Chapter Text
Raindrops, striking mercilessly against the metal and concrete, refracting light from the many neon signs filling the backstreets. Colorful glimmers, blasting Sinclairs eyes with a myriad of colors, but he had no will in himself to find any wonder nor irritation with them. How could he? His heart was still impaled with those fresh memories of his family’s murder. “It's all my fault” are the thoughts that reverberate throughout his skull, if only he did this, if only he didn't do that… Only a small spark of rationality and a wish to keep living kept him going.
Emil managed to drift through the past few days, walking like a corpse that still didn’t realize it was dead, buying shelter at night, traveling by day, until his pockets ran empty. And now here he is, drenched to the bone, his feet numb from all the walking, all the running away, not a penny to his soul, and the clock just struck 3 AM. “Is that it? After all this, will I just get swept?”. Blonde couldn’t help but somewhat welcome the idea, death seemed to be somewhat of a comforting thought to his aching heart… but… He had to live. His family wanted him to run, to live, and so he won’t just lay down and just die like this, dammit!
There had to be some place still open, he HAD to believe there is, to keep struggling, walking by buildings, knocking on the doors as his time.
Slowly…
Ticked……
Down………..
A ray of light struck from the gap between the frame and the door. Someone opened! “Please help!” A roughened up voice came out from his throat, tired from all the voiceless sobs that came through it over the past few days. Whoever was behind the door, let him in, as Sinclair stumbled inside. Soon, a sound of the mechanism locking, closing the door. He was ready to profusely thank his savior but… all the exhaustion, the stress, finally hit him. A sensation like of a thousand ants biting inside of his head, losing sense of balance underneath his feet before… the darkness, so striking compared to the colorful brilliance moments ago, closed in on him.
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First thing Emil woke up to was pain permeating his body, as if a thorny vine had grown throughout his legs, chest and arms, digging into his muscles. A few miserable squirms later, he finally opened his eyes, to see a light cream colored ceiling above himself. It was at that moment that his heart skipped a beat. “I am… Alive?” Spoken softly through dried lips and throat. The blonde slowly got himself up into an upright position, on what he has now realized was an old couch.
When looking around the room he was in, the first thing that actually focused his attention was a small table, on which was a glass of water with a note underneath it. Just seeing it doubled his awareness of how parched Sinclair felt, so he quickly grabbed it and drank the whole glass in less than 3 heartbeats, before setting it aside and taking the note into his hands.
“Shopping. Door’s closed. Theft will result in SYNC. Feel free to use whatever is in the Fridge.”
“SYNC? What does that mean…” He tilts his head while biting the nail of his thumb. “It sounds like a threat so maybe… ‘Snapping Your Neck Completely’? What a weird turn of phrase…” This whole situation isn’t particularly comfortable for him but… Whomever this is, they saved him. His thoughts were promptly interrupted by a loud grumble in his stomach, thankfully with nobody to hear. “Right, haven’t eaten in two days… Hope there’s actually something decent in the fridge…”
Taking a second look around, he notices a lack of windows on the white colored walls, or rather, traditional one, as there is a single rectangle by the top from which rays of sun shone into the room, along with sounds of people walking and talking indistinctly. When turning his head around, behind the couch, the room expands into a small kitchen, sink, fridge, cupboards and a gas stove. Much… less sizable than what he was used to but… tears started welling up in his eyes once again, memory still freshly burnt into the retina of his mind. Laying back on the couch, curling up his knees to his chest and clinging his own arms around himself, a weak imitation of a comforting embrace, he began sobbing once again.
Emil doesn’t know how much time has passed, but his eyes hurt a lot, and cheeks have that unpleasant sensation of dried up tears sticking on them. He wanted to keep crying, to curl up into a ball, an egg, and just lose himself in his mourning, but… His body demanded sustenance, and the sharp pain of a hungry stomach, like animal claws ripping into his guts, prompted him to stand up and go to that fridge, albeit weakly.
Upon opening the fridge he saw… 4 eggs laying loosely, 3 pieces of toast, one of which already had tooth marks in it, and a carton of milk without its bottle cap. There was also a half-used stick of butter trying to hide itself in the back.
Wow… This is… Not much. But it should be enough. Sinclair had to learn to cook for himself, and so he had an idea of what to make. While taking out the milk, eggs and toast, he looked around to find where the pots and pans should be, finally stumbling onto one set tucked in a cabinet underneath the stove. Cracking a pair of eggs into the pot, together with some milk, and sugar and salt he managed to scrounge up (Oh how he wished he’d find some cinnamon or vanilla), and stirred it all using a spoon and strength of his arm until his already sore muscles gave out on him. Blonde dumped the two pieces of toast into the mixture, making sure it's thoroughly coated, and left it there while he turned on gas and put a pan onto it, with butter quickly melting in it.
The smell of cooking soon filled the air, and once the butter started sizzling, Emil took the soaked toasts and tossed them onto one side of the pan, making sure it won’t stick into the pan, and carefully, using a fork he found, flipping the toasts once they develop that appetizing golden brown color. On the other half of the pan, he cracks in the remaining two eggs, managing to not break the yolks despite hands shaking from his tiredness. Not the most varied meal but not like he has options, right? Once both sides of the toasts develop a nice crust, he slides them off, and the sunny side up eggs onto the plate, mouth salivating at this meal. And right as he was ready to bite into it, the lock inside of the entrance started turning, and soon it opened.
Rustling of plastic bags being set aside by the doorframe. When Emil turned his head towards the noise, he noticed a taller lanky woman, with white shirt, clearly with signs of extensive wear, and a simple pair of black pants held by a belt with red markings. When he looked at her face he was… Taken aback. The irises of crimson, intensity that nearly glows, piercing through the smoke of her cigarette, looked straight at him, and something in the expression on that woman's face told him that she was wordlessly asking a question.
“A-ah, I just cooked some food as I recently got up, it’s from y-your fridge so please feel free to take some…” He answered that unspoken question, despite the pain within his stomach. In response, she raised a singular eyebrow, expression of mild surprise. Leaning against the doorframe with her shoulder, she spoke with a subtle tone of inquisitiveness. “Why did you get LOST at my bar?” Sinclair couldn’t help but notice that there is some sort of second meaning under the word lost with how she accented it, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
“Umh… I…” Tense silence, as Sinclair was trying to find a way to put an answer into words. “I don’t have a home, and I ran out of my savings… Sorry.”
The woman's gaze studied him, making him feel as if he was being cut apart to reveal something inside of him, before she scoffed, and approached, snatching one of the toasts from in front of him before biting into it. Brows furrow, eye pupils dilate just a bit. She pulls herself back first on top of the kitchen counter, sitting, leaving her legs dangling in the air, before taking the piece of bread from in between her teeth. She looked at the wall in front of herself before asking. “Your name kid?”
Blonde couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief, being let off her intense sight before hesitantly answering. “Emil, Emil Sinclair, and You Frau?” “Ryōshū. Your food’s getting cold.” She stated matter-of-factly, and he, upon being reminded, quickly ate the meal in front of him, still trying to do so somewhat politely now that he’s actually with another person in the room.
After finishing it, he just… awkwardly sat, unsure of how to fill in the silence. What are you even supposed to say to someone who’s saved your life? A thank you is just a set of words… but it's a place to start. “Umh.. Frau Ryōshū… I know it's not much but… thank you for saving me… I don’t know what I could do in return…”
The crimson eyed woman looked at him, no emotion expressed on her sharp visage, keeping her cards to herself. It made Emil feel small and pressured, so instead of returning the gaze, he looked downwards, at the ground, heartbeats stretching over time as he felt worry over what her reply was going to be. And then, words came out from her mouth.
“Kid, Are you looking for work?”