Chapter Text
It’s hot, but also cold, because Rudo’s shivering under his sheets. He clasped his arms to his chest, squeezing them because oh god do they ache. Rudo sleeps with his gloves on; he never takes them off except to wash them, because the pain is unbearable without them. Nowadays, they hurt more than most. The ache and itch under the charred skin surface from being suppressed for so long by the leather of his gloves.
It’s the middle of the night. 4 am, so not the middle of the night, but early enough that he shouldn’t be awake. Instead, he should be in bed, sleeping through a bittersweet dream.
He can’t be here. He can’t stand it. Sweat mates his hair, it’s hot, and stuffy, cramped between the blankets, all crowded around him. But if he kicks them off with his feet while maintaining minimal movement, it’s cold, and he starts shivering.
He can’t be here; it’s hot and stuffy and suffocating, yet cold and still suffocating. He wants to leave. The doorknob is a problem, though, his first obstacle. He needs bandages. He needs to wrap his arms, but the stash in his room has run out, and he hasn't restocked.
Deciding to find some, he stared at his obstacle in front of him. He curves his palm around the knob; they throb with pain, but somehow with sweat beads on his forehead, and as he remembers to breathe, he turns the doorknob. He succeeded.
Lately, there have been multiple reports of trashbeast sightings, so much so that Semui is drowning in reports, the life sucked out of her. The thing is, Team Akuta is supposed to head out tomorrow, today? In a couple of hours. And he doesn’t want to bail, not with how much stress Semiu is in. He wants to help.
This pain really couldn’t have picked a better time to crawl under his skin, could it? He wants to go, to help, and do his duty as a cleaner. But he knows that if god forbid anyone finds out, they won’t let him, even if they need numbers. They’re already swamped with work; they don’t need one more thing added on top of their already stacked high plates. Especially Semiu’s.
He makes it through the door, walking down the empty halls. It’s quiet, which is nice, Rudo supposes. His arms are still curled at his chest. He squeezes them, applying pressure to subdue the pain. It doesn’t work.
He’s shuffling, taking little steps to minimize the agony that pulses from his scars. He just needs to get to the infirmary, get some bandages, rewrap his hands, and get back to bed and be ready to go when they head out.
Easy-peasy.
It felt like hours till he got to the infirmary, then he ran into his second obstacle. The doorknob.
Once again, it’s a stupid doorknob. A sigh escaped him, then a whine, but he knows it doesn’t matter because he needs bandages. So he sucks it up, reaching his arm out, ignoring the pain. He remembers to breathe, just like Regto taught him.
There's an odd smell to the infirmary. Rudo’s not sure how to explain the smell, but to him, the infirmary smells odd. He doesn’t think he likes it.
‘Bandages bandages, where are the bandages?’ He looks around, hoping, praying silently that they are kept somewhere out in the open, and god forbid, not in some drawer. He finds them in a tray on top of one of the tables. He fumbles, and they drop to the floor. Great. He stares at them as if they’re the problem, and thinks he’s so done with this. He’s tired, scratch that, downright exhausted. He wants to go to sleep to one of his bittersweet dreams of Regto.
He crouches down. The bandages on the arms are worn out and tattered. He hasn’t changed them in a while and hasn’t been making it a habit to do them consistently, even though he knows it’s pretty much necessary.
“What are you doing up so early?” Rudo jolts, fumbling with the bandages in his hands, and the tray clatters to the ground. Pain ricochets up his arms. He clenches them, winching. The pain’s almost blinding. Breathe. He has to remember to breathe.
Rudo blinks. “Enjin.” The taller man with inked tattoos leans against the doorway, a bag of chips in his hand. Rudo thought he was sneaky. He mustn’t have been.
“Jeez, do you know what time it is? Don’t kids your age need all the sleep they can get?” The man pauses, staring at the mess on the floor, “So what’s up? Why’re you sneaking around?”
Rudo stares at his hands, curling them onto one another. He hesitates, whether to tell the man the truth or not. He already caught him anyway, so he might as well. “My-my hands, they–” He’s not sure why the words are stuck, lodged between his airway, struggling to be voiced, but they are, and Rudo just wants to sink into the floor. “I need to wrap them.”
Enjin stayed at the doorway, popping a chip in his mouth, “dunno why you have to do it at such an early hour, but ok.” Rudo hears his footsteps approaching,
“What’re you doing awake anyway?” His footsteps then halt to a stop beside him. “Just a snack raid, woke up and got hungry.
Rudo decided he didn’t care. He wanted to just get his hands wrapped and go back to his room.
“Do you need help or something?”
“No! I can do it.”
“Really, cause you’re just sitting there.”
He glares at Enjin with as much grit as he can, but exhaustion creeps under his skin, and he just continues to sit there, fumbling to pick up the bandages.
“Well, need help or what?”
“No, I don’t,” Rudo says firmly.
But Enjin helps anyway. He throws away his empty bag of chips, picks up the dropped tray of bandages, and tells him to take a seat. He does what he’s told, because as much as he’d like to protest. His limbs feel heavy from slumber, and his throat is drowning in invisible sap. It’s like that sap is spreading around his trachea and vocal cords. The sticky substance makes it harder and harder to voice words of protest.
The bed is soft as Rudo sits at the edge. Enjin drags a chair and takes a seat. “Can I see?”
Rudo reaches out his arms slowly. Hesitantly, as a silent ‘go ahead,’ the sap is still wrapped around his trachea, and he doesn’t think he has the energy to complain; still, he manages, past the sap, “It’s not—s’not pretty.” Enjin raises an eyebrow, cups his wrist, and takes off his gloves, peeling them away. Rudo can tell he’s trying to be gentle.
Riyo has been the only person so far to see his scars exposed. And he also supposes Follo when both of them switched uniforms to trick the Broker. It’s not like he’s actively hiding the ugly scars that etch up his arms, or maybe he is. It really isn’t a pretty sight.
There’s something familiar about the unwrapping of bandages and the touch of skin against his.
“Wow, that’s,” there’s a shakiness in Enjin’s voice, “That’s–you were right, it’s—not a pretty sight.” Enjin scratches the back of his neck.
Rudo winces when a pulse of pain shoots up his arms.
“Sorry.” Enjin apologizes. Rudo shakes his head, dismissing it. Enjin doesn’t have anything to apologize for; it’s not his fault. “What happened to them? They don’t look like burns.” Funny, that’s the same thing Riyo said.
Rudo just looks away, Enjin drops it, and starts wrapping new bandages. Rudo can’t help this ache in his chest. It builds and builds, and spreads and spreads, and it’s familiar, but he can’t place it.
Something about the tug of the bandages and the warm touch of someone else on his skin. Something about the soothing affirmations whenever it hurts too much. On the sphere, whenever his hands hurt, Regto had always been the one to soothe them with warm towels.
Oh. It's stupid because he already knows. He knows. Regto isn’t here anymore to get him through this. He isn’t here, and he’ll never be here to wrap his arms again. He knows that, that’s why it’s stupid, and he hates that.
“I’m not surprised Rudo’s awake, but why are you, Enjin?” Instinctively, for some reason, Rudo hides his hands behind him. He almost wishes he hadn’t done that. Riyo stands by the doorway, her scissors hanging from her finger.
“Another snack raid?” She says it teasingly, swiveling her pair of scissors. Her hair is down, hanging off her shoulders. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Semiu.”
Enjin snorts, “You better not, why’re you awake, Riyo, you get yourself in a snack raid.”
“Maybe I should tell Semiu after all.”
“Please don’t.” Rudo’s sure he’s stopped breathing, or at least he’s holding his breath, and stiff, every muscle is stiff because Riyo lies across the bed he’s on, twirling his scissors in her fingers, and the only thought going through his brain is that there is a beautiful woman next to him on the bed. He can almost feel the snarky, teasing smirk from Enjin.
“Are you always such a restless sleeper?”
“Sorry….for waking you up.” Riyo just looks at him from the corner of her eye; Rudo doesn’t know what it means.
“You gonna be okay when we head out?”
Rudo nods. He will, he’s sure he will. And even if he’s not, some pain in his hands is nothing he can’t handle. His eyelids feel heavy. He can feel his limbs succumbing to slumber. He blinks the sleep away, but it’s getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open.
Enjin slaps his knee, “Okay, let's get you to bed.”
“Mmm.”
Enjin slips his leather gloves back on. Rudo gets up and stares at the floor, his hands pressed to his chest, as the older man walks him to his room. He wants to say he doesn’t have to, but Rudo doesn’t have the energy to.
Enjin keeps talking, and Rudo can’t comprehend it. His steps feel heavier and heavier with each step. Like there's a slug creeping in his muscles, building and building up, till it feels like weights around his ankles. He thinks he might just pass out right then and there in the middle of the hallway.
They make it to Rudo’s room, but the door’s in the way. He stares at the doorknob, a scowl on his face, then at Enjin, who just huffs, and twists the knob.
Rudo wants to sleep. He wants to cushion himself between pillows and blankets without it feeling suffocating. Without it feeling too hot or too cold. He wants the exhaustion to be swept away and be ready when they have to head out.
He wants to indulge in a bittersweet fantasy. He wants the pain to stop pulsing beneath his skin. Thump. Thump. Thump. It feels like a heartbeat, just in his arms. Pulsing and pulsing and pulsing. And it aches and aches and aches, and the ache spreads, and there’s nothing he can do but bear it with gritted teeth.
It hurts, it always hurts, but sometimes, not often does it happens, and the ache becomes a burning sear through his skin. Like someone burning hot metal against it. It courses through his body, his shoulder blades; needle pricks slide down his spine. And suddenly, he finds the floor pressing against his cheek, and he can’t move. Any kind of movement slashes blades up his arms.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK’ it hurts. It hurts so much he wants to scream, to yell, to cry, to call for Regto. Except Regto ISN’T here, cause he’s dead, and that he already knows, but, fuck, it isn’t fair. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.
–
Enjin wasn’t sure what to think when he found Rudo in the infirmary at 4 am, but he did smirk when the tray clattered to the floor, and the little spherite looked as though he had gotten caught doing something he shouldn’t have.
The pain in Rudo’s hand isn’t anything new. Almost everyone has heard about it. Pain in his arms, suppressed by his leather gloves. Enjin just didn’t expect red patterns around his fingers, around his palms, around his wrists, and down his forearm. And he also didn’t expect him to suddenly fucking collapse in the middle of the literal doorway once they got to Rudo’s room.
And now he’s watching as the kid curls in on himself in a melting puddle of pain and sweat. What does he do?! “Rudo?” he crouches down. The kid's face is pale, his eyes are shut, and Enjin can tell he’s stifling his screams. It doesn’t help whenever Enjin calls Rudo’s name, yet he does, over and over, to get something. Some kind of reaction instead of the obvious pain he’s in. “Hey Rudo, can you at least sit up?” He’s only received with a whine and a whimper. “Okay, okay, I’m gonna prop you up against the wall, k.”
Enjin's careful when he places a hand against Rudo’s back, lifting him, slowly, from his crumbled state. He managed to prop his against the wall next to his door. Rudo clutches his hands together close to his chest. “What-What do you usually do in this situation?”
“R-Regto helps. He–” Rudo curls in on himself again, squeezing shut his eyes tighter. “He uh–” He can’t even finish what he’s saying before squeezing his eyes shut tighter and tighter, sweat beads forming on his forehead, and tears gathering at the corner of his eyes.
“Ok, just—sit tight.” Enjin hadn’t thought Rudo’s hands could hurt the way they hurt in that moment. It seemed he was paralyzed with pain. He came back with painkillers and bottles of water, whispering Rudo’s name to capture his attention. He opened one eye. “Ok, look, just take this, d’you think you can open your mouth?” Rudo does, and Enjin pops the pill in his mouth and raises the water bottle to the kid's lips. “Ok, swallow that aaand just wait for them to kick in and trust me, the pain should go away,” Enjin explained.
Rudo nodded in understanding, even if it seemed he mustered every bit of his strength into it.
The exhaustion of tonight's events must’ve gotten to him, cause the kid collapses onto Enjin, his breathing labored and ragged. Or maybe it was a sigh of relief or something, knowing someone was here with him. Or maybe Enjin is just delusional, and Rudo is just tired. Exhausted even. He wouldn’t blame him.
“I’m gonna lift you now.” Rudo squeaks something of acknowledgement, and so he places an arm beneath his knees and on his back, and carries Rudo to his bed, gently placing him on top of the firm mattress. Glancing over at the clock, it’s been maybe an hour since he caught Rudo in the infirmary. The mattress is firm, yet soft and comfy. Enjin runs a hand through Rudo’s hair. Riyo wasn’t kidding, his hair really is soft. Soon, Rudo’s breathing becomes more relaxed, and the boy succumbs to a state of slumber. It’s now that Enjin can finally release a breath of his own. He can feel his muscles relaxing in relief as it washes over him like a tidal wave.
And it’s then, him sleeping, and Enjin right next to him, with his hands in Rudo’s hair, does Riyo come through the window, “What happened? I heard like, groans or something.”
“Do you always come through the window?”
“ If Rudo didn’t want me breaking into his room, then maybe he shouldn’t leave it open.” She left a tentative gaze at Rudo. His back was turned toward Riyo, as he curled inward. The funny thing is, his gloved hands crinkled, curled around the hem of Enjin’s t-shirt. “Heh, aww, he’s almost cute. And it’s really cute how much you care.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t. Y’know, for someone who says he doesn't like kids, you sure pick up a lot of strays.”
“So what, doesn’t mean I like brats, I mean they’re bratty, and whiny, and annoying—”
“Yet look at you taking care of Rudo.”
“You would do the same, so would the others. Even Zanka…probably.”
“Probably.” Riyo agreed. “I wonder if Zanka gets jealous of how much attention you give Rudo.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, c’mon,” she says teasingly. “We all know you have a favorite; it doesn’t go unnoticed by literally anyone. Well, besides Rudo, I guess.”
“Oh, please, I love all my strays the same.”
“Sure you do. Not that I mind, but it might get to Zanka just a little bit.”
Enjin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, just keep talking.”
Riyo chuckled. The girl just loved to tease people. He swears the somewhat flirting toward the ignorant, arrogant, little shit blossom is totally on purpose. It just goes to show how much of a tease Riyo is toward people, especially Rudo, and how inexperienced Rudo is with girls. It’s almost laughable whenever he freezes up.
“I’ve seen his hands before, not a pretty sight.” Riyo leaned against the windowsill with her palms on the sill, “He said they don’t hurt as much with his gloves on, but I guess sometimes it’s inevitable.”
“Maybe.”
“This means he’s not coming along, isn’t it?”
“It’s inevitable. I’ll tell Semiu.” Enjin hates that he has to do this to him, especially when he’s been so adamant about helping out whenever he can to make the workload Semiu is practically drowning in lighter. Semiu has been pressing on it for weeks now. There have been multiple sightings of trashbeasts all around the city. But alas, his well-being comes first.
“He’s not going to be happy,” Riyo says.
“No, he will not, hopefully he won’t bite someone or tear the whole place apart.”
“Heh, Okay, well, bye, I guess.”
“Bye.”
Riyo waits by the window, looking back at Enjin. “Y’know, you're such a good big brother.” Enjin frowns. That cheeky, teasing smirk forms on Riyo’s face as she finally takes her leave.
Enjin scoffed, “Whatever.”
—
It’s not hot, and it’s not cold, a slight chill maybe, but that’s quickly replaced by a warmth draped over his body. There’s a touch in his hair. The mass intertwining in his locks. It’s nice. It’s a nice feeling. It doesn’t feel suffocating, it doesn’t feel overbearing. It doesn’t feel too much.
Regto’s hands are large. They're rough with calluses on the fingertips. They creak with every movement because Regto is an old man with bony fingers that caress his hair and hold warmth in them.
He wonders if he can stay here and sleep by Regto’s side forever, with him in his lap and Regto’s hands in his hair. Rudo blinks, his vision blurs before focusing. “Hey, bud. How’re you feeling?” Oh, that’s right. He’s with Enjin, not Regto.
He curls in on himself, reality washing over him like a tidal wave. He can’t even indulge in a fantasy without feeling that ache and longing for his missing parent. And that yearning and ache for that will always linger like a bad smell you can’t wash off, and it's ugly, cause it leaves you wanting and wanting and wanting something you can’t have. It’s a different hurt from the pain in Rudo’s arms. And soon that feeling contorts into something even uglier and perilous. It’s the catalyst that feeds the angry feeling inside Rudo. The feeling Rudo has called the ‘angry feeling’ cause he doesn’t even know what to call it.
He digs his face deep into the covers. There’s a blanket draped across his body, and he wraps himself, swallowing him whole with it. “You're not going to let me go to the jobsite, are you?”
“Nope,” Enjin said, removing his hand. “I’ve already told Semiu; she was a bit skeptical, but agreed to it. Said to take care of yourself.” Rudo groaned. “Look, honestly, if you came or not, we could handle it, so think of this as a day off or something, you clearly need it.”
Rudo let out another groan, “I just wanted to help. Semiu’s having it rough, and I’m fine…now.” And he is. The pain in the arms subsided to the familiar dull ache. Ok, never mind, they still hurt, aching more than they would normally, but he can handle it.
Rough hands return to his hair, stroking them. And it feels nice, but then he’s reminded again of what he’s missing, and that aching feeling in his chest is back, and he hates it, but leans into it anyway.
“Sorry.”
“There’s no need to apologize.” He sinks deeper and deeper. He doesn’t want this to go away. He wants to stay here by his lap with Enjin’s fingers in his hair, even if they’re not Regto’s and just sleep. Because as much as he hates the warmth in his chest, he also craves it.
Somehow, for some incomprehensible reason, honestly, Rudo doesn’t know how he let himself be in this situation because Enjin is bathing him, washing his hair, with some unknown product that smells like something sweet. A bucket of water rains down on his head, and the soap rinses off. Then Enjin goes in with a towel, scrubbing his back, and it feels nice.
At some point, it turned into Enjin using warm towels on his arms to ease the pain, and he feels pure bliss. “Doesn’t that feel nice?” Rudo nods, not all there, sinking into the comfortable soft feeling of the warm towel pressed and sliding down his arms repeatedly.
That aching feeling is back, fluttering and pounding in the center of his chest. And it hurts, and hurts, and he doesn’t want it to hurt. It’s fucked up, maybe, but this hurt that fuels the anger within him that hurts him in his sleep, he craves it so intensely it hurts even more than wanting it. His eyes turn glossy, and soon he cries. And it's embarrassing because he’s crying in front of Enjin. Thick blotchy tears streaming down his face, like a child. Anger twists and coils, and bears its fangs.
He wipes them viciously. He covers his face with his palms, facing away from Enjin, cause he doesn’t want him to see. “Oh crap, does it–does it hurt, or-or, uh”
Rudo just shakes his head, “I just–hic–I just miss Regto,” he cries some more, choking out sobs.
“I guess it’d make sense,” the towel slides down his arms, “I mean, it’s been one thing after another since you got down here, huh.” A hand ruffles Rudo’s hair. “Take your time, you haven’t grieved properly yet.” Rudo sniffs. Grieved huh. He supposes he hadn't. One thing after another after another. That was what kept happening since he got here anyway.
Maybe another time, Rudo would just sniff up his tears and bottle those feelings up just to be poured out when he was alone in the dark depths of his room. And maybe that would be what he would do on any other case, but right now, he cried, bawled, blubbering past apologies in Enjin’s arms on the tiled bathroom floor. Enjin strokes his hair, whispering soft affirmations. And once he’s let out every somber emotion, Enjin dressed him in his favorite blue hoodie and carried him to bed. And when Enjin left, he’d grab his wrist and say, “Thank you.”
“No problem, Rudo.”