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It was a typical mid-summer day. If Kyusaku had had anything resembling a typical childhood, they might have been expecting certain things: the brightness of the sun, the humidity, the screaming of the cicadas. They might associate these things with certain memories, things like skinned knees and ice cream and bug-catching nets. But their life was anything but typical, and the only particular memories they had of summer were unpleasant.
Kyusaku remembered the times they'd wriggled away from their handler, and ran, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. Finding some alleyway or corner, and hiding, holding their breath. Not that it ever did any good. Escapes ended, every time, in bruises and blood and tears and pain. There was always, always pain.
But they kept trying, because what else were they supposed to do? Accept a life of darkness, locked away? Kyusaku might not have held any hope for the future, but something instinctive inside them couldn't bear the thought.
So here they were, running again. But this time, they weren't alone.
This time, they had... well, not allies. The two men had already proven themselves to be untrustworthy. Kyusaku knew that it was only a matter of time until their true motives showed through. Only a matter of time until this escape ended like all the others, in hurt and regret.
But for now, the men were a means to an end. They had transportation, which they were willing to share, for some reason. It didn't make any sense, but it was useful all the same.
The one driving was called John. It was a weird name, and after some listening, Kyusaku figured it probably meant "obnoxious." The other one had an even stranger name: Lovecraft. The strangeness suited him, though. He was immune to Kyusaku's ability, and seemed only slightly aware of the world around them. Even Kyusaku knew things that Lovecraft was confused by, like toilets and train tickets.
Maybe he was just stupid.
Whatever the reason, Kyusaku felt that Lovecraft was the safer of the two men. They scooted a little closer to his side of the cramped, muggy cab of the truck. Not that they could get very far from John; the bench seat wasn't meant for this many people, even if one of them was a child.
John glanced over at them. "Sorry, kiddo. Never planned on havin' three in here."
Kyusaku didn't answer. They rarely did, when John spoke.
Not that a lack of response had ever stopped John. "Now if we were in ol' Rocinante--"
Lovecraft let out a soft, tired sigh. "But we are not."
"I know that. But if we were--"
"But we are not."
This wasn't a fight, Kyusaku knew that. Lovecraft didn't seem to understand fighting, and John didn't fight so nicely.
"Yeah, no shit, because this tiny thing actually fits on the horrible narrow roads 'round here. You think I can't tell the difference?"
It was no secret that John didn't like the roads in Japan. He complained about it at every opportunity. And he had so many opportunities.
Lovecraft had heard him complain about the roads in detail after he'd run Rocinante into a pole. He heard about it when John saw the rental car Fitzgerald had arranged for them. He heard about it whenever John drove the car, when John had gotten the bill for sending Rocinante back home, and again when the Guild disbanded and the rental account dried up. He'd heard about it--at length--as they searched through junkyards until John found a mustard yellow Datsun that seemed to suit some deep-seated need to drive something that might collapse in on itself at any moment. Sometimes Lovecraft heard about it even when there was no obvious provocation.
Kyusaku might not have heard the tirades that often, but they still knew this wouldn't be over soon.
These men, almost complete strangers, weren't people that Kyusaku would have chosen to be with.
But then again, there was no one in the world who was.
They had learned, some time so long ago that they didn't even remember, that the whole world was their enemy. That something bigger than people, something like fate or god or circumstance, had ensured that. All they'd earned by virtue of being born was a promise that they'd be hurt, again and again, for the benefit of someone else. This was Yumeno Kyusaku's role in life.
Perhaps most children have felt that way at some time. Perhaps some adults still did. And perhaps, for some of them, it was the truth.
It was most definitely the truth for Kyusaku.
Was there a time in the past when they'd been a regular child? Wide-eyed, innocent? No one knew, or if they did, they weren't telling. The only past that Kyusaku could remember was full of the sticky-sweet promises of adults, the promises that were always, always, always followed by stickier, sweeter blood.
They hurt Kyusaku and Kyusaku hurt them, over and over again, an endless cycle.
It was simple. It was excruciating. It was life.
So, they'd come to expect it. And there was no reason to believe that these two men were any different. John was definitely not different. He'd used them exactly like everyone else had, with delight and cruelty. It had been too recent to forget, and too strange. The sensation that their body had expanded, that pain was coming from everywhere and nowhere and swallowing them alive. And the man had just sat and grinned and talked, and talked, and talked.
Kyusaku hated it when adults talked so much. They tried to justify their cruelty. There was no justification; cruelty was inherent. It was excavated painfully, brought to the surface and left to stain whatever remained.
Lovecraft looked over at them, and interrupted John's diatribe. "Do you need to use the restroom?"
"No." The question had come from nowhere, and Kyusaku frowned, confused.
"Ah. John has said that children often need to make use of the restroom when riding in vehicles."
Yeah, he really wasn't very bright. "That's stupid."
"It ain't stupid," John cut in, laughing. "I got more siblings than you got fingers, kiddo. I know what I'm talkin' about. You let us know when you gotta go, and I'll find somewhere, okay?"
Kyusaku stared back at him, silent.
"I'm not used to a kid as quiet as you," John continued, because once he started talking it was apparently very hard for him to stop. "Everybody back home's always screechin' and runnin' around and pullin' hair and fallin' outta trees and--"
Wherever the man's home was, it sounded dreadful. The sort of place where Kyusaku might feel happy for five whole seconds before it all came crashing down. And it would. Someone would trip, someone would throw something, someone would be thoughtless as people were, and the shining, rotten cruelty would take over and destroy it. Maybe it would even be Kyusaku's own fault. Maybe they'd smile and laugh through it, because why shouldn't they? Why should anyone else be happy when they couldn't be? That was the only thing that made this disgusting world worth living in, was watching other people suffer like they did.
That's right. That was the only thing worth holding onto. Revenge.
There wasn't anything else good in the world.
Lovecraft was still staring at them. "You are uneasy."
Obviously. They were in a cramped truck with two people who'd kidnapped and tortured them. The idiots were lucky to still be alive.
"Leave 'em be, Lovecraft," John said softly. "Reckon it'll be a while before they're used to us."
No. Kyusaku was very used to this type of adult. These two were just like the mafia man who'd locked them up in a cage in the dark like an animal. The adults who prodded and poked and toyed with "the gift." Some gift. Regular kids could complain about getting socks or something. Kyusaku's only gift had been bright red and sticky-sweet.
Well, no.
There had been one more, too recent, too strange to forget.
It was a gift Kyusaku didn't understand. Why had John, who had been nothing but cruel to them, insisted on buying them a doll?
But he had, and they didn't want it, not from him, but still. It made things more comfortable. Made using their ability easier. Kyusaku didn't see it as a peace offering, because they'd never experienced one before.
Directly off the shelf, it had been a horrible pastel thing, smiling and insipid. Kyusaku had immediately torn its eyes out, and ripped off one leg. They also swapped out the doll's frilly pink dress with a dirty wrapping of bandages that had been shoved in their pocket. It wasn't perfect, wasn't as good as the one they'd lost. But it was okay.
Lost in their work, they hadn't heard the hushed conversation of the two adults.
"Looks like they don't like it," John had muttered, nose wrinkled.
"That seems to be a hasty conclusion," Lovecraft answered.
When the spare leg had gone flying out the truck window, John winced. "They probably wanna to do that to me."
Lovecraft nodded. "Perhaps."
"This is so fucked up, Lovecraft. We can't do this. There's gotta be somewhere else for 'em. Somewhere better."
"There is nowhere else. No one else. You know that as well as I, if not more so."
John sighed, soft and sad. "Yeah. Yeah, I know."
John had only reluctantly agreed to Lovecraft's proposition in the first place, not because he felt any animosity towards Kyusaku, but because he was certain that the child could never truly be comfortable or happy around them. He could explain until his breath ran out that the torture hadn't been his idea, that he'd been following orders, that Fitzgerald was the one who was to blame. But a kid wouldn't understand that. Even if John was honest--something he rarely was on this topic, even to himself--how could he expect Kyusaku to have any sympathy for him?
But Lovecraft had insisted.
"The child has nowhere to go."
God, if only he'd found Lovecraft anywhere else. But no, John had gone back to the abandoned house, and had been so happy to see him there, sleeping in the basement. Not that he'd thought that the fight had killed Lovecraft dead--it'd take more than a small bomb to do what centuries couldn't--but he didn't know how long it'd take him to recover. So it was a relief to see him all in one piece.
John's joy lasted until he noticed another, smaller figure, also asleep.
That kid.
"What the fuck?" Why hadn't the mafia people retrieved them? Why were they still here?
Kyusaku had woken up at John's outburst, stared at him with terrified eyes, and screamed so loud that even Lovecraft couldn't sleep through it.
"Please do not scream."
That didn't stop Kyusaku.
Lovecraft cleared his throat, a human habit he'd picked up from God knows where. "I said, please do not scream. John will not hurt you."
He sure wouldn't. All John wanted was to put as much distance between himself and that kid as possible. He still remembered when the curse had washed over him, the visions of his family dying, their screams too real to ignore. Lovecraft had been there to make sure he didn't hurt himself, but still. It wasn't an experience that John wanted to repeat, ever. "Yeah," he said, dully. "Promise. No more roots."
The child shut their mouth and glared at him.
Okay, so they didn't want him around either. That was fine. Great, even. "Lovecraft, why's this kid here?"
"They have nowhere to go."
"Yeah they do, wherever the hell they came from in the first place."
"John."
Lovecraft had stared at him with the coldest eyes John could remember seeing, and he grew sheepish. "Aw, c'mon. We can't take him. That's like, kidnapping or something."
"John."
John fidgeted and fussed and pouted and then finally sighed. "Yeah, I know. Not like we didn't already do that. But c'mon, you don't know that wherever they came from was all that bad. Maybe they miss it."
"This child reeks of fear."
"That could be because of you."
Lovecraft huffed; John knew him well enough to know that that particular sound meant this was something he couldn't explain, something that was part of what he was. "Okay, okay. But why us? Ain't like we were real nice to 'em."
It was a stupid question, and John knew that. This kid was too much like him, so much like him that he didn't like thinking about it. Somebody who deserved better, stuck with a "gift" that disgusted most people. Something only good for violence, something they couldn't use without pain. Littered with scars, emotional and physical. Twisted up inside in the way that only the punchline of the universe's cruelest joke could make them.
Normal people wouldn't understand.
At least John had a background in humanity that he could fall back on. He could pretend really well, some days. He could smile and joke and enjoy the sun and almost, almost, almost believe that he wasn't himself.
This kid had never even had that.
And yeah, it was too late to do anything about it. But on the other hand, it also wasn't like anything could go wrong. John might get cursed, but nasty as it was, ultimately it didn't matter. Lovecraft was with him, so nothing awful would happen. There honestly probably wasn't anywhere better for Kyusaku.
But convincing the kid of that was going to be hard.
John knew cruelty, and he knew when it wasn't going to work. "Nobody else is ever gonna accept you," wouldn't convince anybody. Catch more flies with honey and all that stuff. Besides, Lovecraft'd smack him.
"Fine," he'd sighed. "Look, kid. We can't stay here for long, and I'm willin' to bet you shouldn't either. You can come with us if you want. We won't hurt you, not anymore. Can't promise it'll be great, but it'll beat hangin' around here."
The child had looked at him long and hard, and then nodded.
It was sad, wasn't it? They were so young, and already understood that going with them, even after what they'd done, was the best option they had.
John sighed and tried to smile, to put Kyusaku at ease. It felt plastic and cloying, even to him. "All right. C'mon then, time's a-wastin'."
"Hey, kiddo?"
"What."
"You gettin' hungry?"
"No." Kyusaku was used to only getting one meal a day, and a pitiful one at that.
John frowned slightly. "Okay. But you're too hot, right? It's stuffy in here."
Admitting that anything was wrong was a sign of weakness and a sure way to get punished, so Kyusaku stared out the window and remained silent.
"O-kay. Lovecraft?"
"I am hungry. And too warm. And tired. And--"
"Jeez, I got it, I got it," John laughed. "We'll stop someplace then. Get somethin' to eat, stretch our legs out. All that good stuff."
If Kyusaku was honest with themselves, it wasn't all that bad. Since they'd been together, the two hadn't been anything but careful with them, sometimes even nice. Not that it would last, it wouldn't. It couldn't. It would fall apart, like it always did. That was just how things went.
But for now.
For now it was good.
It was a while later when John finally spotted somewhere to stop and eat. The restaurant was small, and looked almost as ratty as their truck.
"Imagine findin' a catch like this, out here in the middle of nowhere," John grinned. "A real treasure!"
Kyusaku didn't see what was so great about it, but at least it was nicer than being crammed into the truck for hours on end.
Despite the locale, or perhaps because of it, there were a few patrons inside. None of them looked up when the group entered.
John laughed, delighted. "Some things sure are the same everywhere. Little ol' rest stop like this, everybody mindin' their own damn business, ain't got time for anybody else's."
He plopped down in a booth, and Lovecraft slid in across from him, leaving Kyusaku the outside seat. That was different than they were used to; it'd be so easy to run. They toyed with that thought for a few minutes. Of darting out of the booth and putting as much distance between themselves and these two men as they could. It'd be pointless in the end, though. Lovecraft could catch them easily. And then what would happen? Would they be beaten, punished like usual? John and Lovecraft had promised not to hurt them, but did they mean it?
Wasn't it worth finding out?
Kyusaku glanced over at the two men, who were absorbed in their menus. This was as good a time as any.
They slid to the very edge of the seat, and tensed.
John glanced up from his menu. "Bathroom's over there," he said, pointing.
"Do you require any assistance?" Lovecraft asked.
Ugh. How had they noticed? "No."
And so Kyusaku found themselves heading to the bathroom that they didn't need to use, confused. They could still run. It would still be so easy, even easier now. There was probably a window in the bathroom they could crawl out of, or they could sneak out front past the waitress. But all they actually did was walk into the bathroom, stretch up to the sink, and wash their hands.
Mismatched eyes stared back from the mirror, full of questions.
Why should they run? What good would it do? The best possible outcome was to end up alone again, lost and hungry. Or they could go back to the booth, eat something, get back in the truck and... and then what?
Wait for the pain to come, like it always did? Ignore the fact that it would inevitably come, and pretend that everything was fine?
Was there anything wrong with that, with enjoying what they could while they could?
Kyusaku closed their eyes and leaned against the cold sink. These weren't questions they were able to answer, none of them. Their life hadn't prepared them for these kind of choices. For being able to determine what might be good. For wanting something more than revenge and suffering.
A soft knock echoed against the door. "Hey, kiddo? Food's here. I went ahead and ordered for ya, but if you don't like it we can get somethin' else, okay? Or we can get a doggy bag, if you wanna stay in there for a while. Ain't no rush."
They raised their head and stared blankly in the direction of John's voice.
Why was he being so nice.
It didn't make any sense.
Kyusaku was in the bathroom, planning on running away, and John, a man who just a few weeks ago had seemed to hold no kindness in his heart at all, was being nice.
They threw their doll against the floor in a fit of confused anger, and sank down beside it. What right did this man have, to be nice to them? When he'd been so cruel before? How were they supposed to be able to know what to do, when the only decisions they'd ever made were split second and desperate? How on earth were they supposed to imagine a future?
It was too much to handle, and so they didn't. They just sat, slumped against the wall, face buried against their knees, sobbing.
And then the bathroom door opened.
They'd locked it, hadn't they? How--
"Ah. You are not well."
Lovecraft.
That explained it. Kyusaku might have only known him a few weeks, but that was enough time to learn that the rules of the world didn't apply in quite the same ways to him.
That didn't mean they had to be happy to see him, though. "Go away," they muttered, without raising their head.
Lovecraft did not go away. Instead, he shut the door behind him, and stood staring down at Kyusaku, awkward as always.
"I said go away. I'll hurt you. You might think I can't, but I can." They couldn't. They'd tried. That time by the water, and a few times since then. Lovecraft had ignored the curse like it was wind. They still vividly remembered the terror that had taken hold of them the first time that Lovecraft had shrugged off the curse. When his eyes had gone black and he'd twitched and shuddered and changed.
Lovecraft folded himself up into a sitting position across from them. "You cannot. And that bothers you."
"Shut up." They didn't need this, not now and not ever. Their ability was the only thing they had to get back at the world. It was miserable and gross and painful and it was all that they had.
"You are a human," Lovecraft responded. "Small and weak, as are all of your kind. It is only natural for you to feel that way."
"I am not--""
And then Lovecraft reached out and put his hand on their head. It was cold and heavy, but Kyusaku didn't pull away. What was the point, anyway? There was nowhere to run. Lovecraft was blocking the door. Maybe this was the punishment they'd been waiting for; maybe here in this tiny bathroom they'd be beaten and mocked. No one would come to help. John had said it himself, everyone in a place like this just wanted to mind their own business.
But no pain came.
"You are human," Lovecraft said again, softly. "Your pulse races. Your lungs fill your body with oxygen. Bones and muscles and blood and thoughts and emotions. All are as expected. You are nothing but human. You believe yourself to be a monster, but there are few true monsters in this world."
His voice carried a certainty that even Kyusaku's upset couldn't argue with. Lovecraft would know; he was different. The way he couldn't be cursed, the way he was cold in a way that Kyusaku didn't understand, cold like space, or the bottom of the ocean, but not physically. They weren't sure if he was a monster, but he definitely wasn't human.
"Few monsters, but so very many humans. Good and bad, and all shades between. Countless as the very stars. I do not say this to make you feel insignificant. I say this because you should understand that the universe does not care about you. There is no force to dictate that the rest of your life should be the same as it has been. Right now, there is nothing but you, and your own choices. Perhaps you will not find that comforting. I know that John does not. Responsibility is a burden, and responsibility for oneself may be the heaviest burden of all. It is simpler to blame something larger, something outside of yourself." Lovecraft tilted his head, and added, very quietly. "But the only thing larger than yourself here is me."
Kyusaku didn't understand any of it; Lovecraft spoke slowly and carefully, but it all washed over them.
"So I will tell you this," Lovecraft continued. "You may run, if you wish. You have considered it. That much is obvious. If you run, I will not follow you. I will ensure that John does not follow you. I cannot grant you infinite freedom, but I can give you that much. You may stay with myself and John or you may leave. You are not a prisoner."
"You're lying." Of course they'd follow. They'd follow and they'd hurt, like everyone else.
"It is not in my nature to lie. I have no need."
It still felt like a trap. Kyusaku narrowed their eyes and looked up at Lovecraft. "Why'd you come in here? To tell me to leave? Is that what you want?"
"My feelings on the matter are inconsequential. But John is worried. He is concerned that you hate him. Us. This life."
"I do. I hate all of it."
To their surprise, Lovecraft smiled slightly. "I understand. I also believed that there was nothing of benefit to this sort of life. And yet, I remain. Such is the nature of choice."
Whatever. Kyusaku lowered their gaze and pouted. Half of what Lovecraft said didn't make any sense, and the half that did didn't help. It only made them feel more confused.
Quiet filled the small room, broken only by the slow drip of the faucet.
At least it did until Kyusaku's stomach gurgled, and Lovecraft let out a soft huff of a laugh.
"John was correct, you do require sustenance. Come." He stood up, all angles, and turned back to the door. "Or do not. The decision, and the consequence, is yours alone."
And then he was gone.
Kyusaku stared at the doorway. Of course they had a choice to make. They had so many choices to make now, and that was the problem. And who came into a bathroom to tell somebody that they didn't matter and they were pathetic and weak, anyway? In a soft, kind voice like that was supposed to be comforting?
Stupid Lovecraft.
Stupid John.
Stupid everything.
It took awhile for Kyusaku to convince themselves to leave the restroom, but eventually the hunger became too much to ignore.
They approached the booth slowly; John and Lovecraft had already finished eating, and were talking quietly. Sitting alone on the table was a half-melted ice cream sundae.
John waved at them. "Hey there, kiddo! Feelin' better? I gotcha some ice cream, I figure, most kids like ice cream, right? And if you hate it, Lovecraft'll be happy to eat it for you."
Lovecraft nodded.
Kyusaku was confused. Why weren't the men mad? They'd been in the bathroom for so long. Where were the raised voices, the raised hands? They'd misbehaved, they'd almost run away. They'd been trouble.
"I'm glad Lovecraft was able to get ya out of there," John continued. "I always thought I was pretty good with kids, growin' up with so many younger siblings, but somehow he's got this knack for it. Funny, ain't it? You'd think he'd hate kids, because, c'mon, kids are loud and rowdy, right? But every time we go back home, he spends so much time with Ruthie and Win--ah, that's my little sister and brother. They pester him somethin' fierce. Ruthie braids his hair and Win goes on and on about dinosaurs and airplanes and God knows what, and Lovecraft doesn't mind at all. He'll sit and draw with 'em, and play house, and I think he actually likes it. Guess he's a big ol' kid at heart."
The closest thing to surprise Kyusaku had ever seen on Lovecraft's face crossed it then. "John."
"Oh, come on, Lovecraft. You know you love 'em."
Lovecraft just blinked.
Kyusaku sat down slowly. The sundae was turning some shade of tan, from the chocolate sauce mixing with the melting vanilla. There was a cherry sinking down into it, spreading a halo of bright red, like a wound.
"It ain't poisoned, promise."
Maybe it was, and maybe it wasn't. What would happen if they ate it? What would happen if they didn't? Would they be punished either way?
John sighed and his cheer dropped away. "Look, kiddo. You don't have to like us. We ain't easy guys to like, I get that. We're tryin' real hard to do right by you, though. I know we didn't get off to a great start. I know that's my fault. I just... Well, you don't care why it happened. And it doesn't matter why, anyway. It happened and that's that. Nothin' any of us can do about it now. But we're tryin' real hard to make things better for you."
Kyusaku smushed the cherry around with a spoon, watching the red spread. "It doesn't matter."
Lovecraft watched them for a moment, then offered, "John is merely human. His assurances mean little."
"Wow, thanks, Lovecraft. I'm already feelin' like shit over here."
Lovecraft continued, serious and quiet. "Humans are an inconstant thing."
"Yeah," Kyusaku murmured, still toying with their food. They weren't sure about that; people seemed pretty constant in their experience. Constantly horrible.
"However, I can assure you a constant. John and I have discussed the matter and agreed. I offer you a contract to guarantee that you will not come to harm. Not by John's hands, nor by any other."
The two men had talked about this sort of thing before. About Lovecraft's contracts. It seemed like whatever he was, these contracts were binding. It was weird, but Kyusaku had already accepted that Lovecraft was different, bound by different rules, so they didn't question it much.
The real question was much easier.
"Why?"
Lovecraft tilted his head, considering his answer for a moment before answering. "Because it is something I can do. Because John, for all his human failings, desires your safety and your happiness, and I can ensure one of those things."
"Why?"
John shrugged. "I understand a little bit of what you're dealin' with. And I got a soft spot for kids. Lovecraft, too, even though he's tryin' to pin this all on me."
"You're lying." This was too much to be believed. Like something out of some story. It was a trap, it had to be a trap, that was the only thing that made sense.
Kyusaku wasn't sure if they wanted to laugh or scream or cry. They looked between the two men, then back down at the table. "Why do you care?"
"Because I know we fucked up," John said, his voice soft. "Because it ain't right. Look, kid. I'm used to people hatin' me. If you hate me the rest of your life, that's fine. I'll deal with it. I deserve it, anyway. But you got nowhere to go, and frankly, neither do we. Might as well go nowhere together, yeah?"
There was something in John's voice that Kyusaku didn't understand. Another person might have recognized it as honesty or earnestness. But Kyusaku had never experienced those things, so they had no frame of reference.
"Do you wish to form a contract?" Lovecraft asked.
Why not?
Kyusaku's brain was screaming a million different things. Yes and no and never and please and why. But what harm would it do. What could it possibly to do them that hadn't been done before? Why not wait and see see, and then if it was a lie, a trap, well then at least they expected it. There was no hope in their answer, only desperation. "Fine."
Lovecraft nodded, as if that answer hadn't taken Kyusaku's whole soul to give. "John, may I have your knife?"
"What for?"
He blinked. "To make use of it."
Realization dawned on John's face. "Aw, no, you're not gonna write in blood, are ya? Right here in public? They gotta have a pen somewhere. I'll go ask."
"There are formalities, John. And no one is paying us any attention. Give it to me."
John sighed, but pulled out the small folding knife he kept in his pocket. "Just don't make a mess."
Lovecraft flipped the knife open, and fear rushed down Kyusaku's spine. They flinched reflexively away.
They'd been stupid to think, even for a second, that the pain would stop. Here it was, in the form of a dull pocket knife in the middle of a restaurant.
But then Lovecraft turned the blade on himself, dragging it along the tip of one of his fingers. His blood came out, thick and strangely iridescent, shimmering in colors that hurt Kyusaku's head to look at. He pressed the fingertip against a napkin, and it oozed out, forming what looked like words. Kyusaku couldn't read, but even if they could, the language on the napkin was nothing they'd ever be able to understand.
They shuddered.
Lovecraft flicked the knife closed again and handed it back to John. "Thank you."
"There's really gotta be a better way to do that."
"There is not. Now be silent."
John let out a little snort, but otherwise kept quiet.
Lovecraft turned to Kyusaku, sliding the napkin towards them. "These are words that will bind me to you, if you choose it. They offer my protection against harm. If your ability grants you revenge, my contract is assurance that you shall never again need it. From now, until your dying day. I shall be your shadow, and your shield."
Everything had gone silent, and dark. Kyusaku was aware of John watching them curiously, but most of their attention was focused on Lovecraft's voice, echoing in their head without having the decency to go through their ears first.
"Naturally," Lovecraft continued. "Such things do not come free. Everything in this world has a price."
The terror that had so recently left came back to Kyusaku, doubled in strength. Of course. Everything came with a price. Everything had to be paid in blood. They knew that, better than anyone.
"To seal this contract, you must give up something you value."
Here it was.
They should have ran. At least they could have postponed the suffering.
"The price for such protection is high."
"What is it?" Kyusaku asked, their voice dull to their own ears.
To their shock, Lovecraft smiled, almost gently. "I require half of your sundae."
"What?"
They could hear John laughing. Of course. This was a joke, it was all a set-up, it couldn't be real. It was a lie, just like they'd thought. They were being mocked, and--
And then everything went dim. Not black, but black and white; cold, and strange. Like something had drained all the color from the world and left only emptiness.
"Do you accept?"
It echoed around them.
For the first time since they'd gotten to the restaurant, Kyusaku felt like they could think clearly. There was a clear choice, and despite their fear, maybe, maybe it would turn out all right.
It seemed funny, almost. Everything was bleak and the chill was starting to seep under their skin, but a tiny spark of hope had flared up inside them.
"Yes."
Kyusaku wasn't quite sure exactly what happened after that. They might have fainted, or come back from some place very far away. But now the world was normal, warm and bright, and everything was the same except the bloody napkin was nowhere to be seen and half of their ice cream was gone.
They blinked.
"Hey there, kiddo. Welcome back. Sorry, shoulda warned you, he gets real carried away with that stuff sometimes."
"There are formalities, John," Lovecraft repeated, sounding slightly offended.
"Yeah, yeah. Scared the shit outta me the first time you did it. Kyu here's made of stronger stuff, looks like."
That was the first time that John called them anything close to their name. Kyusaku wasn't sure how they felt about it.
"Anyway, all that protection stuff goes for me too, but I ain't wastin' a napkin for it," John said. "And I ain't gonna take any of your food, either."
Lovecraft let out a soft huff; it was his version of a laugh, Kyusaku was becoming certain of that. "Then your contract is a weak one, John."
"Nah. Kid's already lost enough because of what I did. Think that makes mine stronger than yours."
"A strong contract is entered into and paid voluntarily."
"Oh my God, Lovecraft, fine. Once we get settled somewhere, you get to take them to their first day of school, Christ."
"What?"
"You wanna be the number one father figure so bad--"
Kyusaku stared at their sundae, hardly listening to the adults argue over who was going to be a better protector. Eventually they dug their spoon in and pulled out the cherry, bright red and sticky-sweet, surrounded by a halo of pink. It burst between their teeth, satisfying and almost disgustingly sugary. It tasted nothing like blood, nothing like pain or fear. Kyusaku savored it, eyes wide.