cannolis in a timely manner or if he was timely about it so he could make his dick appointment.

The basement was quiet, but boring. Cement walls, washer, dryer, sink, bucket, water boiler, heater.

He should go out and get cigarettes and a sketchbook. Or maybe just a pen and pencil and he could just draw on the cardboard. And laundry soap. He scrubbed his face with his hands, chin hairs prickling against his palms. “Get it together, Nicholas…” he scolded under his breath.

He went back upstairs, a heavy slam and an appreciative moan as he passed their door. And earplugs. Cigarettes, laundry soap, pen and pencil set, earplugs. Mouthwash.

He put the clothes on that he had worn yesterday, cleaner than whatever was in his duffle bag. He grabbed his phone, his helmet, then locked up, got on his bike—gas, cigarettes, laundry soap, earplugs. Fuck, pen and pencil. And mouthwash—and a razor. He couldn’t remember all of that, but he also didn’t write any of it down in his phone either.

He just decided whatever he forgot would save money. He needed gas, cigarettes, he might be able to just wash his clothes in the sink with dish soap for now. He tried to remember the things he had considered getting yesterday, but he was pretty sure it was all food.

He pulled into a Walmart, debating if he wanted to leave his helmet on and risk the higher security or risk the migraine. He decided to risk the migraine, helmet tucked up under his arm as he went in, sure his squinting would give him resting bitch face.

He loitered, making several loops around the store the way he had in his apartment. He pocketed a small travel sized mouthwash and the earplugs, carrying a razor and ultimately deciding to get a proper pen pack. The last thing he wanted was to have to buy a pencil sharpener or steal a shitty pen from a bank or something just to have it die right away.

Besides, tattoos were supposed to be permanent, he could twist something in his head to make it so having to do it right the first time made sense. He knew damn well the art for tattoos was done first and then they were stenciled, but still. He wandered through the food aisle one more time before the lights started to look like snow and he decided that was enough. He paid for the things that would make him look like more of a legitimate customer, then left. Fuck. He doubled back.

He never got cigarettes.

He winced at the price, hoping gas was reasonable because regardless, he was going to have to pay with Livio’s card now. He wasn’t above digging out change and paying with that either. He didn’t want to have to use his card twice in one day. God, why did everything always need money?

He debated buying a cheaper brand of cigarettes, but he knew he’d just go through them faster so he could smoke something he liked instead. So he paid, he left, he stared at his gas gauge and debated with himself if he really needed gas right this second. He could probably make it home sure, but then he couldn’t make it to a gas station.

He got gas with Livio’s card.

Then, when he was home, he tucked the card into the very depth of one of his duffle bags and left it there. He sat on his floor, staring at it and smoked a cigarette in his underwear. He wondered if the upstairs neighbors had fucked his entire store run or if they had taken a break. He could hear a girl this time, probably Meryl—or it could have been Roberto for all he knew.

He got up and dug a cannoli out of the fridge and ate it, listening to the slam before she moaned again, dramatic and performative. She deserved to win an award for that, honestly. Good for her.

He took a drag of his cigarette from one hand, then bit the cannoli in the other while he looked to see where Livio might have started stacking the empty boxes. He found them tucked away in the garage, Wolfwood grabbing one and dragging it back to his bedroom. He finished his cigarette, ashing it against the outer windowsill before tossing it. He should get an ashtray.

He looked up some simple tattoo outlines of girl bodies to copy from his phone, then tried to look up actual girls in similar poses. His eyes dragged to the ceiling as he heard a moan that went right to his dick.

Cannolis or not, these guys were assholes. He played some music from his phone and started drawing, an awkward hunch as he sat on his butt that forced his knee to touch his ribs. The pen set had been ridiculously pricey given it was a pen, but the way it glided over the cardboard without accidentally stabbing it was nice. He imagined stabbing himself with a tattoo gun while he was practicing and leaving a huge, infected gash of ink and blood.

He drew things he knew were popular; butterflies, skulls, roses, hearts, stars. Then he drew some geometric patterns to fill the spaces. He had fucked up quite a few times, but he got to start over on the back of the cardboard.

Then when he ran out of space again, he ripped it open and drew on the inside. When he heard Livio coming back, he pulled the cardboard away to hide it or throw it out—only to realize the pen hadn’t dried properly and he’d gotten ink all over his damn floor. If he couldn’t get it out or if he ruined the floor trying to get the ink out, that was coming out of their deposit.

“Goddamn it…” he grumbled, googling how to get ink out of hardwood. Nail polish remover, hairspray, rubbing alcohol, peroxide—all shit he didn’t have. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers, grunting into his hands. He’d have to ask Livio if he had any. He’d rather ask than spend his money.

Loud, bursting laughter from upstairs. They’d stopped fucking at some point. Wolfwood threw on a t-shirt and waited for Livio to get comfortable inside before he asked him fo—

“Hey, Nico!” he greeted, knocking on his doorframe, but not coming in.

“Hi,” Wolfwood grunted, half glancing back to see if the cardboard wasn’t out of view. It wasn’t.

“How was your day?”

He shrugged. “You know. Hey uh, do you have like, rubbing alcohol or peroxide at all? Cut myself and just wanna make sure it doesn’t get infected—also upstairs neighbors brought down desserts with nuts in them, they’re in the fridge do not eat them.”

“Eat the thing that will send me to the hospital, got it,” Livio nodded. “I might, I’ll have to look through my bathroom stuff. One sec. You can come if you want,” he offered, rocking on his foot like a toy horse as he doubled back before he even left.

Wolfwood shrugged. “Sure.” His hands and part of his arms were covered in ink and his head was killing him. “How did the training stuff go today?”

“The same old. Lots of counting, lots of encouragement, lots of music,” Livio answered as they made their way into the bathroom.

“Must be nice.”

“You can come if you want. We can do normal workouts together if you’re feeling up to it,” Livio offered, crouching down in front of boxes to inspect their labels.

“Nah, you’d sweep me. I’m all dad-bod.”

“I like how you look…” Livio reassured quietly, opening a box to dig through it. “It’s less about that and more looking for an excuse to spend time with you, you know,” he admitted, Wolfwood looking away from his brother’s back before his ears melted off.

He had no idea how he could just say these things one after the other so earnestly. It freaked him out. It also made Wolfwood feel like he needed to remind Livio of some boundary things—or maybe they’d just never talked about it in the first place. They weren’t actually related, but still.

“I…yeah. I know.”

Livio looked over his shoulder at him with those endlessly deep, warm, honey brown eyes and Wolfwood felt like Livio would know he was omitting truths and avoiding him. But if he did see that inside of Wolfwood, he didn’t say anything. He turned back to the box and went back to digging.

“Ah, here we go.” He held up the dark brown bottle, Wolfwood taking it from him. “I should probably dig out some q-tips too, hmm…”

He could use toilet paper, big mess considered. But it might tear and make a bigger mess. So he let Livio dig out the q-tips.

“Thanks. Gonna go do this in my room, since the lights…” he gestured vaguely.

“Oh my god, I keep forgetting, I’m so sorry—I could have done this with the lights off, it's bright out enough. I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“It’s fine,” Wolfwood reassured, feeling bad that he’d lied when Livio immediately felt so remorseful. “Stepped out for a second to go to the store, couldn’t be any worse than fluorescent overheads.”

He left Livio in the bathroom and leaned his bedroom door closed, starting with the floor, then his own mess. He opened his window so it wouldn’t smell like he’d dumped half the bottle all over. He decided when he was done to set the bottle near his door and just put it back once he got up later. He heard more boxes, more rustling. He looked down at the traitorous pens he’d bought with a scowl. He wondered if he could return them. Maybe the cheap shit or a mechanical pencil was better after all.

A knock at his bedroom door. “Nico? Do you want to eat dinner together later?”

“Sure.”

He watched Livio’s shadow linger by his bedroom door, shifting its weight.

“What do you feel like eating?” It felt like his usual weird little questions. “I mean I picked yesterday, so…”

“Whatever you want, Liv,” he reassured.

“Breakfast for dinner?” he offered. Protein pancakes or oatmeal, egg whites, fruit, bacon, more sausage, english muffins. Lots of options.

“Sure. Breakfast sounds good, Liv.” Wolfwood rubbed at the ink on his fingers. He’d probably have to wash his hands a few times before it was gone completely.

Notes:

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Chapter 3: Niceties

Wolfwood had to bring the plate back. He had eaten half of the cannolis and thrown away the other half before washing the plate, his stomach killing him from the amount of food he'd eaten over the past few days. But he honestly he really didn’t feel like looking any of them in the face after being annoyed with listening to one of them snore all night and to them fuck every day for a week and a half. He especially didn’t feel like doing it today when he was jerking off to it.

He was good at keeping it down, compared to them. His breathing was heavy, his cock wet from precum and spit as he jerked off on the floor instead of his bed. He could hear a deep rumbling of a voice, something quiet being said under the moaning. He was pretty sure all three of them were fucking, given what he heard when. He tried to be polite about it, but at this point he was pretty sure the exhibitionism hadn’t been a joke. There was no way they didn’t know how thin the walls in the apartment were. So there was no way they could know he was jerking it to the memory of Vash’s wet thighs and whatever fantasy image of the other two he’d conjured up.

Livio had mentioned seeing them on his way out, an older guy and a smaller woman, but aside from that the conversation had moved along. Was the old guy doing what they did in porn where he was fucking one of them and fingering the other while he got to stare at both of their asses? Was he eating one out while the other one rode him? How big was his dick? It had to feel good, given their volume, given the headboard, given they had to let anyone who had ever lived under them know about it.

Wolfwood slung his arm over his eyes, relief for the throbbing behind his eyes while he tried to relieve the throbbing between his legs. They both sounded so hot, but he would admit his attention went to miss pornstar Meryl the most.

He rocked his hips, dick sliding through his rough fingers. Sometimes he wished his hands were softer, more like someone’s insides. It would make the fantasy more real. Or maybe he was just fantasizing wrong. Maybe he needed to imagine the dilf jerking him off.

He curled his toes and whimpered, gritting his teeth. He paused, aware that it was unreasonable to expect them to somehow hear that. But his nerves were on fire from it all the same. He wondered if Vash would be too embarrassed to look at him or disgusted if he found out. Poor guy would probably be embarrassed if his last two reactions were anything to go by.

But he was cute and had a gentle voice, and if the amount of cum all over his thighs had been anything to go by, his insides had to be tight…and warm…and…oh fuck, there she went again, moaning like that when she got to cum. He imagined her blonde and with big tits, the common porn star actress. He imagined getting to cum on her tits while she got railed by her dilf, encouragement. Soft, gentle, encouragement to cum that wasn't directed at him but helped him out all the same.

He hissed through his teeth as he listened to Vash moan, heat all over his stomach and chest as he gripped the base of his cock. “Fuck,” he grumbled in relief, wiping his cum off his chin. He watched his cock throb, drooling one final heavy mess against his belly button. It was thick, refusing to break. He needed to shower. He wondered if the shower head would fly off from the pressure and smash him in the head, washing brain matter and blood down the drain.

He ignored the thought and decided he needed to jerk off again if they were going to keep doing that. He ran his fingers quickly down his chest to collect his mess. He turned over, slipping it between his cheeks and rubbing it against the rim of his asshole. Cum dripped from his stomach and cock onto the floor, Wolfwood groaning softly into the wood as he pressed his cheek against it. He wanted Meryl to moan some more or to hear whatever the old guy was saying.

Was he being rude? Nice to them? Or was it just stupid dirty talk, like something about taking his cock? Wolfwood chewed at his lip as his lashes brushed against the floor. He let out a soft laugh, his head killing him. He’d been in his room all day, the worst damn migraine and not enough covers to make it dark enough in his opinion. Honestly, he’d shoot the sun if given the opportunity. But the only opportunity he had was shooting another load all over his damn floor.

He imagined the head of the old guy’s cock pushing inside of his body. He imagined him jerking off inside of him, imagined the mess he’d push out that would pool all over the floor. He felt his asshole twitch and throb under his fingers. He pushed in just a little, just to feel that soft, velvet inside of his own body.

It was the only part of him left that was delicate, really. The rest of him was too rough or too fucked up. He rocked his hips, the head of his cock brushing against the floor. The touch was encouragement, his dick flooding with blood and pulling away from the friction.

He listened to Vash moan with every pant, then the soft, but mean sounding laughter from Meryl that made him laugh too. Sex sounded fun with them. There was always talking or laughing between the orgasms. He was jealous and being jealous made him annoyed. He sat up, huffing quietly down at his half hard cock. He kept one eye closed, the other pinched halfway in annoyance.

He was giving up today and asking for painkillers and eye drops. He knew he could just go buy them, but still. He felt bad just using Livio's money for anything other than necessities and even the definition of necessity was debatable. He had wanted to draw some more before the cardboard got trashed— recycled. They lived in a neighborhood that did that. He couldn't draw if he couldn't see.

He listened to soft, approving moans as he made his way to the bathroom. Maybe if they were still going once he was done showering he would bring their damn plate and interrupt them. Like yeah he didn’t currently have a job, but they couldn’t either with how often they had sex. It was ridiculous. Or maybe sex was their job.

He turned the shower on, looking at all of the things Livio had left in it for them—for him, specifically. He pressed the tip of his tongue to his canine. Livio got them their own bottles of hair and body soap and conditioner, the bottles transparent to make it easier to see when new stuff needed to be bought. Wolfwood knew it was unreasonable, but it felt like he was being watched to make sure he was actually using it all. He was using it, because he felt bad and didn’t want to have to talk about why he wouldn’t use them.

So he showered. He used cold water to save on the bill and to make his half-chub go away. He felt disappointed when he had to clean his cum from the rim of his ass. He knew it would just ultimately get crusty and smell bad, but it felt like throwing out whatever fantasy he had where he was wanted by someone else—he hated how the thought of being wanted flirted with the idea of spooling his guts all over the floor. Awful. Terrible. A painful lie. Undeserving.

He got out, dried off, put on clothes he had cleaned in the sink while Livio was at work. He grabbed the plate from the drying rack and made his way barefoot up the back hallway. They were still fucking.

He knocked loudly, set the plate down, then turned to leave. The door opened quicker than he expected.

He met eyes with the old guy on his way down the second flight of stairs through the railing. He was in a robe, a face and head full of salt and pepper brown hair. He had hairy arms and knuckles, and chest hair that vanished down into his robe. His body carried fat and muscle in equal measure, giving him a heft about him and the tip of his fat, cut dick poked out from underneath his robe.

Wolfwood had better jerk off material for his fantasies now, apparently.

“Returning the plate,” he told him, absolutely sure these people were exhibitionists now.

He crouched down with a grunt, a scandalized, “Roberto!” coming from inside of the apartment. “I told you to throw that damn thing out! Your whole ass is out, you idiot!” Meryl, most likely.

More than just his ass, but Wolfwood wasn’t going to say anything.

“It’s fine!" he gruffed back at her, more power behind his voice than Wolfwood had expected given he could rarely hear him when they were having sex.

Something caught light in their apartment, Wolfwood huffing so hard it made his throat grate as he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, stars and specks dancing behind his eyes.

“Seriously, get in here! I'm so sorry!” Meryl apologized, Wolfwood waving her off, unable to see if she was blonde with big tits, let alone anything else.

“S'fine…” he couldn't open his eyes. He didn't trust himself to walk down the rest of the stairs to his apartment.

“…Hey, are you okay?” she asked gently, Wolfwood listening to her feet stick to the stairs as she inched closer.

“Migraine…” he half lied. It was never worth explaining that the light made him want to kill himself more than normal. It also wasn't like anyone but Livio ever asked.

“Oh, I'm sorry! Me yelling probably didn't help. Do you have anything for it or—like I can order you something if you don't,” Meryl offered.

“Meryl, leave the kid alone,” the old guy Roberto groused at her.

“Oh come on, it's like Vash. God forbid I offer.”

“I just…” Need a bullet through his skull. “Need to lie down. Thank you, though.” Manners. He kept forgetting his manners. He sounded ridiculous. It hurt to open his eyes and everything was out of focus, but he just needed to get back to his room.

He felt a warm, smooth, small hand in his. “Here—I'd feel bad if you busted your butt just trying to go downstairs while I watched.”

Wolfwood dared a glance at her. Short. Dark hair. Dressed, but flat chested. That was all he could really make out as she took him one step at a time back to his apartment.

Wolfwood opened his apartment door, slithered between the gap and closed it. He tugged it open again, knocking it against his own foot, eyes barely open.

“Thank you.” Manners. He closed the door in her face.

---

Silent. Dark. Cold.

“Nico, what are you doing?”

Livio. Bright. Loud—even though his voice was gentle.

Nico was laying face down on the floor in his helmet, splayed out on the floor.

He didn't want to tell him his head hurt because then he'd try to help him. But if he ignored him, his brother might worry.

“Nothing,” he replied, not moving. “Laying here.”

Livio sat next to him, silent. “Okay…can I ask why you're laying on the floor in your helmet?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Silence. It was uncomfortable. As uncomfortable as the throbbing behind his eyes.

“Is your bed uncomfortable…?” Livio whispered, as if he could see the soft divot of Wolfwood's brain folds exposing themselves to him. “I notice you don't really lay in it much.” He hadn't expected him to admit to noticing. He hadn't expected him to pick up that day. He didn't expect him to help him.

The silence dragged, Wolfwood scraping his helmet against the wood floor to turn to look at Livio.

“Did you ever think about what happened…to me—after I got kicked out?” he knew he had asked awkwardly, that the pauses were wrong, that his own breath felt heavy and damp in his helmet.

“Of course I did…I thought about you all of the time, Nico. I love you—” Wolfwood turned his head away from him and back to the floor. “—you know. Very much. You're my brother.”

He reached for his back, skin to the shirt no longer sticking to him from the heat. Wolfwood felt the muscle in his back twitch at the contact.

“Nico…?”

“Will…you buy me eye drops and chewable pain killers for kids…? But like…hold them—for me? Or lock them up. Please.”

“Yeah. Of course, I can do that for you. Does your head hurt? Is that why you're laying here like this? Do you want something stronger than a kid's chewable? I don't mind getting y—”

“No,” he interrupted immediately, cutting the conversation short. He laced his toes together, knees pressed roughly into the hardwood.

“Okay…” Livio rubbed at his back. “Want me to get us dinner or did you already eat?”

He hadn't eaten all day, actually. “I'm okay.”

“Okay. When did you last eat? Just so I know if I need to get you a snack or something since you shouldn't take medication on an empty stomach.”

“An hour ago,” he lied. “Upstairs neighbors,” he added vaguely in case Livio decided to try to take inventory of their fridge.

“Oh, I didn't know you were talking to them. Happy to hear it. Okay, uh…well I'll go get you eye drops and kid's pain meds. Let me know if you need anything else?”

He wouldn't. He couldn't. He'd rot, fat first through the floorboards, before he'd tell Livio he needed help more than he had already asked for. “Okay.”

Livio left him alone on the floor in the dark.

Eventually, he came back with eye drops and pain killers. At some point, Wolfwood had fallen asleep and Livio didn't want to wake him up.

At some point, the neighbors fucking again did.

It was dark. Proper dark, starlight and his eyes deserving to be plucked out of his skull with one of those very small ice cream scoops. He felt like he hadn't gotten to rest or recover at all. His head hurt so much.

He screamed, deep from his chest, it not at all sounding like the grating, frustrated little boy who screamed so much when he got kicked out of his home. But he was still just as frustrated, he was still in pain, he was still suffocating. He sat up and yanked his helmet off and threw it at the wall.

“Nico? Hey, it's okay,” Livio insisted, stumbling between the dark and being barely conscious as he came over to Wolfwood who had sat up, who shoved himself under the window, requested medication he didn't notice forcing him to slip down to his elbow. 

“ Fuck! ”

“Okay, alright, come here,” Livio insisted, knees on either side of Wolfwood as he tugged his own up against his chest, chin on his knees, arms wrapped around his head. “Shhh…It's okay.”

Wolfwood hated the way his breath caught in his throat and struggled to move. To inhale, to exhale, bobbing uselessly like his adam's apple.

“What happened? Hey…” Livio soothed, rubbing at his back.

Wolfwood wanted to twist his arms and snap his head from his neck and pull like the meat inside of a crab claw. He wanted to set it on the floor until it stopped hurting. Or maybe bash it into nothing.

“I'm gonna lose my shit!” Wolfwood snarled, his head throbbing, pulse after pulse, Wolfwood slamming his palm into his temple to distract or redirect the pain behind his eyes somewhere else, anywhere else.

Livio's strong hands grabbed his wrists immediately. “Stop. Please don't hit yourself.”

“I'm going to shove my head in our sink's garbage disposal.” Come out like grinds of bones and meat and teeth and cartilage.

“Nico…Talk to me.” His voice was too even, too deep. He reminded Wolfwood of their father and it sucked.

“They are so goddamn loud and everything is so bright all of the time and honestly I think I should have just killed myself instead of calling you someti—”

“ No. No you shouldn't have. Nico, I am so glad you called me. That you remembered my number and that I never changed it. I love you very much and I understand you're frustrated. I'll talk to them, okay? Or get you headphones that'll block out noise. I'll get you blackout curtains. I'll get you on my insurance and we can see if—”

“Don't. Do that. I…I can't pay for any of that, I…!” He hiccuped like a child, angry tears.

“Nico…” Livio spoke gently under the sound of a knock on their backdoor.

Wolfwood yelled again, nothing else to throw, nothing else to be defensive with.

“Shhh…” Livio got up onto his knees and hugged him closer to his chest. “You don't have to yell. I'm right here. I'll handle it. Nico you also don't have to pay for anything. You don't owe me money. If anything, you are owed so much more than what I'm able to give you.” Livio kissed the top of his head.

And Wolfwood realized he hadn't been hugged and kissed for a very, very long time. Livio ignored the second knock as he tried to calm Wolfwood down.

“I'm going to get a wine opener and grind it through my goddamn temple…” Wolfwood insisted, burying himself against Livio and wiping at his wet face.

“No you're not. I'm going to talk to them and then we're going to hang out and talk for a bit, alright?” Livio insisted. “Just give me a few minutes, okay?” he wiped at Wolfwood's eyes, pressed his forehead to the top of Wolfwood's head, then got up and went to the back door.

He listened to the soft voice of his brother and how quickly Vash's voice seemed to match it. Wolfwood pressed his face between his knees and held them, trying not to cry too hard because it would just make his headache worse the way it always did.

He didn't want to talk to Livio. He was horrified of talking to Livio. He wanted to put it off, to pretend to be asleep. He wanted his head to stop hurting. The two boxes of medication stuck out in his empty room, even in the dark. He reached for them, shaking one—eye drops—then messing with the rattle of the other box as he opened it.

He removed the top, pulled the cotton out of it. He poured however many ended up in his hand. The chewables foamed weirdly in his mouth, Wolfwood swallowing around the synthetic sweetness.

“Sorry…” he mumbled around grape and foam to God as he poured more into his hand and shoved those into his mouth too. “Sorry…” he apologized to Livio around the chewables that clicked against his teeth before he bit down on them. He listened to him still talking to Vash. He poured more into his hand as he swallowed, as he rolled them around between his fingers and made them melt in his sticky hands.

He wanted to shove the whole bottle in his mouth. He didn't think it would be enough to kill himself, but it was probably more than he should have had on an empty stomach. Livio came back into the room, the chalky taste clinging to Wolfwood's back teeth.

“Hey…?” He gently touched Wolfwood's shoulder, Wolfwood not moving.

“…Can you take the rest of these from me please…?” Wolfwood asked, offering the sticky, half crushed mess in his hand to his brother. Livio took them. Then the bottle. He got up and left Wolfwood's room, the sound of the sink, then he came back. He pressed a warm, wet washcloth against his palm as he silently cleaned up his mess.

“I love you, Nico…”

Wolfwood leaned forward against Livio's shoulder, relaxing his hands for Livio. “Love you too…” he mumbled quietly in the agonizing dark. “I don't wanna talk about this right now…”

“Okay. We can talk about it later,” Livio promised cruelly.

“Or later…” he added.

“Nico…”

“Or ever…I don't…I don't know how to talk about it and I don't want to…I just want my head to stop hurting right now…”

Livio didn't answer. He didn't sigh, he didn't argue or insist. He just continued to clean Wolfwood's hand in a way that felt like he had started to massage it, an unnecessary kindness for a mess that was his own fault. Wolfwood slouched forward even more against Livio.

Notes:

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Chapter 4: Knowledge

Wolfwood didn't realize how comforting it was to fall asleep on someone and wake up with them still there. Contrary, it must have been uncomfortable for Livio, sitting on the hardwood with the weight of another person on him, but he hadn't moved. He sat there, arms around Wolfwood and his chin in his hair until Wolfwood pulled away.

“Good morning,” he whispered.

Wolfwood hummed in reply, eyes sore like when he didn't sleep well. Livio adjusted how he was sitting, staring. Wolfwood pretended not to notice, looking around his room which never felt dark enough.

“How do you feel about omelets for breakfast?”

“S'fine…” Wolfwood mumbled.

“Do you want to eat in here?”

He found his phone, preemptively squinting as he checked the time. Livio should have already left for the day.

“Don't you have work?”

“Normally, yeah.”

Wolfwood set his phone down face first and stared at him. The screen lit up at the edges, a muffled beacon. He was taking away his money in this way too. What a burden and terrible brother. If he was going to die he should have done it before Livio had to pay for a funeral and have a pathetic gathering of a single mourner.

“Sorry…”

“Don't be. You'll always be more important.”

Wolfwood swallowed so hard it hurt, the saliva bubbles acidic. He cleared his throat. Or it could have been all the meds he had chewed up last night with nothing in his stomach.

“Can we talk after breakfast, Nico?”

“I'd prefer we didn't…” he mumbled, debating crawling out of the window and never coming back to the apartment. He could die privately in some dark, dank, abandoned alleyway high out of his mind and not in pain.

“I know. And I'm sorry. But we need to, okay?” Livio leaned closer, hand gently placed over Wolfwood's. He frowned at the curtains. “Just some baseline stuff. Okay?”

“Okay…” he mumbled.

He sat in the murk as Livio got up, the soft throbbing of his head.

---

The empty plate sat in front of him, breakfast tasting of vibrant sawdust and wet cement. It left his body uncomfortably lethargic. Livio cleared his throat, Wolfwood staring at anything but him, at anything but the strips of light on his bedroom floor.

“So. I want to start with the easy stuff.”

None of this was easy. It was pulling his brittle teeth from his rotting gums, and they gave easy, but pulling them all the same.

“For your headaches, like I said I can get you blackout curtains. I can lock up meds for you and give them to you when you need them or give them to you after meals. I can put you on my insurance.”

Wolfwood just listened to him talk. He'd already caused a scene. He leaned over for his bag, still stuffed with dirty laundry. He pulled out the cigarettes and a white lighter, reaching behind himself to crack open a window. He lit it.

Livio got up. He expected him to take the cigarette from him, but instead he sat next to him and opened the pack, taking a new one and the lighter from Wolfwood's hand. He lit it, pulling the curtain away from the window and blowing smoke outside of it.

“Okay?” he prompted Wolfwood.

“Okay…”

“Once you're on my insurance, I think we should just get you a general check up, a cleaning at a dentist, and maybe see if you need glasses and if that'll help with the headaches.” Livio's long fingers swapped the cigarette to the other so he could reach over and rub at Wolfwood's back.

“What did…you think I'd be like?” Wolfwood asked, nibbling on his filter before taking a drag from his cigarette.

“Huh?”

“After being apart since I was like…fifteen, what did you think I'd be like?” Did he think of the idea of him often? Did he superimpose a brilliant, excitable boy onto who he was as an adult? Did he think he powered through everything and became successful? Normal, at minimum? He hadn't, far from it.

“…I dunno.”

“Do you know me enough to put in that much effort then?” Livio should stop. He shouldn't lose things because of Wolfwood. He worked hard for everything he had. He endured the kind of father that would kick out a fifteen year old boy without a second thought.

“That's an unfair question…” Livio mumbled, taking his hand away from Wolfwood's back to set it next to him instead. “I think after a decade of being apart, anyone is bound to change…”

“I think it's a fair question. You could have just bailed me out of jail, gave me some cash and left it at that.” And even that felt like too much.

“Is that what you thought I'd do when you called me…?” Livio asked, heartbreak in his eyes. Wolfwood ducked his head down. He awkwardly pressed his cigarette to his upper lip before getting it into his mouth. He took a drag and blew it into the hardwood. He repeated the gesture, inhaling and exhaling like a train. “Nico, is that seriously what you thought I'd do?” Livio repeated.

“I dunno. I don't know you. And you don't know me and it's why you keep asking me things. And I don't like that you keep asking me things…”

Livio turned to face him, wiggling his foot behind Wolfwood and the wall, tugging him closer so he could hold his brother. “I'm sorry, Nico…”

If he was being honest, Wolfwood didn't think he had changed much if it all from the fifteen year old boy Livio had last seen. He got bigger, his light sensitivity had gotten worse, but he hadn't discovered the kind of person he had wanted to be. He had to learn to survive and that took precedence over interests or hobbies or education.

“I care about you. A lot,” Livio insisted gently, cigarette smoldering between his fingers. “I don't care if you're different or how different I am from how you remember. You're still my brother.”

Not really. Wolfwood's own mother got with Livio's father when Wolfwood was very young. They adopted Livio, but after she ran off, Livio’s father wanted nothing to do with him. He was as much as his brother as any of the strangers upstairs. But he wasn't going to say that because it would cause problems. He wasn't trying to cause problems again.

“If you don't like my questions, I'll try to stop asking them…But that means you need to tell me things, like how I'm going to tell you something now, okay?” he still asked a question. “I want you to stop lying to me about eating. When I tried to smooth things over with the neighbors last night, I tried to thank them for eating with you and he had no idea what I was talking about.”

Wolfwood pulled away from Livio. “Look, I just…I got scraps and handouts and shit that might have gone bad for over ten years and then all of a sudden I get real full meals and I just—I wanna vomit. It tastes good but it's so much. It feels like it's up in my ribs with nowhere to go. And it's so heavy. ”

Livio's eyes widened in realization. “I didn't—I'm sorry…I'll try lighter meals going forward. But this is exactly why we need to talk, okay? I don't know these things, Nico. I don't know how you want me to help you or even really what you need and I won't unless you talk to me. ”

“I don't…” Wolfwood pulled away from Livio's loving embrace, shoving himself back up against the wall. “I don't talk to people.” If he did, it was to work up the nerve to ask if he could have the bathroom code to piss and act like it never bothered him every single time. It was to thank people for giving him their spare change or a water bottle. He didn't really talk to people because people didn't talk to him. They avoided eye contact. They threw shit at him. They called the cops on him. He was a burden and an eyesore and he was well aware that was how people saw him.

Livio frowned at him. “I'm not ‘people’, I'm your brother. You can talk to me, even if it's poorly, even if you have to yell. That won't bother me as long as you're talking, Nico.”

“I hate you,” Nico admitted with an unsteady gaze, staring at him in his nice work out clothes that fit his toned body. At the body that had sat on the floor all night just to hold him and whatever kindness he could hold in other parts of him. At the way that should have been him and how the choice of two adults in their lives dictated how they would be as adults. The envy and disgust and desire and interpreted pity was eating him alive. It made him want to leave, even if he was worse off for it.

Livio seemed to take a second to collect himself. He ashed the cigarette outside of his open window. “…Well I don't hate you. Not one bit, even when you're being an asshole. Now, I'm going to do our dishes. I'm going to clean our apartment. Then, I’m going to get you blackout curtains, a safe to put medication in, and I'm buying you new pajamas, so you can hate me more if you want.” he collected the dishes from breakfast. “And one more thing—stop washing your clothes with the dish soap and just put them in the laundry,” Livio grumbled, snatching up his nasty duffle bag and walking out of the room with it.

Nico's withered little heart cracked, brittle and awful. He felt the tension bubble up from his stomach and into his throat. It came out high and tense before it boiled over into a proper scream. Livio didn't scold him for it, but he didn't comfort him about his frustration this time either.

---

Wolfwood knocked on the back door to his upstairs neighbors apartment, shoulders tucked up against his ears, sun glasses on. Livio had gone out to buy him things, so he decided to apologize for screaming like a lunatic even if Livio already had for him. But given he had done it again, he could at least apologize for this too. He didn't want it to be a regular thing, but if it was he could at least seem apologetic about it. He would just avoid them and feel weird if he didn't and he didn't want to do that.

He could see it now; going outside to smoke and having to slink away, Livio wanting to do something outside with him and Wolfwood being self-conscious the entire time that he was being watched, awkwardly rushing inside if they caught him in the driveway at the same time. Or worse, they'd get kicked out for his behavior. His helmet did already ruin part of the wall after he had thrown it.

Vash opened the door. He had clothes on, again seeming to overcompensate. A compression shirt on under a cropped turtleneck and patterned sweatpants, again with the single glove. However, their apartment was freezing, so maybe he wasn't compensating at all.

“Hiya!” Vash greeted far too casually.

“Hi…” Wolfwood grumbled. “I just wanted to apologize. For last night. And like…two hours ago.”

“Last night?” Vash asked. “Meryl, was there a thing last night I missed while I was out?” he called into the apartment.

“Huh?!” she yelled back, Wolfwood wincing.

“I sai—oh my god…” Vash left the door open and went into the apartment. Wolfwood heard Vash repeat himself as he dared another look into their nice apartment.

The doorway was a different perspective of their living room. Everything was cohesive, creams and browns, vintage and modern melting together in a way that gave it a classic feel.

A large LED television hung over a beautiful, narrow, deep brown television stand that looked like it was repurposed from the 80s with matching speakers on either side. A glass table covered in tall candles, a charging eReader, and abandoned scotch glasses sat on a cream carpet that matched their large sectional couch. It had an ugly green blanket thrown over the back and one half rumpled, cable knit cream blanket that looked like bad curtains more than a blanket on the longer part of the couch. It had pillows with nauseating swirls of beige, green, and cream shoved up in the corners.

An open bookshelf stuffed with board games, decorative sculptures, stacked candle jars, and records took up the entire wall to the left of the balcony. To the right, there looked like there was some personal bar cart tucked up by the balcony windows, glasses catching light assaulting Wolfwood to stop being nosy. He hadn't even realized he had leaned forward a bit until Meryl came back with Vash.

“What is he on about?” Meryl asked, coming to the door with Vash in tow. She was cuter, the more of her he could see this time. Her hair was tucked back behind her ears with a cloth headband, earrings dangling like mock waterfalls. She had a tank top tucked into some patterned, high waisted cotton shorts. She was matching Vash.

“Last night. A bit ago. Sorry. That was it, I didn't mean to make a big deal about it,” Wolfwood explained.

“Oh…!” her face went cherry red. “Yeah, sorry!”

“What did you do?” Vash laughed, Meryl elbowing him in his ribs.

“We'll try to keep it down more. Sorry again.”

“Wait, you guys did it without me again?” Vash asked, voice pitched up in offense.

“Vaaash! Shut up!” Meryl hissed, mortified he'd told so directly on them that she reached up to smear her little hands all over his mouth.

“What the hell are you two letting all the air out again for?” Groused Roberto from inside the apartment.

“Talking to the downstairs neighbor!” Vash called. Wolfwood really wished he'd stop yelling.

“I mean, like I said that was it, so…” Wolfwood nodded, turning around to leave.

“Again?” Roberto called back.

Wolfwood felt like he was in trouble, like he needed to be back in his own apartment before Roberto saw him.

“Hey kid,” Roberto called down to him right as Wolfwood's hand reached his own door handle. He exhaled through his nose, then looked up to his noisy neighbors. He had on more than a bathrobe this time. A mostly unbuttoned white button up and slacks. His loose tie matched girly’s headband.

“If you wanted to have dinner with us, you don't need to tell a lie you got so easily caught in, you know. We're going for lunch soon if right now sounds better than dinner.”

Wolfwood stared at him through his sunglasses. “No thanks. My brother made a big breakfast.”

“Oh, so see you at eight then?”

Wolfwood frowned at the well dressed older man. “Are you picking on me?” He genuinely couldn't tell, so he thought it was just best to ask.

“You can ignore him,” Meryl promised, Vash laughing nervously.

“What? He'd fit in with you two since he wants to be a screamer all the damn ti—”

“Ooohhkay, that's enough! Everybody inside!” Meryl demanded, shoving them through the doorway. “Sorry again!” she called down to Wolfwood and yanked the door closed. Wolfwood winced and opened his own apartment door to hide inside of his room again. That made his migraine worse.

But it didn't feel like he was the one who got to apologize, more like they were apologizing to him—which implied they knew damn well he could hear them. He felt less guilty about jerking off about it and more annoyed now.

---

Livio had bought blackout curtains for more than just Wolfwood's room. He also got some for the living room, the kitchen, and his own room. He hung up black ones in Wolfwood's too and white ones in every other part of the apartment. He tied them to the side with decorative tassels and left sheer white ones in the middle.

Wolfwood hated that he bought all white. It would be awful to clean his blood out of anything if he decided to do something like put his tongue in the barrel of a gun.

He heard the soft beeping from Livio's room as he set up a safe. Then, he called Wolfwood into the kitchen. The lights were warmer than the previously blinding white. Livio tapped at a whiteboard trio on the fridge, Wolfwood looking away from the light bulbs nestled together on the counter.

“The one on the very left is general notes. Like if you want to tell me something but I'm out and can't text me, that sort of thing. The middle is a grocery list—add to it whenever you want. The one on the right is what you've eaten for the week.”

Wolfwood clenched his jaw. The black outline of the whiteboard caught glints of light. It threatened him with immaturity in its silence. Wolfwood could feel the tendons in his jaw straining, even after he'd released the tension in his face. They pulled, taunt, snapped, got him in his delicate eyes. He blinked a few times.

“As long as it's not air, that's all I care about right now, okay?”

“Okay.”

“If you want to live on smoothies or something like that, I don't care. I'll give you multivitamins and make you ones with a variety of fruits and vegetables, I just need to know what you want and eat often.”

“You're treating me like a client,” he realized, accusatory. Not a child.

“Not really. I'm meaner to them,” he chuckled. “But, seriously I just want to understand what you eat, okay? Get your weight up a little, get you settled.”

Wolfwood studied his own toes, the hair knuckles of them barely visible under the hem of his pants.

“Kay…”

“Also if you're going to be home all the time that's fine. Can I just show you how I do some chores? Then if you notice there's like lots of laundry or dishes or the windows are gross or something, you can take care of that?”

“I thought you weren't going to ask me questions anymore…” Wolfwood grumbled.

“Fine,” Livio sighed, waving his questions. “If you have the faculties, I'd appreciate it if you did a chore or two while I'm out and I'll show you how to do them. Better? Wait, crap—”

Wolfwood cracked a smile, biting it down. “Yeah…better.”

Livio cracked a more obvious smile. “Okay. I'm gonna show you how to clean curtains and the couch, how to clean the filter in the AC, and how I prefer to sweep and mop and do my own laundry and fold it.”

Wolfwood followed Livio's lead in the dim of their apartment. He showed him a fancy steam cleaner he had that needed water. How to open it to fill it, a reminder not to burn himself. He showed him how to open the air conditioner, how to clean the filter, how long he should let it dry for before putting it back. He showed him the small closet with the matching broom and dustpan and bucket and mop that all made him uncomfortable. He told him he preferred cleaner on the floor so if it leaked it wouldn't get all over anything and would be easier to clean. Livio showed him the ratio of floor cleaner to water to use and where to step and not step. He also showed him how to empty the vacuum. He showed him the settings he preferred for the washer, tap cold, auto sensing, half a cap full of soap, don't put more laundry in it than about there or so. He showed him how to clean the lint trap. He showed him how he folded his laundry, where he put it.

It was a lot. It was weirdly complicated to be clean. He was already worried he was going to forget it all. He'd wait to write it down on his cardboard scraps, something small he could keep until he could get his hands on some paper. For now, it was weirdly nice to just spend time with Livio doing things that didn't require his input.

Notes:

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Chapter 5: Oysters

For the most part, his neighbors seemed to keep their sex to daylight hours after the awkward series of apologies. So, Wolfwood tried not to lose it and scream and throw things when he was angry.

He set up a routine for himself. He got up when Livio did. They ate together. He left and then Wolfwood would draw for a few hours if he could see straight. If he couldn't, he'd clean in the dark. Dishes and laundry at minimum, sweeping and mopping at maximum after Livio told him curtains and couch cleaning really could just be a monthly thing.

He was used to being bored, but being bored without suffering left him anxious. The sun didn't eat at him, he didn't have to people watch for rolled down windows and spare change. So sometimes, he would just drive around.

He decided he felt better if Livio didn't just throw money at him. So, for his little notes on the fridge, he would write down when he spent money and never tried to go over seventy-five dollars a week. Gas took up most of it, but sometimes he would buy things like a single burger from a fast food place, a pack of cigarettes, a small shooter of alcohol he'd chug right after walking out of the liquor store with it, more eye drops. Not particularly necessities, but they were things he would get or steal before living with Livio to the point where it felt like it. Comfortable in their familiarity, at least.

Sometimes, if the week was over and he still had some money he hadn't spent, he'd go to an ATM, take it out in cash and account for the fee, buy something small and ask for a ton of smaller bills, then find someone else to hand it over to. He at least had a place to stay now. He at least had consistent access to food now. He didn't give a shit what they spent it on, they'd know better than he would what they needed. Food, drugs, alcohol, socks, a bus ride, whatever.

If Livio knew he was taking cash out, he never said anything about it. He was always too busy trying to make small talk at breakfast.

“So, I have an appointment for you next week for an eye doctor.”

Wolfwood looked up from the egg whites and tomatoes he was gradually turning into a paste on his plate before eating. He didn't say anything and looked back down at his food, taking a forkful in his mouth to see if it was a consistency he liked.

“I figured after, we can go get lunch or an early dinner, so if you wanna think about what you want to eat…” Livio offered, trailing off as Wolfwood continued to make it hard for him to tell if he was paying attention.

“Anywhere's fine,” Wolfwood replied around a mouthful of egg that had the texture of being already chewed.

“Okay. Well, if you think of something you want you can tell me,” Livio promised. “It'll be our first time going out to eat together, so it can be a little special if you want it to be,” Livio offered. Special as in money. Wolfwood swallowed and hummed passively.

---

The office was quiet. Awful light and rows and rows of glasses and sterile desks. The jeans Livio had got him felt too tight since the pair of pants actually fit him for once. He kept messing with the collar of his black shirt, rubbing it between his fingers as he worked his way down the v-neck.

The room in the back was darker, easier to manage. Livio politely followed with him, staying out of the way and making idle chatter with the doctor. Was he a doctor? Is that what eye people were called?

The only questions Livio couldn't answer on his behalf were the ones pertaining to his vision. Wolfwood squinted constantly at number boards and another with small gaps in up, down, left, or right. He could really only see about a third of it before he started messing up. One? Or two? One? Or two? They looked the same. He lied and said two.

His vision was so bad they were surprised he was even driving. They puffed air in his eyes, dilated them, recommended another doctor to get him a prescription or maybe even surgery due to the ulcer he apparently had in his eyes.

“Did you injure your eyes at any point that you can remember and not get them looked at?”

Wolfwood hummed, thinking, staring at the weird silver and yellow necklace the eye doctor had on. His eyes had always hurt for as long as he could remember ever since he got kicked out. “Oh. Yeah, there was um…yeah. I got inna fight.” He nodded, deciding that was it. Then, the final straw. “When I was fifteen.”

He watched Livio frown, then his eyes went wide. The excuse his father needed to get rid of him. There had been a girl. Little thing, barely in her own body yet getting picked on by high school seniors. Wolfwood got the shit kicked out of him for defending her, blood and dirt in his eyes that hurt so bad. He hadn't told his dad. Didn't even get a word out. Was just told to shower and pack a bag. He thought he was getting sent to a relative's, so he packed light.

“Nico…”

That was a long time to have an unaddressed injury. It would take time to heal right if it could at all, even with medication. The most they could do was give him prescription sunglasses for indoors and recommend he do what'd been doing with the lights. Wolfwood kept staring at his necklace. A silver circle with a little yellow ball in it. It reminded him of something he couldn't place.

“You can pick any frame you want,” Livio insisted, even though Wolfwood had heard something about insurance and colors.

There were too many styles. Too many variations of the same goddamn thing. He knew he wanted something big, square, simple and black.

“Those?” Livio asked, the first pair he'd bothered to pick up.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to try them on?” he offered, Wolfwood already shaking his head.

“No. These.”

“Okay. You want both the sunglasses and your regular glasses to have this frame?”

“Yes.”

More talking, more numbers, something about reflection and scratch resistance and money. Something to be delivered, something else to be picked up.

They got in the car. “…You ever eat an oyster?” Wolfwood asked, realizing what the man's necklace reminded him of.

“An oyster?”

“Mhm.” he nodded.

“No. I've had mussels, clams, but no oysters.”

“Oh.”

Livio turned the car on, hot air blowing in their face from the AC. He turned it down. “Did you want oysters, Nico?”

“No…” he grumbled, squinting at the dashboard.

“We can get oysters if you want to try them,” Livio offered with a soft, blurry smile. Nico half glanced at him, head ducked down to his ears.

“Kay…” he grumbled softly. Livio chuckled.

---

The restaurant was dim, thank God. The last time Wolfwood had been in a restaurant, it had been to get free bread, a soda, and then to take a shit in peace before leaving.

But he was here to actually eat. He'd probably have to stay home all week because this was going to cut into his seventy-five dollars. He was ignoring the glasses. He didn't want to know the total or he'd shove the bread knife in the soft canal of his ear or swallow an open safety pin. Wolfwood opened the menu, frowning.

“Livio, I can't read this,” he admitted, squinting and pulling it closer to his face.

“Hm? Oh, hold on, let me ask if they have one in bigger print.” Livio slid out of the seat across from him and went back up to the hostess stand. It took a moment, but Livio came back with another menu.

The font was bigger, Wolfwood's eyes went wide. This was expensive. It took him a while to find the oysters, Livio able to read through the entire menu while Wolfwood was only half his speed between his crap vision and being out of practice. When he found them, he made an uncomfortable noise in the back of his throat like when he couldn't fall asleep properly.

“What's wrong?” Livio asked, another question.

“These are expensive…” he grumbled.

“Not really. Other places charge more.”

The waitress came over, bubbly and cheerful and asked if they knew what they wanted to drink after she introduced herself.

“Water,” Wolfwood grunted bluntly. Water was free—even in a seafood place, it was free, right?

“Regular, sparkling, with lemon?” she listed.

“The free one…” Wolfwood mumbled, shrinking closer to his menu. Was it legal to charge that much for a damn fish?

“With lemon?” The server offered, Wolfwood clenching his jaw.

“On the side,” Livio answered for him. “I'll take the same.”

“Do you want any appetizers?”

“Nico?” Livio asked.

“No. Just oysters.” That was it. Anything else and he'd lick the ice forming in the freezer as his daily meals for a month.

“Can we just get two orders of the oysters for now please?” Livio repeated.

The server left, Wolfwood closing the menu. The look Livio was giving him said it all: he wanted to know if Wolfwood was okay. He wasn't. This was terrible, actually.

“Fast food isn't this expensive…groceries aren't this expensive…” he mumbled.

“Yeah, but you're also having someone else cook for you. There's also the quality involved which you sometimes can't get at home,” Livio offered. “It's okay, you know. I offered. I'm the one who wanted to do this for you and set up the appointments. Think of it as a thank you for letting me drag you along with what I wanted,” he offered.

“I'm going. To kill myself…” Wolfwood grumbled flatly.

“No you're not, shut up,” Livio sighed, putting his chin in his hand. “You're going to drink your free lemon water and try oysters with me.”

Wolfwood grunted, looking at all of the blurry people. His foot bounced under the table.

“Twenty-five fucking dollars…” he whispered in dismay. Per order. Livio had gotten two.

“Yup. And you're gonna shut up and let me pay for them.”

“I hate you,” Wolfwood insisted, glaring at his brother.

“Well I love you very much, so there.”

Wolfwood was pretty sure that love was in part guilt, but he didn't say that. He wouldn't cause a scene in public for Livio.

The oysters came, Wolfwood frowning at them. “How do you like…?”

He awkwardly held his fork, unsure if he was supposed to pick them up or not with his fingers.

“You can scrape them out however you'd like,” Livio offered, reaching over with his own fork and knife. He used the fork to tug the meat from the oyster, the knife holding its shell in place. “I prefer doing it that way. Then you can eat it as is, dip it in the sauce, whatever you want. These already have butter sauce on them, you can eat it just like that if you want.”

Wolfwood took the lemon from his drink and squeezed a little over the oyster. He wiped his fingers on the napkin, then put the oyster meat in his mouth, Livio already eating his first.

He chewed.

He frowned.

He continued chewing as his mouth pulled up in disgust as the flavor of seasoned butter and lemon vanished.

It was like chewing on a soggy tongue.

He chewed more, a texture like sand.

He swallowed.

“Yeah?” Livio laughed, Wolfwood shaking his head as he grabbed his water. He chugged it, groaning unhappily as he could still taste it. He wiped his tongue on a napkin, disgusted. Livio cracked up, trying to keep it down. “That bad?”

“It's gross!” he insisted loudly, earning a few eyes from staff and customers alike. “Why is it so salty? And rubbery but still kinda soft like mold or wet bread?” Wolfwood rubbed his tongue on the napkin again.

Livio covered his mouth, snorting really hard. His shoulders were shaking. “D…pfthaha…! Do you want something else?”

“Twenty-five fucking dollars…” Wolfwood repeated in dismay, rubbing his tongue against his teeth. “I wanna brush my teeth…!”

The server came back over. “Hi. Is everything okay?”

“Can I get these to go? And if you have any mints, can we have some?” he asked, still trying not to laugh at Wolfwood too hard.

Awful! Terrible! Gross!

The server collected the plates, Wolfwood whining like a child. “Are mussels and clams that bad too?”

“They're a little different, but overall kind of similar.”

“Why do you like those?”

Livio chuckled. “It's okay if you don't. Do you want something else?”

“Hell no!”

Livio laughed as loud as his outburst. “Okay,” he laughed. “But you still need to eat something. What else do you want?”

“I dunno—pasta? Literally just plain, cheap, safe, not nasty pasta!”

“Okay,” Livio continued to laugh.

Eventually, the server came back with the to-go boxes and a handful of mints which Wolfwood immediately shoved in his mouth.

“I can't see, this tastes bad, I'm jumping out of the car the next time we're on the highway…!”

Livio just kept laughing at him.

---

Livio set down a plate of pasta in front of Wolfwood. The kitchen smelled warm as he cooked, homey. Wolfwood had asked for simple pasta, but Livio had pulled out more than that.

He had been a little anxious at first, expecting something fancy and ultimately terrible, but the final product looked simple despite all the steps.

“Cacio e uova—cheese and egg pasta,” Livio explained, pulling out a chair to sit next to him. It was much later in the day now, the sun half set, half dipped behind thick, supple clouds. It was quiet. The fan was on, giving a soft hum of white noise.

Their forks clicked against their plates. Pasta. Livio made him fancy pasta. At home, since their discussion, he'd mostly been eating soup, cereal, egg whites, or breakfast shakes with Livio.

That felt safe, reasonable, and still left him full. The pasta on his plate wasn't a lot. It was probably enough for a kid.

Wolfwood collected a single, tube-like noodle on his fork. It gently bellowed steam. Livio waited and watched him. He blew on it. He put it in his mouth. He chewed.

It melted in his mouth.

It was gooey. It was yummy.

“Better?”

Wolfwood collected more on his fork, blowing again and nodding. “Yeah. A lot better than the healthy crap you make,” Wolfwood agreed, shoving more of it in his face.

Livio smiled. “You know the first thing you made me when I got adopted was pasta. Your mom was out and dad was working late. You were allowed to use the stove for simple stuff.”

Livio picked up a forkful of his own pasta and blew gently on it, Wolfwood chewing and staring at his brother's long eyelashes. He watched him chew, cheek puffed out just a little bit.

“I'm sure it was crap in a can. Not like this,” Wolfwood insisted after swallowing.

“Yeah, but…I'd never had a brother before and I've never had a brother that cooked for me. And it was just for me. I didn't have to share or ration it or hide it. I forgot what it was like to have to do that…when you didn't eat well so your stomach couldn't hold a lot…So I'm really sorry about that, Nico…I only remembered the part where you always were giving me your snacks and I wanted to try to do that for you this time.”

Wolfwood swallowed hard around his pasta. “That's dumb…” he mumbled, trying to blame the steam and the eye drops that left his pupils dilated for what felt like forever for the way they welled up.

Livio had been so little then. His hand could fit in Wolfwood's. He was always running cold, always climbing into his bed and crying. He hadn't seen him cry once since he moved in with him. Only after Livio picked him up from jail. Even then, it had just been a few tears, easy to wipe away.

He was so much more different than the kid he remembered and that realization had scared him when he saw him in person after all that time. It was why he had expected apologies, cash, and goodbyes.

He quietly thanked God for his little brother. For pasta. For free water and the way butter clung to the fat of his inner cheeks. For the way Livio didn't say anything as he pretended his eyes were only agitated as he wiped at them.

“Hey, Livio…?”

“Hm?”

“When you have time…will you show me how to make fancy pasta?”

Livio inhaled quietly, posture correcting itself as he stared at Wolfwood with those wide, warm, honey-brown eyes. He reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “Of course, Nico. Whenever you want.”

That way—sometimes, since Livio couldn't have it all the time—Wolfwood could still make his little brother pasta again. The apartment felt like a house to him for once. He had something he wanted to do that didn't feel forced or like he was under pressure to learn it or get it done the way he did with wanting to draw and cleaning up.

Then, he heard one of his upstairs neighbors moan. That was probably Vash. Wolfwood took his hand back and snorted.

“I bought you headphones for that,” Livio sighed. “They're coming in the mail at some point by the end of the week.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Wolfwood snorted around the pasta.

“Do they do anything else but have sex?” Livio asked before blowing on his own pasta.

“I think sometimes they go out for food and I can hear movies sometimes. And I think they play board games. But they do mostly just fuck.”

Livio hummed. “Explains the rent.”

Notes:

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Chapter 6: The Pasta Pot

The large silver pot was full of an excessive amount of noodles. Wolfwood hadn't meant to make that much, terrible with portions. He at first thought it wasn't enough, then panicked when it was too much, then added more because if it was that much he should at least make enough to give away to the sex fiends upstairs.

He made it the way Livio showed him, it was on a handwritten recipe card with Livio's impeccable letters so Wolfwood could refer to that as needed. There were sticky notes in small places with the same perfect handwriting: On the fabuloso bottle for how much to use, on the bottom shelf of the fridge to remind Wolfwood he shouldn't put raw meat on any other shelf, above the front door handle with a general time mail was delivered. It was easier on him than always having to look at his phone and he did appreciate it, especially since Livio wrote it nice and big for him.

The pasta tasted similar, but not exactly the same. Perhaps nostalgia had added something he couldn't replicate. It wasn't terrible, it wouldn't kill anyone, so he hauled the entire pot upstairs, setting it down to adjust his new prescription sunglasses as he knocked.

He was blasted with cold air as the door opened, tiny miss Meryl greeting him.

“Hi, stranger,” she greeted with a smile.

“Hi. I'm poisoning you—with my practice food.” Wolfwood corrected as he handed the pot over, handles-first, to Meryl, who startled at the weight of it. He realized the poisoning joke might not go over well with her the way they seemed to with Livio. “Bring me the pot back whenever you're done or just leave it by the backdoor.”

“Wh—huh?”

“Bye.” Wolfwood left her with a massive pot of cacio e uova, already heading back downstairs.

---

There was a knock on the back door the next day. Wolfwood groaned, scrubbing at his face. He was going to ask Livio for pain meds when he came home. He sat up, the mattress being used as a pillow. He felt around in the dark by the window for his pants, his sunglasses left by the right of the door frame so he wouldn't forget and step on them. He put both on, then made his way to the back door, squinting.

“Jesus, it's like a cave in there.” Roberto.

“You're also animals,” Wolfwood mumbled, not in the mood for his mouth.

“Uh-huh. Also, next time? Less cheese. Or a veggie. Grandpa's bowels ain't what they used to be and yours won't be either if you don't get some fiber.”

“Some what…?” Wolfwood grumbled, squinting and taking the pot back from him. It was heavier than it should have been, which told Wolfwood they must not have liked the pasta. It was lighter, but they didn't eat it all.

“Fiber,” Roberto repeated.

“I heard you the first time gramps, little Jimmy doesn't know what fiber is. ”

“The hell are they teaching you in school?” Roberto sighed.

“Dunno, had to drop out,” Wolfwood shrugged, setting the pot on the counter next to him.

“Fiber is what makes you shit. Cheese makes it so you can't shit. Veggies have fiber. Sausage and broccoli burrata with sun dried tomatoes will clear your little ass out.” He pointed a hairy finger at the pot. “Come back up and kiss grandpa's ass about how good it is after you have dinner.”

“After you've so clearly made the point that you've shit out of it that much? No thanks.” Wolfwood lifted the lid, inside an entirely different kind of dinner than what he'd given them.

Roberto chuckled. “Have a good one. Also—” he paused, doubling back on the half step he took away. “Don't keep leaving your cigarette butts in the ashtray on the porch. Wind takes ‘em and then they yell at me about it when I know damn well you smoke like a chimney down here.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

He had started smoking outside to get used to filtered, natural light a little more. He was told otherwise his vision would just continue to get worse, so he gave it the length of three cigarettes a day.

He had seen Roberto come out on his own porch to smoke a handful of times while he paced the lawn without shoes more than once. They exchanged polite nods, a camaraderie between fellow smokers.

“I mean it. The landlord is a huge dick about it and has kicked people out over it.” Livio mostly dealt with the landlord and Wolfwood stayed out of the way. But that was good to know. He didn't want to cause problems for Livio.

“Kay.”

---

The pasta had been good. Wolfwood felt weird coming up to just say thanks it was good and then leaving. He didn't know how to end that conversation. But he didn't want to make a habit out of spending Livio's money on other neighbors. He also wasn't eloquent enough to write a thank you note that didn't feel like it was written by a middle schooler.

He knocked on Livio's bedroom door.

“One moment!” Wolfwood waited, Livio opening the door after a few seconds. “Hi! What’s up?” he asked with a big smile, hair pulled up in a high ponytail that cascaded over his shoulder like those fancy commercial girls.

“Come with me—to thank the neighbors for the pasta. I don't wanna go alone.” And look stupid. Livio would also make it sound more genuine.

Livio smiled. “Okay. Lemme throw my hair up and we can go up.”

Wolfwood nodded. “Kay.” Should he fix himself up too? Was he presentable enough? Was this okay?

He awkwardly shuffled away to the bathroom and clicked on the lights to check. He looked the same as he always did lately. Dark bangs in his face, big glasses that took up half his face or sunglasses that had half his face, a little scruffy, a little too small under his clothes. Was that presentable enough?

It had to be, right? Better than how he'd seen Vash and Roberto in comparison at any rate. The only one who he might get self-conscious around looks wise was Meryl, but he had heard her begging for dick, so he didn't have to take her too seriously if he didn't want to.

He made his way back to Livio's room, who was walking out of it. “Good?”

Wolfwood grunted, nodded. He stepped back, letting Livio go first. They made their way upstairs and knocked.

A pause.

Wolfwood leaned against the wall.

He thought about all of the stupid ways he could thank them. He thought about how stupid he felt. He thought about how he wouldn't have to feel stupid if he hadn't been abandoned as a kid. He thought about how they were taking a while.

Livio knocked again.

And again Wolfwood thought about how he would rather go back downstairs now. So, he turned around—

and the back door opened. “Sorry about that! I'm home alone right now and was knocked out cold from my meds,” Vash greeted. “Off day,” he explained, Wolfwood grunted, having plenty of those.

“Oh, I'm so sorry we woke you up then! We just wanted to come up and thank you for dinner the other night,” Livio explained.

“Aw, no need! You brought dinner first!”

“We—” Livio turned to look down at Wolfwood, whose ears were red. He hadn't told him. He had just said the neighbors had brought dinner. “Well we wanted to thank you anyway,” Livio corrected, turning to Vash. “It was delicious.”

“I'll be sure to tell Roberto when he gets back! I know he'll be happy to hear it! Sometimes he gets all…you know,” he waved his hand vaguely, as if that explained it. No. Wolfwood didn't know. He had zero idea what the man was like or if he was supposed to understand what that meant and just didn't.

“Very considerate,” Livio agreed with a nod and a soft smile that made Wolfwood jealous. “But I hope you can get back to sleep soon!”

“Thanks,” Vash laughed.

---

Wolfwood waffled outside of Livio's bedroom door, shifting his weight from foot to foot, shadow adjusting under his door like an anxious kid.

He inhaled. The smell of cleaner pantomimed a migraine. He heard laughter from upstairs. He knocked on his bedroom door.

“Um…Liv? My phone is being weird. Can you fix it?” he called out through the wood, focusing more on the laughter upstairs than his own words.

“Hm? Yeah, one second, Ni,” Livio called back, the sounds of metal rings along the curtain rod before the light under the door vanished. He felt bad, like just because his brother's nature was kind that he forced himself on him, that he now had to stay in the dark because of him. He should beg for forgiveness and then slam his head in the door until the fatty mess and skull shards got in the grain of the wood.

Livio opened his bedroom door. “What's wrong with it?” he asked, Wolfwood handing it over.

“I dunno. It keeps saying something about an update and resetting it and won't lemme touch anything. But I don't wanna reset it, my stuff is in there.”

“Oh—no, here. It just wants you to turn it off and then back on again. Not factory reset,” Livio explained, tapping away on his screen for him. It went dark, then lit up much brighter than he would have ever set it to immediately.

“Oh…” He didn't know what the difference between a reset and factory reset was. “Thank you.”

“Mhm. It'll stop being this bright when its done, okay?”

“Okay.”

A knock on their back door.

“I got it—”

“I'm right here, s'fine…” Wolfwood insisted, taking a few steps into the kitchen to get it.

“Hiya!” Vash greeted, a big smile and his tank top and that same glove powdered with flour.

“Hi…?”

“So, we think a pipe—in the yard—Meryl,” Vash laughed, mushing the girl away who was just out of sight and poking and prodding at his side. “We think the pipe burst again because we don't have water. We're in the middle of making pasta.”

“Can we have some water?” Meryl interrupted, shoving a large pot between Vash and the doorway.

“Oh. Sure. But…wouldn't we not have water too…?”

“No,” Vash shook his head.

“Then why are you asking me for water…?”

“He means no, we do have water,” Livio corrected from behind him, one hand on Wolfwood's waist to take the pot from Meryl.

“Oh.”

“It won't make a mess or anything, I know how to turn it off and I called my brother so he can send someone out to fix it again,” Vash promised, Livio turning the sink on.

“Do you also want water to like…” Wolfwood vaguely gestured to his own face.

“Oh he's just gonna probably make a bigger mess,” Meryl giggled.

“From…what?” Wolfwood asked, frowning. They were just making pasta, so why did he need flour when they could just throw it in the water and boil it?

“Oh—Ni, I think they're making pasta from scratch,” Livio explained. “So flour, salt, egg, water, maybe some kind of filling. If you need more water, I don't mind leaving the back door open and you can just come down and get it. My room is right by the back door so…” Livio trailed off, handing the pot over to Meryl.

“Thank you!” She started off upstairs the second it was in her hands.

“That's very nice of you, we appreciate it!”

“Wait, I thought pasta was like…” Wolfwood trailed off. Actually, he wasn't sure what he thought pasta was. Wheat, maybe? Processed differently? Flour was more for cookies and pie crust and those had totally different textures and flavors. He looked at Livio.

Livio just gave him a polite smile, eyebrows raised, waiting for him to continue. Wolfwood frowned, thick, dark brows pulled together.

“Do you cook a lot?” Vash asked, a warm smile as he interrupted the awkward pause with a new conversation.

“No.”

“Somewhat, but it's quick meals.”

“Oh you have to try homemade pasta! It's so much different than store bought stuff!”

Wolfwood directed his frown at Vash. He was trying to imagine what making pasta was like. “How do you make the pasta not turn into a pastry?”

“Well, no sugar,” Vash chuckled. “But it's pretty similar—do you wanna try?” he offered, eyes sparkling in a way that made Wolfwood swallow all of the saliva in his mouth. “We always make too much and you're letting us just run down here and grab water whenever we want while we do this—I'm sure Meryl and Roberto wouldn't mind!”

Wolfwood looked over at Livio.

“Well? Do you?” Livio prompted.

“You're not gonna come?” He felt lost at the idea of interacting with strangers without him. Granted they were familiar strangers, but still strangers.

Livio smiled. “Working, unfortunately. Regiments and meal planning for a client. But I'm right here if you need me for anything if you wanna go, Ni,” he insisted.

Wolfwood clenched his teeth together, making his jaw flex. He looked at Vash, who continued to give him a bright smile.

“...Need my glasses…” he mumbled, practically escaping into the cave that was their apartment. He got his sunglasses, realizing they'd probably have lights on.

He paused, listening like an animal in the underbrush to Livio's quiet voice and Vash's polite tones that he couldn't quite make out either.

He swallowed, a sallow taste in the back of his throat. He left his room. The conversation died out. He came up to stand behind Livio.

“You being shy?” he teasingly whispered.

“Shut up…” he mumbled.

“I don't bite—that's more Meryl,” he chuckled, floating out into the hallway and expecting Wolfwood to follow.

“Meryl, Roberto!” Vash called, half already up the other flight of stairs by the time Wolfwood pulled himself from behind Livio to follow after him. “I got a guest to go with our water!”

Vash doubled back for Wolfwood, grabbing his hand and tugging him to the right of their apartment. His feet dragged across their floor, their kitchen in a different location than downstairs.

They had windows open, flour covering the counters, Roberto in a brown apron on and was working a sticky mess under his hands at the island counter. The towels hanging from the stove had small flower patterns, an outdated grandma feel to them. A small shelf, three potted plants high, sat in the corner. The top one looked like it was growing tomatoes, the middle basil, and he wasn't sure what was in the bottom.

“Since when am I making pasta for the neighbors?” Roberto asked, pausing.

“He'll make his own. Nicholas has never made pasta before!” Vash explained, Wolfwood realizing their counters weren't white, but a light brown, the cabinets a darker shade like the living room furniture.

Wolfwood squinted at Roberto behind his sunglasses. Was the pasta he gave him and Livio the other day something he made or bought? Roberto stared back at him.

“You look like a tool with sunglasses on inside,” Roberto grunted, nodding to the spot next to him.

“I have an eye problem,” Wolfwood grumbled, hesitantly walking over to stand next to him, elbows pulled up to his ears.

“Apron,” Meryl insisted from behind him, a blue one wrapped around her torso.

“Blondie isn't wearing one,” Wolfwood reminded, Meryl ignoring him and shoving a black one into his hands that was a little used, but still wearable.

“He was,” Roberto grunted. Vash chuckling as Wolfwood put it over his head and then tied the back too tight. “Okay. Make a pile of flour and then put a hole in it.”

Wolfwood frowned, staring at the tall, clear containers lined up along the island counter. He hesitantly opened the container housing the flour, not wanting to ruin it. He poured some on the counter. He sat the container back d—

“Bigger.”

He added more flour to the counter, staring at Roberto so he could judge his minuscule mountain. He nodded. Wolfwood put the container back where he had taken it from, careful to reattach the lid.

“How do you want me to make a hole in it?”

“With your hands,” Roberto answered, Vash and Meryl whispering behind them. Wolfwood's eyes flickered over his shoulder to them, Vash's leg locked around Meryl's, her arm locked with his while they both tried to do something with their dough.

Roberto snapped his fingers at him. “Hole,” he reminded.

Wolfwood stuck his finger in the flour, a small, narrow hole.

“Bigger, smart ass,” Roberto grunted.

“I'm not being a smartass…” Wolfwood grumbled.

“You're gonna wanna make it big enough to put eggs in it,” Roberto explained.

“Cracked eggs,” Vash added, setting two next to Wolfwood. “They're just gonna go right on the counter!”

He frowned at the eggs. That felt like a trick or like it would turn into a bad joke. Eggs on the counter inside of flour just felt like it would make a huge mess.

“Hole, kiddo, come on,” Roberto reminded.

Wolfwood stared back at the flour, then picked up an egg. He used it to measure down to the bottom, then rolled it around to make the circle bigger. Flour got under his nails, some compacted into the counter, but it looked big enough.

“Okay. Now. Crack the eggs,” Roberto instructed.

Wolfwood lifted the egg—just in the hole? The edge of the counter? He held the egg out to Roberto.

“Do it for me.” He sounded more demanding than he meant to because of his nerves. Roberto cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Are you serious?”

Wolfwood nodded. “I'm gonna mess it up. I haven't cracked eggs since I was a kid, I'm gonna make a mess.”

“You got a working shower downstairs, don't you?” Roberto snorted. “Crack the damn egg.”

Wolfwood clenched his jaw, staring at the egg. He mumbled.

“Huh?”

“Where should I crack the egg…?” he mumbled a little louder. This sucked. He felt stupid.

A dainty finger pointed inside the well he had made. “Just right here. If you get shell in it, I can pick it out,” Meryl offered.

Wolfwood hesitated. He wanted to go back downstairs.

“ Kid. ”

Wolfwood’s eyes flickered to Roberto and stayed there.

“Listen to the little lady. Worst thing you do is get fucking egg everywhere—you think these two dummies didn’t make a huge mess and terrible pasta the first time I showed them how to make it?” Roberto snorted.

“Hey! I ate my shitty pasta, thank you very much!” Vash snapped back.

“Yeah! And who are you calling a dummy?! I finished more school than both of you! Does my shiny little degree in journalism mean nothing to you?”

“You got a degree in journalism?” Wolfwood asked, eyes wide. “That’s so cool. Did you get like, the paper for it? Did you stay in a dorm?” Wolfwood asked, turning to her.

“Oh no you don’t,” Roberto scolded, yanking Wolfwood by his collar to tug him up against his side before pointing to his flour. “Egg!”

Wolfwood rolled his eyes and smashed the egg into the flour. He pulled his hand away. He hadn’t meant to hit it that hard. He thought it would be just a little harder, that it wouldn’t splat like that. He pulled his palm away, gooey like the fingers that dripped eggshell remnants.

“Good. Now, get all the damn shells out of it.”

“You said I wouldn’t have to!” Wolfwood yelled back.

“No, she offered to get the shell out and now I’m telling you to. You don’t get to fuck around in my kitchen while I teach you how to make pasta—”

“Technically, it’s my kitchen—” Vash interjected, Roberto continuing as if he hadn’t said anything.

“All because your mommy always cracked your eggs for you. Now, be a big boy and get the shells out of the mess you made.”

His mom hadn’t cooked for him since he was…probably fourteen. Wolfwood swallowed. “I haven’t had parents since I was barely a teenager, so…fuck you,” Wolfwood replied evenly, politely. He nodded even, the flats of his teeth feeling sticky.

There was a pause. The flour seemed to want to settle quickly from the air to the floor. He’d killed the good mood. No more laughter. Good job.

“I should go back downstairs…” he mumbled, breaking eye contact first and reaching behind himself to untie the apron.

“What—no. Roberto—apologize!” Meryl demanded, Roberto sighing like she was nagging him.

“Hey,” Vash reached for Wolfwood’s hands, lightly squeezing them to get him to stop trying to untangle the knot he had forced himself into. “You don’t have to go back downstairs. Roberto’s just a buttface and thought you were spoiled, he didn’t mean it. I get what it’s like t—”

“Spoiled…?” Wolfwood asked in dismay, aware it was unreasonable to stare at him the way he was. “What about me makes you think I’m spoiled?” His voice was low, a threat, a warning. “I’m freaking out because I don’t wanna waste an egg and you’re yelling at me about it and you think I’m spoiled?” Wolfwood repeated.

“Hey, woah, nobody was yelling—” Meryl quickly interjected, hands palm up and clearly trying to get either his or Roberto’s attention. But she stopped, delicate fingers slowly curling in towards her palms as Wolfwood reached up under his sunglasses to wipe at a tear.

“I’d like to go back downstairs now, please…” he mumbled, head ducked down, voice warbling and breaking.

Spoiled. Him. Is that how the man who lived above him saw him? Some rich brat? What made him think that? What about him gave off the same energy as a rich kid?

Vash gently tugged him towards the door by the hand with egg sticking to it, Meryl’s eyes following at Roberto letting out a soft grunt Wolfwood barely heard. But Vash turned him towards the couch.

“Hey, no, come here. Sit,” Vash instructed more sternly than he expected from him, but still gently. “If I let you go back downstairs, you’re not ever going to want to come up here again or talk to us like normal. Just sit for a second,” he encouraged, sitting Wolfwood down on the couch, flour on both of their hands and on Vash’s clothes. Wolfwood reached up under his shades to wipe at his eye again, sniffing quietly.

“I’m not spoiled,” he insisted. Vash looked at his face, gentle eyes giving him his full attention. “I don’t…I am the farthest thing from spoiled,” Wolfwood added, voice a cruel wheeze. “Do you know that I learned I’m twenty-six this year? I didn’t know that,” Wolfwood explained, shaking his head so hard he had to shove his sunglasses back up onto his nose. “I didn’t get birthdays or to go to school or get taught how to cook food that wasn’t from a can. I dunno shit, and I feel stupid, but I’m asking anyway, and he’s calling me fucking spoiled,” Wolfwood repeated the word, pointing vaguely towards their kitchen.

“I am so sorry…” Vash let go of Wolfwood’s hand to hug him.

It was pathetic how quickly he crumbled, haphazard pieces stacked on top of each other like flaking dirt quickly giving way. He was still adjusting to people acknowledging him, wanting to touch him, to talk to him properly. So it got to him so easily, his shoulders jerking as he tried to swallow down pathetic sobs so Livio wouldn’t hear and storm upstairs and tear them all a second asshole.

Livio was nice. Livio was kind. But Wolfwood also remembered the look on his face and the crack of his knuckles when the cop releasing him had been a bit too rough with him. He remembered the way he gripped the steering wheel. He remembered the tense lie and forced smile as he insisted he was fine. He was pretty sure if he had the guy alone he’d have shattered more than a few bones.

So he choked and got spit and tears all over Vash’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” he choked.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Vash promised, Meryl whispering from the kitchen. Roberto sighed, annoyed. “No, I think he should stay over there for now,” Vash called out to them. “Just for now.”

Wolfwood sniffed and wiped at his eye, Vash using the apron he had on to clean his other hand for him.

“I had… just gotten to start using the stove by myself before I…” Wolfwood mumbled, choking on the rest of his sentence. Small things. Soup. Pasta and raviolis. Veggies with butter. Pancakes as long as he cleaned up really well. His mom usually just bought takeout or stuff to put in the microwave. She didn’t leave too much to cook with in the house until she got with Livio’s father.

So he had been excited. He remembered wanting to learn how to cook a ton of things like they did on cooking channels on the cable TV for Livio. Watching idle hour after idle hour in an attempt to scribble down recipes as they said them too fast, not a single one tried out before he got kicked out.

Somehow both a late bloomer because of his mother and yet not bloomed enough because of his vague and brief application of a father. He felt so dumb, crying in someone else’s apartment over an egg.

Notes:

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Chapter 7: Pasta

“Feel better?” Vash asked, rubbing at Wolfwood’s back. He sniffed, eyes sore.

“No. I feel worse…” he mumbled. Crying in front of strangers was humiliating in its own way. The vulnerability and anxiety was coming off as manipulation and desperation.

Vash gave him an apologetic smile, his face quick to settle into it, like it was comfortable or at the very least familiar.

“I’m sorry. I dragged you up here, so, I understand if you’re also frustrated with me…but if you’re still willing to stay, I can be your teacher instead,” he offered, hands holding Wolfwood’s. “I really don’t want you to leave feeling bad. If you don’t want to, that’s totally okay, but at least try some after we cook it?” Vash requested. “You know, I don’t think you can do any worse than me making pasta,” Vash insisted.

He gently took his hands away from Wolfwood, peeling the glove away to reveal black attachments that he removed, leaving behind nothing but nubs of knuckles. “I lost a few handling a knife wrong!” he explained with a big smile, shaking the stump that lacked all four fingers at Wolfwood.

“You—whuh…?”

“Vash! Stop scaring him!” Meryl scolded, Vash laughing a little harder.

“Is he serious…?” Wolfwood asked, daring to glance at Meryl in dismay.

“Totally!” Vash insisted, still waving his hand.

“He is not,” Meryl sighed, angrily kneading dough as Roberto tended to the mess on the back counter to make it resemble dough more. “He changes the story any time anyone asks or does it for stuff like this.”

“But it’s funny! Nicholas, tell her it’s funny!” Vash begged, Wolfwood looking back down at his hand again.

“I mean, I don’t think it’s funny…” Wolfwood mumbled.

“There, see!”

“…But it did make me feel a little better.” he added in a soft grumble. Vash smiled, warm and gentle, eyes glimmering through his pleased grin.

Meryl sighed, charming hands still rolling dough. “Seriously…? Alright, whatever. Vash, put your fingers back on before you get flour in them.”

“Okay, okay.”

Wolfwood watched, lacking tact and shame, as Vash reattached them and then put his glove back on. Vash gave him a smile as he finished.

“So…helping or hanging out until it’s dinner time?”

If he hung out, he might have to do it alone. He didn’t want to be a weird lump on their couch, gloomy and taking up space. But he didn’t want to be near Roberto either.

“Do I gotta do the eggs again…?” he mumbled softly.

“Not if you really don’t want to,” Vash reassured, articulate and gentle as he held Wolfwood’s hands again.

“Kay…” If Roberto even so much as looked at him for too long, he was sure he’d cry again. He was sure he’d run away out into traffic and get hit by a car, the impact so heavy it would make him roll up onto the windshield and shatter it like his ribs. He’d pierce a lung. He’d bleed out.

He stood next to Vash, who situated him between himself and Meryl.

“Here. You wanna knead this?” Meryl offered. “Copy me,” she instructed, tearing the lump of egg and flour in half. “If your arms or shoulders hurt, that’s fine. Mine totally did too at first,” she explained, Wolfwood shamelessly distracted by her hands.

Dainty fingers and palms pressed and rolled dough, her manicured nails covered in a tacky mess and residual flour. She wasn’t what he’d imagined at all, but she still was very cute. Her eyelashes were thick, her collarbone was dainty, her spaghetti strap shirt was a little too low, but didn’t show anything. Granted, she was as flat as a board, little cone nipples barely visible under her clothes. Wolfwood swallowed and turned his attention back to his own dough. Her cone nipples were cute though.

“Good, not bad at all!” she praised, Vash scraping up looser dough with a metallic scraper. He was embarrassed, exhaling heavily through his nose.

“Aw, what’s the pouty face for, hm?” she teased, leaning into his space a little more but not outright touching him.

“Shut up…” he grumbled.

“You shouldn’t take everything he says so seriously, just so you know,” she hummed, a cocky little know-it-all attitude about her.

“Huh?”

“Roberto,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Not enough to still be pouting over, anyway. He’s garbage with words sometimes, but he’s a softie. Like those cannolis Vash brought down? He ma—”

“ Watch it, Meryl,” he warned, Meryl looking over her shoulder at him. Wolfwood dared a glance back, Roberto staring right back at her. There was a spark that could be mistaken for friction between them. It was vibrant, like fireworks, a threat to anyone else nearby if they got too close. Wolfwood recognized it, but didn’t understand it. She was being scolded, he had no idea why either of them would find it enticing. Meryl gave in first, sticking her tongue out at him before turning back to her dough.

“What…Why did he think I’m spoiled…?” Wolfwood whispered to her, as if Roberto couldn’t hear him. He knew he could, but whispering felt better than asking loud enough for him to decide he should answer for himself.

“A few things, I think,” she sighed.

“The cost of the downstairs apartment, for one. You guys are paying month to month, right? So that tends to be more expensive than a few months.”

“Huh?” They were? Did that mean Livio didn’t want to live here for too long? Or that he didn’t expect Wolfwood to stay long enough for it to matter? Vash and Meryl glanced at each other, both realizing Wolfwood had no idea what they were talking about.

“Does your brother make you just pay him a bit and then he pays the whole thing? How much does he say you should pay him?” Vash asked.

“I don’t…” Wolfwood stopped kneading his dough. “I don’t pay anything…I don’t have a job,” he admitted. “Cuz I can’t get one…” he added, realizing he sounded spoiled without that bit of context and he hated that. “Is he paying a lot for rent? Like more than normal? How much is normal?”

Vash and Meryl looked at each other again, Wolfwood’s fingers sinking into the soft dough, it crowding his nail beds.

“Um…” Vash mumbled quietly, anxiously.

“Well he can afford it, so I don’t think it matters,” Roberto groused from his spot behind them, Wolfwood looking over to him. “You live under a rock?”

“Roberto!” Meryl hissed, outright mortified he kept being mean to Wolfwood.

“No, I’m—” He sighed heavily in annoyance. “Look, I don’t care if you live under a rock. If you’re as dumb as one, that’s fine. I just need to know if I have to talk to you like these two or if I have to be more patient with you and explain more. That’s it, okay?”

Wolfwood frowned at him, brows pulled together so tightly they hid against the rim of his sunglasses. He was still trying to get a feel for him. Apparently, if he understood Meryl correctly, he had made him and Livio cannolis. He made them pasta, even if it wasn’t by hand pasta like this. He warned Wolfwood about his cigarette butts and their landlord being a dickhead.

He turned to face him a little better.

“Do you hate me?” he asked.

“No,” Roberto grunted. “I don’t have a reason to hate you.”

That was fair. He didn’t hate him either. He thought he was a dick, but he didn’t dislike him. Wolfwood nodded. Curt. Jerking. Awkward.

“How do you crack an egg without making a big mess or getting shells in it?” he asked him, Roberto shooing away Vash, the carton that had been sitting on the counter in his hand. Vash stepped aside.

“Like anything else, it’s practice. You wanna try to get it in the middle, not at an end. It’s best to practice on a flat surface because if you do it on the edge of a counter or bowl, that’s two messes if you don’t have a feel for how fragile eggs are. Less is more. You can always knock it a little harder the next time if it’s not cracking.”

Wolfwood liked how he explained things. He added a lot more detail than he was expecting, but it was probably because now he knew Wolfwood wasn’t as smart as he should have been. He handed him an egg.

Wolfwood took it and glanced at the mess of dough and flour on the counter.

“Anywhere’ll do,” Roberto grunted.

Wolfwood itched the side of his nose, then gently started knocking it against the counter.

“Good, yup. Then you wanna stick your thumb into the crack, just a little, then pull it apart. Outwards, so both ends of the shell open up and drop the egg.” The whites hesitantly dripped out, the smear of a teardrop brushing the countertop before the yolk fell flush out of the shell with a soft, wet plop. More whites dripped from the shell. “There. You cracked an egg.”

And he didn’t waste it.

Wolfwood stared at the egg.

“Did you ever get to do those like…light tests? To see if eggs had babies in them?” Wolfwood asked. “We did them one time and I got so scared that we’d kill a baby bird that any time we had eggs in the house, I’d check them.

Meryl cracked a smile. “That’s so cute,” she cooed. But it didn’t make Wolfwood feel defensive, rather embarrassed. A girl calling him cute—he never even got that the year he went to high school.

“Oh my god, you’re so red—do you want water? Here,” Vash offered, opening a cupboard and taking out a cup, ladling it into the pot of borrowed water to offer to Wolfwood. He took it, chugged it, then glanced around before hesitantly offering the cup back to Vash. He set it in the sink.

Roberto cracked a smile, but didn’t say anything.

“Alright, come on, back to it. Vash, just…add more flour and get that egg off the counter.”

“Kay!”

Despite him being there, the three of them fell into step. Chatter and laughter and teasing and cooing. Even if he didn’t say much by himself, they included him, goaded him, encouraged him to engage with them outside of the task given to him by Roberto.

Wolfwood found he liked the pasta machine more than cutting things by hand. Roberto was consistently thorough with his instructions, pausing to check and stare at Wolfwood on occasion. It was reasonable, enjoyable to listen to this closely rather than eavesdropping. But the praise they had decided to give him continued to make him red in the face, something all three of them quickly seemed to want to abuse.

“Will you—cut it out!” Wolfwood snapped at Vash, who danced away with a big smile on his face.

“What? I was just saying you’re doing such a good job, Nicholas! The pasta came out really good! Yours didn’t even stick together like mine the first time I used the cutter on the machine! You’re a natural!”

He wanted to strangle him.

“I’m just—he’s…!” He pointed at Roberto, who was lounging against the counter with a grin under his mustache. “The instructions! I can just listen to instructions, okay!?”

Meryl glanced at Roberto, who’s mustache twitched again.

“Wooow! So cool! Do you wa—oh, we’re out of water,” Vash chuckled.

“Go, shoo, get more water,” Roberto grunted, waving him off.

“I got it,” Meryl insisted, snatching the large pot away from Vash.

“Hey, I can do it! You did this earlier too!” Vash complained, trailing after her.

“It’s just water—and you said the stairs were hurting you!”

“That was hours ago…!” Vash complained as both of them left the room, Wolfwood staring after them. He could hear them in the hallway, Roberto clicking the stove on.

“So…” Wolfwood started quietly. “Are you just like…banging both of them or dating both of them too?”

“Both,” Roberto replied simply.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Roberto didn’t seem offended. In fact, he seemed to relax as he watched Wolfwood get to peacefully turn the crank on the pasta cutter and make the dough thinner.

“Why are you dating both of them? They’re a lot younger than you, right?” Wolfwood took the knife on the counter and cut the dough in half, setting one aside to keep thinning out another.

“Same reason you date anyone else. You click. You go well together. You communicate until you can understand each other’s needs. You don’t drop them after a few arguments.” His voice was smooth and deep, a pleasant maturity to it as he spoke from deep in his chest, the words tumbled in the gravel of his voice until they were like gemstones.

How envious.

“I’ve never dated anyone,” Wolfwood admitted, surprised at how easily the words escaped him, like slipping under an unmanned velvet rope. He didn’t usually talk about himself, not in a way that wasn’t repetition for shelters or thank yous. “I’ve had sex with people for money, but never dated anyone.”

“Yeah?” The singular word was gentle, brushing elbows with pity, but not quite.

“Mm. I dunno how to cook, I dunno how to date people, I dunno how much rent is downstairs…It sucks,” he admitted quietly, enjoying the rhythm of the hand crank for the pasta. Footsteps upstairs, giggling.

“M’sorry,” Roberto grunted quietly as Vash and Meryl came through the door. Wolfwood paused to look at him, the word leaving him at an inconvenient time, like it was a struggle, like it was unfamiliar. Like Wolfwood trying to really say much of anything.

“Thank you,” he replied softly, Vash hauling the pot over to the sink and dropping it loudly inside, water sloshing.

“What’s up? What are we talking about?” Meryl asked with a big grin.

“Nothing…” Wolfwood mumbled, cutting the pasta into pieces. He decided he actually liked Roberto.

“Just chatting,” Roberto agreed, hoisting the pot out of the sink with ease and setting it on the stove.  “Okay, now we’re going to salt the water, let it come to a boil, then put the pasta in it. Shouldn’t take long, maybe like a minute or two, then you just eat it to see if it’s done, no reason to throw perfectly good food at the wall. While that’s going, Nicholas, grate the cheese.”

Roberto went into the fridge, pulling out a block of cheese, a grater from another drawer. He set it in front of him. “Just rub it up and down against the smaller holes. Make a huge pile—and watch your fingers.” Grating cheese was also fun. Roberto set a pan on the stove, turning the heat on. He removed a single piece of pasta from the water.

“Oh, me me me!” Vash begged, opening his mouth. Roberto gently offered it to him, Vash slurping the noodle and chewing. “Good!”

Roberto nodded, then started pulling the noodles out with tongs and setting it in the pan. “Just put handfuls of cheese in here,” he instructed.

Wolfwood did as he was told, but he didn’t see why he needed to do this more than once. So, he collected almost all of it in one go, setting it gently on top of the noodles and lightly ruffling it out.

“Damn, is that all of it? The puppy paws on you,” Roberto chuckled, Meryl coming over to wrap her arms around his waist and stare at the food.

“Pasta water~” Vash sang, adding hot water from the pot into the pan.

“Why?” Wolfwood asked, frowning.

“Makes the cheese sauce sticker and thicker from the starch, basically,” Meryl shrugged. Wolfwood found himself hovering over Roberto’s other shoulder, Vash hovering behind him.

They all watched Roberto stir the pasta, watched him salt and pepper it, watched him pull away to get plates. Watched him get a large two pronged fork and a spoon and plate it up for all of them.

“What do you want to drink, Nicholas?” Roberto asked. “We got a few different kinds of wine, water is obviously on the table we just gotta go get it, we can make you some juice—”

“Water’s okay,” Wolfwood insisted quickly, not wanting him to list any more options. Vash pulled a tray of something out of the oven, it cool enough to touch with his bare hands. “I also don’t think I’ve had wine. Beer was always cheaper.”

“What? You fucking me?” Roberto asked, clearly offended. “I’ll give you a baby cup of wine. Homemade pasta with good wine will change your life,” he insisted, grabbing Wolfwood by his wrist to pull him over to the dining room table despite still being in an apron, despite still being covered in flour. He sat him with his large hand on his shoulder, Wolfwood embarrassed by the manhandling.

There was clinking from the kitchen, glasses and plates and forks. Meryl came over with her own plate and Wolfwood’s which she set it in front of him, Vash with several wine glasses and a bottle, and Roberto with both of their plates. The plates were all decorated with charred vegetables around the edges, an appealing plate that made Wolfwood realize he was actually very hungry.

Roberto set the plates where he felt they ought to go, Vash left to get silverware, and Roberto started pouring wine. Meryl sat herself next to Wolfwood, Vash slithering up next to him as he quickly gave everyone spoons and forks, and then Roberto at the other end of their small table.

Roberto clicked a glass against Meryl’s. Then, they started eating.

Wolfwood hesitated. He stared at the plate. He helped make the main part of it. He ruined an egg and was covered in a huge mess of four and got to basically play with a pasta cutter. He was slow about picking up his fork, about the thicker than store bought noodle he twirled around it.

He hadn’t expected a meal, just actual plain, regular noodles. Maybe to come back downstairs with, maybe with butter and salt. He put it in his mouth, creamy cheese and pepper and a soft, chewy noodle that gave easily to his teeth and tongue.

He swallowed.

He stood up, picking the plate up with him.

“Be right back,” he nodded to the three of them, each of them looking confused as Wolfwood made his way downstairs with the plate and fork.

“Liv!” he called for his brother, knocking on his door with his fork in hand.

“Hold on, I’m coming, I’m coming!” Livio called out to him, Wolfwood still knocking. He barely got the door open before Wolfwood was shoving the plate of food at him.

“Try the pasta!”

He startled, staring at the plate before taking it and the fork from him. He twirled a few slippery noodles onto the fork then put it in his mouth. He chewed. He savored. He nodded.

“It’s good, Nico,” he praised, Wolfwood feeling the burn in his face work down to his toes. His fingers felt like static.

“I know, right!” he agreed, a big smile on his face, an excited current though his body. He could make even better pasta for Livio now. He could be useful and helpful and pay him back even if it wasn’t with money. He was so excited to be able to do something well for his little brother to thank him. “Making pasta from scratch fucking rocks! ”

Livio seemed startled, wide eyed like a deer in front of brilliant lights.

“What?” Wolfwood asked, confused by his reaction.

“Nothing, I just…I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you really smile since you called me.” Since he picked him up from jail.

“Is it…?” he asked, trying to remember if at any point before then he had tried to even give Livio a reassuring smile. He was pretty sure he hadn’t. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no…! Nothing to be sorry for! I’m happy you’re happy! And you’re right, the pasta is very good,” Livio agreed, shoving another few noodles in his mouth for good measure, making Wolfwood smile again. He quietly thanked God again for pasta—and for the old guy living upstairs who could make it so damn well.

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Chapter 8: Highground

The rain was a sheet, not a speckle of air between each droplet as it poured onto the rooftops and gravel driveways and lawns. Still, Wolfwood stood out on the back steps, cigarette wafting smoke from between his fingers, sunglasses and regular glasses in his room.

It was easier to see out in the rain. The murky dark the clouds brought was relieving and if he had to—medically, by the advice of a proper doctor and everything—not live in the dark like a bat and make his light sensitivity worse, this was a reasonable compromise. 

His cigarette crackled softly as it burned, the noise swallowed by a roll of thunder, like a drum lost down a hallway. Wolfwood wondered if Livio had a shed key somewhere. He would have wanted to sit in the small, dark little shack with the window open, even if it was on the floor. It felt more intimate to be surrounded on all sides by the rain in a space barely bigger than he was. Familiarity was an odd comfort.

“Either of you two down there?” Came a familiar grunt. “Don't make me go down to tell you your back door is open.”

“Smoking,” Wolfwood replied up to him.

“In this shit weather? Just the whole back door open?”

“And you came out just to be nice and notice the back door was open?” Wolfwood hummed up at him. The wood above him creaked.

“Shut up.” A familiar flick of a lighter, Wolfwood's nose lying to him for a moment, pulling at memories and bitter highs. But it was just a cigarette. Any cigarette was a good cigarette when he got to bum them for free. So Roberto's smelled different than his own, but just as fine as his own.

“…Can you see the rain hit the houses better up there?” Wolfwood asked quietly. Sometimes, when the clouds rolled in, if he was cognizant enough, he'd find some place high up to sit and get soaked.

“I don't think you can see much of anything either way,” Roberto snorted.

“Oh.”

They lapsed into silence, into cigarette smoke and rain.

“…Is that you just making bad conversation or asking to come up?”

“I wasn't invited up, why would I ask?” Wolfwood asked between the cigarette in his teeth.

“People tend to do that.”

“M'not people. Haven't been a people for a really long time and I don't think I have it in me to be a people anymore,” Wolfwood admitted.

He heard Roberto chuckle, heard the wood groan. “You and me both.”

The rain participated in the conversation, both of them letting it speak.

“…Did you wanna come up and stare at shit get wet?” Roberto asked, as if it hadn't even occurred to him to do so until after he'd already called him out on it.

“Can I?” Wolfwood wasn't offended at all and even seemed interested in the offer like it had come about on its own.

“Sure,” Roberto snorted.

The back door made a pleasing noise as Wolfwood slid it closed. He put on some of Livio's inside the house slippers for when he went into the basement and did laundry. But he went upstairs with them, knocking politely.

Roberto, of course, came to the door, his own cigarette still in his hand. “Other two are sleeping, so.”

Wolfwood knew they were home. He heard both of them earlier, gasping and moaning and calling for Roberto. He heard them orgasm. He heard them come down from it.

He ducked his head down, following Roberto back out onto the balcony. Roberto sat himself in a chair, an awning pulled out to keep himself from getting wet. Wolfwood sat on the floor.

“There's another chair.” Roberto nodded to it, Wolfwood barely glancing at it.

“Not a people,” Wolfwood corrected before taking a drag of his cigarette, fingers pressed to his face as if to hold it and cover most of his mouth.

“Does the not a people Nicholas want to sit in the chair and pretend to be a people?” Roberto offered sarcastically.

“No. I get freaked out even sitting on the couch for more than a few minutes,” he admitted. He'd get anxious if Livio wanted him to sit with him, fidgeting and awkward until he could run away and sit on his floor again.

“Why's that? Sensory thing?” Roberto asked, snuffing out the remainder of his cigarette into an ashtray before pulling another out of a pack. His cigarettes didn't have filters on them. “I personally can't stand stuff like silk or velvet, drives me nuts. Little miss had a velvet shirt and I don't think I've ever gotten her out of her clothes that fast in my life,” he snorted, finding humor in his own annoyances.

“I…no, I don't think so. They feel fine, I just…don't. It's kinda like…you ever get caught. Looking at porn as a kid?” Wolfwood decided to ask with those awkward pauses he was hyper aware he had compared to others. “Or doing something else you're not supposed to?”

“Sure,” Roberto agreed, lounging, his luxurious body rolls catching Wolfwood's eye.

“It feels like that. Like I'm going to get in trouble. Like I'm not supposed to be there.”

“Weird little puppy on furniture,” Roberto snorted, reaching down to roughly muss his hair with his cigarette in his other hand. Wolfwood swatted him away, scowling. That was the second time Roberto compared him to a dog.

He was a mangy stray if he was being honest. But he didn't want to address it any further than a fleeting thought Roberto had put in his head.

He gave his attention back to the rain, to the rooftops, to the sound of a downpour. If he was being honest, he was itching for more than a cigarette right now. It would be so easy—to run off and get high, to ruin everything Livio was working for. His inner arm ached, painful familiarity.

He let God settle in next to him. He was quiet as he whispered intimately in Wolfwood's ear, lips catching the shell of his ear.

Livio. Pasta. The smell of laundry soap in his clothes. Chores to keep him occupied. Privacy. His new glasses. Sitting with Roberto on the balcony while it rained. His bike. Consistent meals and not needing to panic about where the next one was coming from.

His teeth hurt. He craved awful lights and pretty girls and free assortments of whatever one of them would put on their tongue to work down his throat. Jawbreaker, teeth grinder, kandi cravings. Mellowed out in the forgotten corner for temporary peace and love and unity. It made for a pretty lie he bought when he was too young to be in a place like that.

A hand on his head. Wolfwood's head ducked down to his shoulders from the weight of it, the rain reminding him of its noise and smell.

“You're grinding your teeth. Want another smoke?”

Wolfwood looked down at the one between his fingers, it practically filter. “Sorry,” he apologized bluntly, curtly.

“I'm not asking for an apology, I'm asking if you want another cigarette,” Roberto offered, hand still on his head.

“No.” He wanted to sneak out and feel the world spin at a brilliant, vibrant, rapid pace while he stood still. He wanted to not feel like garbage. He wanted to throw himself inside of a dumpster and have a grungy dump truck up-end him into solid sewage and then compact him in along with the rest of it.

“Okay.” He felt Roberto staring at him. He felt his fingers move, idle.

“If you pet me like a dog I'm going to bite you like one,” Wolfwood warned, earning him a proper chuckle.

“Fair enough.” He took his hand away.

The rain started to let up just a little, just enough to see the colors of the houses next door.

“Hey, um…If you're not doing anything and it rains like this, can I come up again?” Wolfwood asked, properly looking over at Roberto.

He shrugged. “Don't see why not.”

Wolfwood looked back out towards the houses. “Thanks. I don't think I like being alone when it rains too much…”

He felt Roberto's eyes again. They lingered, his cigarette more appealing the longer Wolfwood didn't have another of his own. The rain smelled different out here. He'd never be able to articulate it, but it did.

---

The next time it rained and Wolfwood was alone was actually the next day. He shifted his weight outside of the upstairs door, debating if he should just go back downstairs. He hadn't heard any of them having sex.

But he'd already done this. He'd already been here, debating and deciding against it. He already curled up on the floor, rough fingers to the skin of his arm and feeling his gut coiling like when he sat in that prison cell as long as he had. No one was around to stop him. No one would have known where to look for him.

Livio would probably just move out after the month, since that's how he was paying rent. He'd be disappointed but not surprised. He'd ignore Wolfwood if he called, apologizing, crying, asking for help again.

He had already done his sobbing all over his bedroom floor about being abandoned again. He had already washed his face. He already decided to come back up the stairs again.

They had been quiet. Maybe they weren't home. Maybe they were out. He didn't smell Roberto's cigarettes when he stood out by the back door for a bit. He scuffed his heel against the floor.

He turned around and made his way back down to his own apartment. The back door opened, Wolfwood skittering around the corner to the basement. For laundry.

“Nicholas?” Meryl called out to him.

“Yeah?” he called back, as if he hadn't just tried to bolt, head dipped back around the corner.

“Oh, cool. Roberto wanted me to come down and see if you wanted a smoke. Said you had a date or something.” She rolled her eyes, annoyed.

“I'm not dating him,” Wolfwood insisted quickly, not wanting her to be upset with him. Her eyes went wide at his serious reply.

“Oh no, I know! He meant it as a joke!” she clarified, waving her hands in front of herself.

Wolfwood stared back down at the eternally damp looking, cement basement steps.

What's for dinner?

Basement steps. Jesus, Nico. Figure it out yourself, I'm tired. I had a long day.

“So you, uh…coming up, or…?”

“Sure,” Wolfwood agreed, pulling himself away from that memory that happened so many times, that had so many variations.

Wolfwood pulled his body up the stairs, Meryl not moving as he reached her. He looked down at her. She stared up at him. He raised an eyebrow. She leaned the door behind her closed.

“So can I like…ask you something personal?”

Wolfwood frowned. What was wrong with him? When was he going to move out? Would he mind not coming upstairs anymore because he was being a nuisance?

“Are you like…okay?” she asked instead.

“…Huh?” He didn't know how to answer that. He hadn't been expecting it. 

“I mean earlier…” she heard him crying. “and the other night…and your migraines and stuff…Are you okay? You just seem really upset all the time and I know Roberto and Vash get like that when they're in pain too. I go out and run errands for them all the time, so like, do you want me to pop down sometimes and see if you need anything when I do? Like meds before a pharmacy closes or food or other stuff? It wouldn't be a problem at all!” she insisted quickly, Wolfwood grinding his teeth as he squinted at her.

He didn't know how to answer her.

“No.” Manners. “Thank you.”

“Okay…Well, if you change your mind I'm just up here and—oh, hold on do you have your phone? I can give you my number,” she offered, pulling out her own phone. “Or you can give me yours, whatever is easier!”

He didn't have his phone, but, “I don't know my number,” he admitted.

“Oh. Well, here, you can have mine anyway,” Meryl offered, opening the apartment door and making her way off into the bedroom by the kitchen. She came back out with a decorative notebook, scribbling in it and tearing out a piece of perforated paper.

Her phone number was on it. He got a girl's phone number. Granted it wasn't for anything most boys got phone numbers for, but still. He took it.

“Meryl, what the hell are you doing?” Roberto sighed as he came out of the bedroom closer to their balcony.

“I'm just—you know! Being neighborly! ”

Roberto stared at her. She burned bright red.

“Oh, so you can give him welcome food and Vash can flash him, but I can't offer to run errands for him sometimes?”

“I don't think flashing people is neighborly…” Wolfwood mumbled, stuffing her phone number in his pocket, but he didn't take his hand out. He held it, scared to lose it.

“You can chuck that if you want,” Roberto offered.

“Can you please have this conversation in another room, please?” Vash begged from the room Meryl had gotten her notebook from.

“Right, sorry!” Meryl apologized, barely closing the door before she shoved it back open again. “Love you!” she added, then closed the door.

The porch door slid open, Roberto stepping out. Wolfwood glanced at Meryl, then towards Roberto.

“Is there a reason you're trying to be this nice to me? All of you?” Vash asking him to come make pasta, Roberto offering to smoke with him, Meryl offering to run errands for him.

“Reason?” She hummed, thinking. “I mean I can't speak for them but…I think you look miserable,” she admitted. “Not like, on purpose!” She tried to clarify, as if it helped or meant something. “I just don't miss when I looked that miserable…”

He was surprised at how something about her seemed to darken as she ducked her head down. The way her hair sat in her face. The way the light didn't reach her eyes.

“I think about school photos I had to take growing up and how I refused to smile in them…How my parents would always be upset at me for it…How they never put photos of me anywhere in their house…And I just think if me offering to get you something sometimes will make that easier on you the way it did for me, I want to do that.”

She held his hands, Wolfwood swallowing hard. Her hands were so small and delicate, but her grip was sure and strong.

“And my reason is shallow and kind of selfish. But, I dunno, Vash and my friend Milly both do the same thing, so I think they're rubbing off on me,” she admitted with a laugh.

“Meryl,” Roberto scolded, drawing out her name.

“Huh, what?” she asked, finally looking up to stare over at Roberto, and then to Wolfwood who couldn't see. “Oh.”

She went to pull her hand away, Wolfwood gripping it tightly so she couldn't. She stared up at him, clear visions before his eyes flooded with tears again.

Livio picked this apartment. He picked the apartment with Meryl in it. With Roberto and Vash. He had to ask him about why he was paying in expensive, short, monthly amounts. Like he didn't want to stay. Wolfwood wanted to stay. He liked his neighbors.

They weren't just nice. Nice was manners and apologies when there weren't anymore rooms or telling him he missed curfew and couldn't come in. Nice was a free water bottle when it was hot outside or a cigarette when he asked. Nice was not stepping on bugs as he walked. Nice was good, but good didn't always really do anything.

They were kind. Kind enough to make sure he wasn't alone when it rained. Kind enough to offer to get him things. Kind enough to come downstairs to check on him when they were worried. Kind got blood in his eyes. Kind got mad at him for not properly washing his clothes or eating when he was hungry. Kind got hurt and kind got shit done. Kindness was continual and even sometimes a struggle to maintain.

He liked these people. They were kind.

He let go of one of Meryl's hands to wipe at his face. He had already cried today and now his head was going to kill him.

“Do you want a hug?” she offered, squeezing his hand. He nodded.

Meryl fit nicely in his arms, the top of her head under his collarbone. Her arms couldn't make it all the way around his torso. She comfortably nestled against the squish of his body. She was small, but her hug put grip in places that felt like she was holding him together.

Wolfwood tucked his chin down to his throat, forehead and nose pressed in her hair. She stood up on her tiptoes, smelling like something earthy and light, but expensive and refreshing.

“You smell good,” he choked, making her laugh. Her laugh, which he had heard before, was jovial like bells left out in the windy sunshine.

“You smell good too.” Wolfwood felt his face burn through his tears at the praise. He smelled good. It made him choke, try not to whimper as pathetically as he had a second time.

He heard Roberto sigh. “This is why I didn't want you saying anything.”

“Mad I ruined your date? Huh?” she asked, an absolute brat with a big smile on her face. “My date now! Hahaaa, be mad over there about it!”

“You're gonna get it later,” he warned her evenly.

“Yeah well you're gonna get this now,” she purred, Wolfwood feeling her pull her hand away from his back.

“Don't flip him off,” Wolfwood chuckled through tears.

“No, no its fine. Here,” she grabbed his hand, bending all of his fingers down except his middle finger, then shoving it out to Roberto. “That's for being mean to him when we made pasta!”

“I'm not even mad about that anymore,” Wolfwood mumbled, lowering his hand. “I don't even think I ever was mad, just upset,” he admitted.

“Well, I guess the only one who has to make you cry now is Vash,” Roberto sighed, ignoring Meryl's shenanigans. She kept her arm wrapped around Wolfwood's middle, cheek pressed to his torso.

“No thank you…” he mumbled, ducking his head down against Meryl's to smell her again. “I've already got a headache now…”

“Do you want something for it?” Meryl offered immediately, rocking up on her tiptoes.

“No…I'll wait till my brother's home.” Livio knew what he was scared of already. Livio would make sure he didn't give him too much of anything.

“You sure?”

He nodded into her silky hair.

“Okay…You want a snack then?”

“He's supposed to come out here and have a damn smoke with me,” Roberto reminded her, waving his own cigarette around.

Wolfwood let go of Meryl so he could hold her hand, taking her out on the porch with him.

“Bout damn time…” he complained, pulling out another cigarette to offer to Wolfwood. He took it with his free hand and pressed it between his lips, bending down to Roberto's lighter. The smoke curled and dissipated into the moist air, Wolfwood grunting as he sat on the porch floor.

Meryl stared, then looked over at the second empty chair next to him. “Do you want to—”

“He doesn't.”

“No thank you.”

She looked at the chair again, then to Wolfwood. She shrugged and sat down next to him. The breeze lightly ruffled her hair, curling the edges into the lashes under her eyes.

The cigarette tasted good.

Notes:

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My Writing Discord, 18+, early chapter access

Notes:

My Twitter
My CuriousCat
My Writing Discord, 18+, early chapter access