Chapter Text
Emil was slammed through the back patio door and landed on his side upon the stone pathway, the angular stair steps jarring his small body. Everything was suddenly shining and sparkling, the world spinning upside-down in his vision. It reverted to normal though, after the familiar feeling of a cane striking his side. Once, twice, thrice, and more than he could count, he cane came down upon him, and he was vaguely aware of himself screaming, and someone else hollering a million curses upon his soul, but suddenly there was nothing and he found that he had thrown himself to his feet and was hurtling away from his master’s house, as far as he could with the limitations of the towering hardwood fence trapping him into the property. There was a small jungle of overgrown brambles and a dead cherry tree, and it was there he ducked behind, instinctively cowering beneath the protection of the thorns and prickers, pressing himself against the fence, getting as far away from the house as possible, and then suddenly he was crying, sobbing and choking on his tears, near wailing and he could barely stop himself from shaking. Sickly purple-black blotches began to appear on his arms.
“Hey.”
Emil started, a sob stopping with a choke in his throat. He looked about, panicked, peering around the twigs in the mulberry bushes to search for who had discovered him, trembling fiercely at the thought of having his hiding spot turned out and facing the master’s cane again.
“You alright there?”
It was barely even a whisper, quiet with sharp edges like the scrtich-scratching his coarse shirt collar made against the unsanded planks of the fence. It took several heart-pounding moments to distinguish a pattern of ragged breathing from the scraping of the tree branches above. It was very near him. More confused than scared now, Emil twisted his body to press the side of his face against the fence. He had to close one eye so his sight wasn’t stolen by the scraggly splinters spiking the barrier. Through the tackily nailed-down layers of plank wood, a narrow crack of breeze brushed through, carrying the breathing to his hiding spot.
“Who’s there?” Emil’s voice came out shaky and thick from crying.
“Jus' me.” The scritch-scratchy voice replied.
“Who’s you?”
“Nobody.” A dry chuckle crackled. Emil’s face scrunched at the sound.
“Your voice sounds funny.”
“Hey, my English is better than yours, Snowflake.”
“Snowflake?” Emil snorted, then clapped his hand over his mouth lest his caretakers should hear and find him. “Who ya callin' snowflake?” he hissed through the crack.
“Your hair is white.”
“What?”
“Your hair is white,” It repeated, a smile in its voice. “I see ya, going aroun' sellin' papers. You’re scrawny. No one buys from you.”
Emil’s hands curled into fists against his knees. “Shut up.”
“Izzat why your master beats you?”
“I said, shut up!!”
“Right. Sorry.”
There was a silence long enough for Emil’s head to quit steaming and for him to remember that the fence was speaking. But not long enough to remember to hold his tongue. “…So why’s you sound like you swallowed nails?”
The voice replied immediately. “Ah. I’mma chimney sweep.”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
The voice coughed once, then broke into a stumble of hacking wheezes that took Emil a few moments to realise that was supposed to be laughter. “I like you,” it choked out, breath whistling. “You’re funny. How old are ya?”
“Izzat your business?”
“No. How old are ya?”
“…Fourteen in two weeks.”
“You’re small for your age,” it remarked. “You’re the perfect size for sweepin’ work.”
“Think I should sweep?” Emil asked almost wistfully, eyes turning to the crooked back door of his slack-roofed home.
“No,” it near snapped. “You don’ wan' to.” It paused and took a rough breath. Emil could feel its smile reform. “Your hair won’ be white anymore.”
“Shut up about my hair.”
“It’s pretty.”
“How old are you?”
“Jus’ turned fifteen.”
Emil almost laughed. “You’re too old to be sweepin'.”
“I work hard an’ I don’t break. Master likes that.”
Emil didn’t know what to say to that.
“You gon' ask me my name?” the voice wondered.
“What?”
“Ya been talkin' to me but ya don’ ask my name.”
“Yeah.”
It laughed. “You’re a rude kid.”
Emil’s ears steamed. “You didn’t ask mine. Now I don’t think I’ll tell you.”
“Izzat so?”
“Yeah, that’s so.”
“Ah, I see. My name is Leon.”
“I’m Emil.”
Leon smiled. “It's nice-ta-meetcha, Mister Emil.”
Emil suddenly felt very upset and scowled, turning to glare at his knees. “You haven’t seen my face, so don’t say that we’ve met. And who said you could call me by my name?”
“You told me it, din’ you?”
“So, what?”
“You’re stubborn.”
“Well, you’re stupid.”
Another bundle of coughing laughter rolled forth, and Emil felt the fence move a bit. “Well, if I tell ya my real name can I call you Emil?”
Emil’s head snapped to the side and stared incredulously at the crooked notch in the fence, and Leon was already laughing again. “You didn’t tell me your real name!!”
“Told ya my English one. S’what Master and everyone calls me, 'cause if I use my real name people spit on me.”
“That’s stupid.”
“My name is really Li Xiao. Lei Siu, in my birth dialect.”
“I take that back. They have a right to spit on you, that’s a really stupid name.”
Leon never seemed to stop laughing. “You’re funny, Snowflake. I can’ figure out why you’re mad at me.”
“I’m not mad.”
“I bet it’s 'cause I said my English was better than yours,” there was a snap of fingers. “That’s it, isn’ it, Snowflake? I’m sorry about that, I din’ really mean it. Your English is really good, and I bet people understand you better than me. Where are ya from?”
“Nowhere.”
“I’m from Hong Kong. That’s in China. My big brother is still over there, since the Bitch Queen is sort of screwin' us over right now.”
“You have a big brother?”
“Yeah.”
Emil’s throat was dry.
“Do you have one too, Snowflake? Where's he at?”
“None of your business.” It didn’t sound very threatening when his voice cracked with a sob at the end.
He could feel Leon’s frown. “Hey, s’alright. Where’s he at?”
“None of your business.”
“Fine. But he’s doin’ alright if you want to know. If he’s got you to worry about he’s doin’ fine.”
This was a strangely comforting sentiment, and Emil hated that it comforted him. “Can you just go away?”
“Nah.”
“You’re annoying.”
“Wan' to be friends, Snowflake?”
Emil started. “Friends??”
“Yeah. I’ve heard it’s great to have one. Do ya think that—oh.”
There were a few small droplets, and that was wall the warning they received. The clouds burst above their heads. Emil quickly scrambled to a stand, before the ground he sat on could turn to mud. He kept close to the fence so still no one could see him amongst branches and brambles. He was about to make his dash to shelter, and made an inquiry as an afterthought. “You gonna go inside?”
“Nah.”
Emil halted before he sprinted off and blinked. “It’s raining,” he said stupidly, as if Leon hadn’t noticed what was becoming a cold, pelting storm.
“It is.”
Emil looked to his master’s house, thinking. Then looked at the gap in the fence. Then the house, and back to the fence. He bit his lip. “Don’t you got a room?”
“You’re gettin' wet, Snowflake,” Leon sang softly. “Hurry in, or you’ll melt.”
Emil kept frozen to the fence for reasons he did not know. Then he erupted from the bushes, streaking towards the house at a speed he didn’t know he was capable of, bursting through the door and clambering up to the small sleeping space he was allotted in the attic, kicked off his boots and curled up so tight it might have been January chill. Through the entire storm he did not sleep, and through the entire storm he could hear Leon humming, still by the gap in the fence, humming a tune in a strange key, chords marked with hacking coughs, the foreign flavour still apparent even with his marred lungs. It occurred to him, as his eyelids fluttered shut, that he didn’t know what Leon looked like. The humming continued after the storm, and through the night, and the morning.