Archive of Our Own ^omega

Alice Stilza is a force of nature.

Fu shakes like a leaf in his chair, Hii gripped tightly in his hands for comfort, wondering what he’s even doing here. Eishia insisted on her grandma checking on Riyo on their way back from Tori—but why is he here, too!?

“WHEN WAS YOUR LAST CHECK UP,” the woman shouts, her voice slightly odd in the way that someone who can’t hear themselves speak tends to be, and Fu squeaks and fumbles his grip on Hii, dropping the doll in his lap.

“U-Um, I think, I haven’t been to a doctor since, since…” you were seven, Hii supplies, “Since I was seven.”

He signs as he speaks, somewhat clumsily because it’s been a while, and doesn’t know what to make of the expression on Eishia’s face from where she stands behind her grandmother.

Alice squints at him.

“That long? It’s a miracle you’re alive,” she signs instead of shouting; even still, her wide, sweeping gestures give the impression of loudness. “A full physical, then.”

“You don’t need to—” he starts, but clamps his mouth shut and lowers his hands at the severe look on her face.

So Fu gets his first check up, his first physical, since around the time he’d met Hii.

It’s confusing. She makes him strip down into a medical gown, checks him head to toe—literally, she checks his toenails, examines his hands, asks about his jinki, how he fights, about how much he eats, what he eats, does he have allergies—he doesn’t think so—how regularly he drinks water, does he sleep regularly, is it restful, does he remember what vaccines and immunizations he got?

He doesn’t remember. She clicks her tongue as Eishia starts preparing a series of ominous syringes.

She seems especially fussed about his low-grade fever and dry skin. When he tells her he’s always a little feverish because Hii tries to burn out infection and poison, she starts signing so fast at Eishia that Fu can’t keep up.

At least Gris isn’t in the room this time. Fu had thought he might like it if he were, but then Alice starts asking about his sexual history and he wants to die. Her expression pinches as he explains, well, being homeless as a teenager, sometimes certain types of people thought, uh, he was an easy mark. But Hii took care of that. Still, attempts were made, and no, ma’am, he didn’t involve the Hell Guard, why would he? They didn’t even get that far, anyway.

She seems only slightly mollified when Fu trails off into a mumble when discussing the handful of other partner’s he’s had, one-night stands and the fact protection was in fact used, except for with Jabber.

She looks up at her ceiling. Fu fidgets with the paper material of the gown he’s in. Hii is laughing at him. Then she asks about the scar on his upper arm, the shape of teeth, and seems baffled when he mumbles about it being his own bite mark—partial truth, partial lie. Hii did that.

In the end, Alice and Eishia draw eight vials of blood from him, leaving him so woozy he can barely keep his emotional support hold on Hii. Alice tells him, with firm sign, that Eishia will give him his vaccinations and immunizations in three days and no, he’s not allowed to get out of it.

Fu wilts but doesn’t protest, partially because he’s too dizzy but mostly because Alice Stilza is not a woman you say no to.

It’s a relief to stagger out of the car when they’re finally back at HQ; Gris is nice enough to lead him in by the elbow, Eishia fretting about his blood sugar behind them.

“How much blood did you and your granny take from him?” Mildretta asks her as Riyo rushes ahead to practically kick in the door to the building. “Hey, kid. Eat these.”

She hands him a ziplock bag of what look like homemade cookies. He blanches.

“I-I couldn’t possibly—”

“I said, eat them.”

Fu takes the bag, struggling to open it with his weak fingers, and eats a cookie. They’re thin and wafer-like, coated in chocolate, the sort of sweet indulgence he hasn’t had in a long time.

“Good?” Mildretta asks. “Meriege—you remember her, my partner—she made them.”

Fu nods, swallowing both the food and his own tears.

“Th-They’re really good. Thank you, ma’am.”

She huffs at him, muttering about him being all skin and bones, and Eishia wrings her hands. Under Mildretta’s intense stare, he eats another cookie as Gris ushers them all inside.

By the time Fu is being led to the Boss’s office, he’s feeling a little better, even if his stomach churns with anxiety at the fact Semiu is the one guiding him there with a hand on his shoulder instead of Gris.

He’s not sure what to expect from Arkha Corvus. When Fu met Zodyl, it was…well, it hadn’t been Fu who first met him, but Hii.

Arkha Corvus offers him coffee, then looks at his shaking hands and sickly pallor and gives him apple juice ‘for his blood sugar’, while Zodyl would sooner break Fu’s neck than offer him a drink.

“So, Fu Orostor,” Arkha Corvus starts, in a gentle and conversational tone as Fu nervously drinks his apple juice in the chair across from him, “Why did you come to the Cleaners?”

“Um. It, it’s less about the Cleaners and more, um, I wanted to be…where Enjin is,” his voice fades into a mumble, lowering his glass and biting at the inside of his cheek.

“And why is that?” Corvus presses. Fu sinks into himself, shoulders hunching. Hii is shifting restlessly under his skin, unnerved by the combined scrutiny of both Corvus and Semiu.

They see me, he whispers, and for the first time in years it sounds more like a death rattle than a voice. I feel it, I feel it, they see me —

“Fu?”

Fu startles a little, blinking rapidly at Corvus—who looks concerned—and Semiu, who steps from her place behind his chair to lean down and tug at his wrist.

He looks down. The glass in his hands has shattered, pieces embedded into his palms, the apple juice making the cuts sting. Most of the glass has fallen to the carpet below, some in his lap, and he just got here and he’s ruining things the way he always does.

“I-I’m sorry!” He exclaims, trying to yank his hands away.

“Stop or you might force the shards in deeper,” Semiu snaps. Her voice is sharp but not unkind and Fu obediently stills. The rattling in the back of his head goes quiet, Hii’s guilt seeping between them.

“I’m sorry,” Fu says again, miserably. “You, um, you startled us. Hii. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright,” Corvus interjects. “I apologize for startling you and…Hii, is it? The cursed doll?”

Fu nods, feeling more pathetic than ever as Semiu carefully brushes glass off his damp lap.

“I’ll call Eishia,” Corvus says, reaching for the phone on his desk.

“N-No, it’s okay, I can still answer your questions!” Fu hurries. “What, um, what was it you asked?”

Corvus and Semiu exchange a look.

“Keep your hands still,” Semiu tells him. “No fidgeting.”

Fu obeys. Corvus slowly draws his hand back from the phone, an odd look on his face.

“You said you came here to be where Enjin is,” Corvus says slowly. “Why?”

Okay. That’s—that’s an easy question.

“Because he…Zodyl, he, um, he left me behind. But Enjin didn’t leave anyone behind. He said he wouldn’t a-and he didn’t.” Fu starts to fidget, but stops himself, biting the inside of his cheek again instead.

He stares down at his hands, pretending not to notice the look Semiu and Corvus share. He doesn’t know what to make of their expressions, so he focuses on his sluggishly bleeding wounds instead. Hii can’t fix him until the shards are out.

“Why did Zodyl leave you?” Corvus asks him. Fu cringes.

“Because…” he wets his dry lips, the chapped skin aching with it. “Because I’m, I’m like this. I need a host, to be told what to do, or I can’t do anything at all. So…”

For a moment, all Fu hears is his own quick heartbeat and shallow, anxious breathing. He doesn’t look up.

“I think I understand,” Corvus finally says. “We can leave it at that for now. We’ll consider it a trial period, I suppose. Semiu, after taking care of his hands, can you show him to one of the free rooms? With an adjacent shower.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Semiu says agreeably.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” Fu mumbles as Semiu helps him out of the chair. The ziplock bag of cookies crinkles slightly in his pocket, Hii pressed into his abdomen, and Semiu shakes her head.

“Don’t worry about it, kid. Now let me bring you to Eishia.”

She guides him, her hold somehow more gentle than it had been before, as he cradles his hands to his stomach and tries not to bleed on the floor.

Fu is hiding in his room. He’s been doing a lot of that—he doesn’t know what he’s allowed to do and what he isn’t, so it’s easier to just stay in place. Follo had briefly appeared before leaving on a job with Rudo, handing him a pile of clothes he could borrow, and Gris had to go with them on that same job so Hii has resorted to piloting the body in the late evenings to go eat—

But it’s scary. He hasn’t seen Enjin and assumes the man is on the same job as Rudo, Follo and Gris. Eating around so many people, even hiding within the shadows of his own mind, his senses muffled by Hii’s control, makes him so anxious that it bleeds through to Hii and he can barely finish half of their meals, much to Hii’s displeasure.

At least his room is closed off and private; not only that, but it’s bigger than any room he’s had in years. Maybe since he was a kid.

On the evening of the third day, though, Enjin appears—with a loud, rhythmic knocking on the door of Fu’s room.

“E-Enjin!” Fu stammers when he opens his door and sees the man, Hii held to his chest. “W-What are you doing here, sir?”

“Picking you up for your appointment,” Enjin grouses, leaning on his door frame. Fu’s gaze darts about, not knowing where to look, because Enjin is wearing short sleeves. “Since you’ve left Eishia waiting all day. Come along and get your shots like a good boy, yeah?”

Fu’s entire brain shuts down. Be a good boy.

“Yessir,” he manages to choke out, moving on autopilot. Enjin drops a hand onto his shoulder, heavy and warm, as he leads him out into the hallway.

The infirmary is empty, the girl who had been there a few days ago—Amo, he thinks—no longer confined to her bed. Eishia isn’t there either, or so Fu thinks, until Enjin leads him to an adjacent room. The placard on the wall next to the door says it’s the Lab; Eishia is inside, frowning over a thick book, her legs tucked under the seat of her office chair.

The door is open and Enjin knocks on the frame, pulling Eishia from her reading.

“I’ve brought your wayward patient,” Enjin announces as they enter.

“Fu!” Eishia exclaims, standing so suddenly her chair wheels back into the desk. “I was waiting for you all day, is everything alright?”

She’s so earnestly worried that Fu abruptly feels bone-crushing guilt.

“I, I didn’t…I thought, you shouldn’t waste resources on me…”

“It’s not a waste,” Eishia tells him, her expression as fierce as her grandma’s. “Now sit down, right here—Enjin, thank you so much for finding him,” she adds as Enjin urges Fu into the chair by the door.

“No worries,” Enjin says breezily. He starts to pull back, moving to leave and Fu reflexively grabs onto his arm in a panic, heedless of the sharp ache in his healing palm when he does. Eishia and Enjin both look startled.

“S-Sorry,” he squeaks, forcing himself to let go. “I, I just. Um. Could you. Stay for a bit, sir? Please.”

“What, are you scared of needles?” Enjin’s tone is joking, but Fu winces and drops his gaze, embarrassed.

“Oh, but, when granny and I took your blood…” Eishia trails off, sounding worried, and Fu starts to grip Hii with both hands and almost drops him because of the pain.

“I, uh. I wasn’t. All there. And I could hold onto Hii, but I…I can’t right now…” Fu is still healing, after all. Eishia hadn’t felt comfortable healing him with her jinki before because of how little energy he had and how Hii might react to her; and Hii hasn’t been able to heal him as quickly, either, because he’s somewhere safe so he doesn’t want to give Fu a worse fever.

Enjin had already been frowning. It deepens, his expression somewhat troubled, and Fu crumples.

“I-I’m sorry, you don’t—you don’t have to, I, I can handle it, it’s just some, some shots—”

“I never said I’d leave,” Enjin interrupts. “It’s alright with you, Eishia?”

“If Fu would be comfortable that way, it’s more than alright,” Eishia confirms, glancing at Fu, who just barely refrains from bursting into tears.

“Thank you,” he manages to get out, his voice audibly choked as Eishia turns to retrieve a small basket from her desk.

“It’s fine. You aren’t used to doctors, are you?” Enjin asks. Fu shakes his head, trying not to tremble as Eishia pulls her chair closer, sitting down and putting the basket on the small table next to where Fu sits.

“Before, um, before I saw Miss Alice, I hadn’t seen a doctor since I was seven.”

“Sheesh,” Enjin shakes his head. “No wonder. Don’t worry, though. You’re in good hands with Alice and Eishia.”

“I-I have a long way to go,” Eishia deflects. “Um. Is it okay if I roll up your sleeve? Or, can you take the hoodie off, if you have a shirt underneath?”

Fu puts Hii between his knees, shakily pulling off his borrowed hoodie. The room feels cold without it and he feels far too exposed in only his ratty old t-shirt. Eishia looks concerned as she wraps her thin fingers around his skinny wrist.

“Have you been eating? I haven’t seen you in the cafeteria much.”

Fu doesn’t know what to say to that.

“Fu,” Enjin says, that frown still on his face. “Did anybody tell you that you can eat when you need to?”

Slowly, Fu shakes his head.

“Hii has been going to the cafeteria in the evenings,” he admits, trying not to pay attention to the elastic Eishia is fitting around upper arm. “B-Because nobody told me it was okay to, so I couldn’t, but Hii was fussing.”

I don’t fuss, Hii lies like a liar.

“You can eat whenever you’re hungry. Three full meals a day,” Enjin tells him.

“Two is okay for now,” Eishia adds hastily. “You might, um, need to work up to it, like Amo! If you aren’t used to eating much. But you need to eat. Light foods like soups are fine for breakfast or lunch until then, but you should have at least one solid meal.”

Fu stares at her, then at Enjin, wide eyed and overwhelmed.

“We’ll stop there after this,” Enjin says. Fu glances towards Eishia when he hears the pop of a cap, sees the syringe, and frantically turns his whole head back towards Enjin, whose expression seems to ease as he leans closer.

“Here. You keep trying not to look, but,” Enjin takes Fu’s bandaged right hand with his own, guiding his fingers to the back of his left hand.

Enjin isn’t just touching him. Fu is touching Enjin. Once more, his brain shuts down. Enjin’s skin is so warm. He had been too anxious when grabbing him before to take notice, but he can’t help but notice it now, taking in the slightest shift in texture as his fingers ghost across the threshold of where Enjin’s tattoo begins.

Fu barely notices the pinch in his left arm. It feels far away compared to the warmth of Enjin’s skin, and Enjin chuckles over him, amused.

“C’mon, don’t be so shy,” he says, putting his hand over Fu’s, until Fu’s whole hand is pressing down on Enjin’s. Fu lets his touch be guided, his whole palm tingling as Enjin’s warmth seeps into him even through the bandages.

Enjin’s hand is big enough to dwarf Fu’s. His fingers, like Eishia’s, can encircle his whole wrist with ease. Fu testingly wraps his fingers around Enjin’s own wrist, but his thumb and forefinger don’t touch at all.

When Fu moves upward, his hold is forcefully broken by how thick Enjin’s forearm is. He drags his hand up, up, across the expanse of black clouds, tracing the thick red and white accents that cut through the dark ink.

He reaches the bend of Enjin’s elbow, the skin softer and with more give. He presses his thumb in, watching in fascination—

“All done!” Eishia declares, startling Fu so badly that Hii is nearly knocked out of his lap and to the floor. He hadn’t even noticed her putting a large, square bandage over his arm, or her taking off the elastic slowing his blood flow.

“Sorry,” Fu squeaks out, feeling mortified as he yanks his hand back. Enjin shakes his head with a strange smile.

“You apologize too much. You need him for anything else, Eishia?” Enjin turns to her, and she nods quickly, looking strangely embarrassed.

“Just for a moment! Fu, can you make sure that…Hii…doesn’t burn out the vaccines? I also have, um, some vitamins and supplements you should be taking. These are very important, okay?”

She explains each one, telling him which meals to take them with, and at the end Enjin says, “I’ll make sure he takes them.”

Fu accepts the bag of vitamins, dazed, as Enjin guides him out of the infirmary with a warm, callused hand on the nape of his neck.

“We’ll go to the cafeteria and get some dinner,” Enjin tells Fu as they leave. “So. Do your shoes fit?”

The question is so unexpected that Fu's steps falter.

“I’m sorry?”

“Do your shoes fit,” Enjin repeats as they turn a corner. “Any pinching? Are they loose?”

“I-I guess there’s some pinching…?” Fu doesn’t understand where this is going.

“Right. You fight with your hands, but you weren’t wearing gloves before. Do you ever?”

“Um, when I was in the North Ward, because it was cold…”

Enjin asks him as many questions as Miss Alice had and a lot of them are the same. Fu answers diligently, because it’s Enjin, who keeps asking him strange questions even as they sit in a corner of the cafeteria to eat.

When was the last time Fu cut his hair? Hii has to tell him it was two years ago. Does he file his nails? He bites them (this makes Enjin grimace). How often does he wash his clothes? He was able to use the machine the Raiders had, since Fu was the one in charge of cleaning and laundry anyway.

When Fu barely picks at his food, Enjin starts feeding him off his own plate while still asking questions, and Fu eats every bite offered on autopilot. He can’t even be anxious about the fact this is an open cafeteria. Enjin is talking to him and feeding him, and that’s all that matters.

He even makes sure to tell Fu to drink his water between bites. Fu thinks he might have died earlier in the afternoon and this is all just a hallucination before he’s sent on his way to whatever is next, but Hii yells at him when he thinks that, so it’s somehow reality.

He also reminds Fu to take his vitamins when the food is finished—when had Fu last eaten a full meal? He can’t remember. He doesn’t even feel nauseous from it, either—and waiting for Fu to do so before guiding him out of the cafeteria.

Again, his hand is on Fu’s neck.

“I’ll take you back to your room,” Enjin says as they leave, passing by a vaguely alarmed looking young lady with long dark hair, “But first, we’re visiting August. Have you met him?”

Fu shakes his head.

“He’s Eishia’s brother. He handles our clothes, uniforms, masks, things like that,” Enjin tells him.

“Oh.” Fu wonders why Enjin is bringing Fu to him, then, but is too happy just being under Enjin’s guiding hand to ask.

Eventually they reach a room on the lower level, and Enjin ignores the WORKING — KEEP OUT!! sign to bang on doors.

“How many times do I have to say I’m busy,” a somewhat masculine voice shouts, the thick iron doors being yanked open. A lanky figure with long hair, a blonde so pale it’s almost white the way his sister’s is, looms over Fu, who is only saved from tipping backwards in a panic because Enjin is right behind him.

“Sorry, August. Did your grandma or Eishia tell you about this guy yet?” Enjin squeezes the back of Fu’s neck gently.

“The ex-Raider?” August looks down at him, or at least Fu can only assume he’s being looked at—his goggles are dark, hiding his eyes from view. “They don’t tell me about their patients.”

His voice is loud but he isn’t shouting every word the way his grandmother had been, and Fu starts to relax under Enjin’s hand.

“He needs shoes,” Enjin tells August. “And gloves. He fights with his hands.”

“Augh, I’m busy with the festival prep!” August groans even as he ushers them inside. “Was your name Fu? Okay, Fu, take off your shoes and socks. Let me get the measuring tape…”

“I-Is all this really necessary?” Fu asks Enjin once the older man has pushed him to sit down on a sofa covered in yards of colorful, brightly-patterned fabric. He fidgets with Hii in his lap. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“We’ll decide if it’s a bother or not,” Enjin says sharply.

So Fu sits still while August takes his measurements—not just his hands and feet, but his arms and the rest of him too, for some reason. He asks about fabric preferences while he does, and Fu just blinks at him in confusion.

“Shoes and gloves,” August mumbles to himself as he kicks them out. “Shoes and gloves. Tomorrow? The day after.”

“Don’t worry,” Enjin tells Fu reassuringly, guiding him back up to the upper levels. “He’s a bit of an oddball, just like his granny, but he gets the job done.”

“Okay,” Fu says agreeably for lack of anything else to say, because he’s barely processed anything that’s happened to him since Enjin knocked on his door.

Like the man promised, he brings Fu back to his room at last—and follows him in.

“Semiu and the boss gave you a room with a shower, yeah? Show me.”

Fu shows him. The adjacent bathroom is a tiny thing but cleaner than anything Fu’s had in years, excluding the times he’s broken into empty hotel rooms.

Enjin goes straight to the medicine cabinet.

“Have you been using the hot water?” He asks as he opens the small cabinet above the sink.

“I-I didn’t think I could…”

“You can and you should. Have you been using these?” Enjin gestures to the products in the cabinet. Fu stares at them blankly.

He had looked at them, confused at their presence on the first night he’d spent here, and hadn’t thought of them since. Enjin sighs.

“Okay. Have you washed your hair?”

“I didn’t think I could,” Fu repeats, miserably hunching his shoulders. He had taken a cold shower. He hasn’t washed his hair since he snuck into a hotel room the day before he found Enjin in Canvas Town.

“Okay. Here’s what I’m going to do. Normally I’d get Riyo—” Fu gives him an alarmed look, and Enjin grimaces, “—yeah, I thought so. Normally I would have her help with this, but I can do it just fine. We’re going to wash your hair. I’m going to trim the dead ends, and then I’m going to show you how to do your nails.”

“Y-You don’t have to—” Fu clamps his mouth shut at the look Enjin gives him.

“If you’re not comfortable with it,” Enjin says after a moment, “Then I won’t.”

“It’s, it’s not that I’m uncomfortable, I just…”

He is uncomfortable, a little bit, but only because he doesn’t understand what is going on.

“It doesn’t have to be now,” Enjin says after a long moment, when Fu’s voice has trailed into an inarticulate mumble. “Or tonight. But Semiu told me what you said to her and the boss. You’re here for me.”

Fu trembles, his grip on Hii tightening regardless of the pain.

“So, Fu. How about we do it like this: you tell me, right now, if you want me to leave. It’s an order, so be honest. And if you don’t tell me to leave, then I’ll take care of you the way you want.”

Fu swallows thickly. It’s an order, he thinks with shameful relief, his grip on Hii loosening enough to no longer be painful. He can want this. He can ask for it, and Enjin will give it to him. Beneath his skin Hii shifts, anticipatory.

“Please,” Fu rasps out, “Take care of me, sir.”

Enjin smiles down at him. The hand that has spent so much time on Fu’s neck now pats his head.

“There we go. Now, do you want to take a shower, or should I wash your hair in the sink?”

Fu wishes Enjin would choose for him, but…

A hot shower. He hasn’t had one in so long. Hii wants one, too, so Fu fidgets and mumbles, “A shower.”

“Good. I’ll go grab a few things while you do that, but I’ll probably be back before you’re finished. Remember to use the shampoo and conditioner.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be thorough,” Fu promises. Enjin pats his hair again.

“Don’t worry about ‘wasting’ the hot water. Relax a little, yeah? I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Fu nods. Enjin leaves; for a long minute after the door to his room shuts, Fu just stands there, the small bathroom feeling far larger than it is without Enjin crowded inside with him.

Finally, though, Fu moves. First he puts Hii on the counter by the sink; he starts to undress, and it’s only as he does so that he realizes he must have left his hoodie in the infirmary.

He stares at himself in the mirror, his own mortified expression staring back. He’s thin and pale, but even though he doesn’t look as sickly as usual, he still looks awful. His dry skin, the mottle of deep bruises on his right arm from where Alice had drawn blood…

And people had seen him like this, probably. How embarrassing.

He shuffles off to start the shower. While the water heats, he peels off his mask, putting it next to Hii on the counter. The shadows under his eyes from lack of restful sleep are bruise-dark, standing out starkly against his sickly pallor.

Fu doesn’t linger on the sight of himself for long. He unwraps the bandages on his hands, checking over his wounds; they’ve closed up, scabbing thickly, and hopefully won’t re-open from the water.

When he steps under the spray of hot water in the narrow shower, Fu almost cries at how good it feels. For a long minute, or maybe several, he just stands under the water, letting the heat soak into his aching body.

But he can’t stay under too long. Even if Enjin encouraged him to use the hot water, he still feels guilty, so he forces himself to actually start washing up.

The bar of soap is nearly scentless, but the shampoo and conditioner carry something faintly floral. It’s mild enough not to overwhelm him the way many scented products do, to his relief, and it feels so nice.

Fu feels cleaner than he has in a long time when he steps out of the shower, shivering and wrapping himself in a thick towel after attempting to dry his hair with it.

Enjin is waiting outside, Hii tells him and Fu hesitantly opens the bathroom door. The difference in temperature makes his skin crawl with a sudden chill, and true to Hii's words, Enjin is waiting; he's sitting at the small desk, fidgeting with the scissors in his hands, but he looks up at the sound of the door.

“Done already?” Enjin sounds surprised as he stands up, scissors glinting in the dim light. The scent of nicotine that clings to him is stronger now as he steps towards Fu; he must have smoked while he was gone.

“A-All done,” Fu confirms, and Enjin urges him back into the bathroom.

“Great. Don’t worry about getting dressed yet, let me do your hair first. I had to borrow these hair shears from Riyo.”

Fu throws a slightly alarmed look at the shears in question, but they look mostly like regular scissors—and don’t look like the girls jinki, so he relaxes a little as Enjin gets him to stand still in front of the sink.

The mirrored doors of the medicine cabinet are less fogged now, Fu’s reflection staring back at him. The hot water and the warmth of the room has left him flushed pink.

“I’ll just trim the dead and split ends,” Enjin tells him. “If you want a proper haircut, Riyo or Semiu are your best bet.”

“I-I think this much is fine,” Fu mumbles, as Enjin takes a lock of hair between his fingers. Fu can see it in the mirror, the damp ends of his hair held between Enjin’s fore and middle fingers.

“You have such nice hair. You haven’t been able to take care of it, but I noticed it earlier. It’s still soft.”

Fu’s face turns a darker shade of pink. He doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing, just bites his cheek while Enjin puts aside the scissors and lifts the hairbrush from where it lay on the counter, near Hii and his mask.

“I’ll brush it out first, then cut it. Okay?”

Fu nods. Enjin catches his gaze in the mirror, expectant.

“Okay,” Fu echoes aloud, voice weak to his own ears, but it’s enough for Enjin. The last time someone other than Fu brushed his hair, it had been Jabber, and Enjin is much more careful than he had been. It’s so soothing that Fu is glad he’s standing upright, or else he might doze off.

“Ready for the trim?” Enjin asks when he’s done, putting the brush aside. Fu nods again, then remembers he should say it aloud.

“Yessir,” he says, and Enjin smiles as he takes the damp end of a lock of hair between his fingers once more. He makes the first cut and the sound of it feels too loud, ringing in Fu’s ears. It’s barely a centimeter’s worth of hair. It drifts to the tile behind Fu, and Enjin continues.

Fu watches him in the mirror—his focused expression, the slight furrow in his brow as he works, slowly and carefully cutting. The sound of the scissors cutting through hair is easy to lose himself in; it’s almost rhythmic. Sometimes he puts his fingers on Fu’s cheek or his jaw without thought, turning his face this way and that as he makes sure it’s all even, and it takes everything for Fu’s knees to not give out.

“Can you turn around for me?” Enjin asks, his voice almost startling after several minutes of gentle snipping being the only noise between them.

Confused, Fu turns around and almost squeaks because of how close they are. Enjin slouches forward a bit, smoothing out Fu’s bangs, and his face burns.

At least Enjin doesn’t comment on his blushing.

“Just need to trim here, too,” is all he says, carefully doing just that. The cut strands of hair drift down in front of Fu’s face, tickling his skin and nearly making him sneeze. When he’s done, he gently turns Fu around and replaces the scissors with the brush again, taking it through Fu’s hair one last time.

It’s not as damp as it had been. Fu stares at himself in the mirror once more, at his blushing face and freshly trimmed hair curling at the ends. It’s a barely noticeable difference but it’s still a difference.

“It’ll be more visible when your hair dries fully,” Enjin says as he brushes Fu’s hair gently. “All done. Do you want to get dressed now?”

Fu nods frantically.

“P-Please.” It’s embarrassing being in only a towel and the accumulated heat in the air from his shower has long since dissipated.

“Go on, then. Tell me when you’re decent and then we can do your nails.”

Fu had almost forgotten about that. Still, he slinks out of the bathroom, quickly grabbing Hii as he goes. Enjin leans against the counter, nudging the door almost entirely shut with his foot behind Fu, who hurriedly rushes to his drawer to pull on some of his borrowed clothes. He’ll probably sleep after this, so he picks thinner, softer pieces.

He dresses with Hii watching from where Fu placed him nearby. He usually observes things through Fu’s own eyes, but he’s been looking through the doll more than usual today—

Keeping an eye on Enjin, Hii says in the back of his head. He’s our prospective host, but I need to make sure he’s a good fit.

And? Fu wonders.

I like him more than Zodyl, Hii sneers the name, making Fu shudder at the wave of animosity that washes through him. Hii goes quiet as Fu pulls a shirt over his head; like most of them, it hangs loosely off his frame, probably another one of Follo’s…really, only the pants fit him properly, which is strange. Fu is too used to clothes that don’t quite fit.

When he taps on the bathroom door, towel under his arm to hang back up, it pushes open, and it looks like while Fu was dressing, Enjin had gotten the dustpan from under the sink to sweep up the mess of hair on the tile.

“You didn’t have to—” Fu starts.

“Don’t worry about it,” Enjin interrupts breezily. “Hey, are those Tomme’s pants?”

Fu looks down. He isn’t sure who Tomme is.

“Well, I suppose she’s one of the closest to your size,” Enjin adds thoughtfully. “Sorry, come on. Nail time.”

“A-Are the nails that important…?” Fu asks hesitantly as he hangs up the towel and Enjin opens the medicine cabinet again to bring out two bottles and a rectangular case.

“Yes,” Enjin’s answer is immediate. “I’ll explain it while I work—here,” he puts aside the items from the cabinet, reaching out and grasping Fu by his narrow hips.

Fu makes a strangled noise. Enjin lifts him, without effort, and deposits him on the counter—and only then does he pause and look slightly guilty.

“Oops. Sorry, I should’ve asked,” he doesn’t sound too sorry, and Fu is grateful he can’t see his reflection facing this way—his face feels positively scorching, his heart thudding nervously in his chest.

“It’s, it’s fine,” he manages to choke out. “Um. I. I left Hii—”

“One sec,” Enjin pats his thigh, ducking out of the room. Fu wants to put his face in his hands and scream; instead he jabs his forefinger into the terrible bruises on his arm and winces at the ache that throbs through the tender skin.

So he’s probably not dead or dreaming. Enjin really, actually, just picked him up like it was nothing, unprompted.

Enjin returns within a few moments with Hii, handing him back to Fu, who accepts him gratefully to keep in his lap. The doll doesn’t need to be with him for Hii to be present—Hii is always with him—but he still prefers to keep it close.

“Okay. Here’s what I’m going to do,” Enjin says, picking up the case he had set aside before. It’s sealed with a zipper, and he opens it, revealing what seems to be a full kit of tools for…something to do with his nails, presumably.

“I’ll file your nails, make sure there are no broken edges or hangnails…things like that. Oh, wow, you pick at your cuticles a lot, huh?”

The words aren’t judgmental but as Enjin takes Fu’s left hand in his, examining his fingers, Fu still feels embarrassed.

“W-When I’m anxious, or…I bite them…”

“No more of that. It’s a tough habit to break, but since you fight with your hands…the risk of infection is too high. You mentioned Hii burns out fever and poisons, but he can only do so much, right?”

“Th-that’s right,” Fu admits. If Hii isn’t careful and gives Fu a full-on fever, he could risk damaging Fu’s brain, and Hii isn’t so confident about his ability to fix that kind of thing.

“That’s why this is important,” Enjin tells him. He doesn’t let go of Fu’s hand as he reaches to the side, pulling out a thin glass nail file. “We’ll go…hm, from pinky to thumb. Like so.”

Fu watches as Enjin gently files the nail of his left pinky—going from the far end to the middle, then repeating from the other side. As close as they are, Fu can see how clean and tidy Enjin’s own hands are—his nails are neatly filed and even, painted with a dark polish that reflect the light as he works, and his cuticles are just as well maintained; they have none of Fu’s scars and scabs from picking and biting with anxiety.

Even now, there’s a long and thin freshly scabbed cut going from his ring finger down to the first knuckle, from a hangnail he had pulled yesterday morning. Enjin clicks his tongue over it when he files that nail, thumb pressing along the edge of the wound, and Fu shivers but thankfully doesn’t make an embarrassing sound.

“So,” Enjin says conversationally as he files down the nail of Fu’s forefinger, “What’s the deal with Hii, exactly?”

“P-Pardon?” Fu’s fingers twitch in Enjin’s hold, startled by the question and making the man glance up briefly through his lashes.

“Like…Semiu corroborated the fact he’s a separate soul,” Enjin says. “But how did you end up with him?”

Oh.

“Um. We met when I was little,” Fu answers awkwardly. People don’t usually…take to Hii very well, but the Cleaners have been pretty good about it so far, since Semiu and the boss could somehow see him. “I was the first person who didn’t get sick around him.”

“Sick,” Enjin repeats, faintly bewildered, filing down his thumbnail.

“Yeah. Hii didn’t have a physical form, before, and being near people made them…sick,” Fu explains. “Except for me. So I let him inside the doll and he took its name too…and then, um, some stuff happened, so he put most of himself inside of me.”

Enjin hums faintly.

“Okay, but…what is he?”

“Uh.” That’s a more difficult question. “We…aren’t really sure? Hii’s sense of self was kind of warped from being isolated and unable to interact with, um, anything, for so long. Maybe he was something like Kuro, once.”

Enjin pauses as he’s uncapping one of the bottles he’d put aside earlier, pouring out some kind of cream onto his fingers.

“…The information broker?” He asks slowly, confused, and Fu winces. Maybe other people can’t…tell?

“He’s, I mean, I don’t think he’s…human,” Fu says. “Especially with what happened to Momoa. The last time she had a reaction like that, uh, she tried to read Hii, but she didn’t go into a coma? She just threw up and bled out of her ears.”

“Just,” Enjin mutters, shaking his head. He starts rubbing the cream into Fu’s fingers, particularly his cuticles, and Fu makes a confused noise.

“Oh, right. This is just to soften the skin a bit more for when I do your cuticles,” Enjin explains. “So. Why didn’t you say anything about Kuro in Tori?”

“I…didn’t think it was important?” Fu cringes as Enjin wipes his fingers on a tissue before taking Fu’s right hand in his.

“I suppose it wasn’t,” Enjin sighs, starting once more from his pinky. “But, really, you—or Hii, I suppose—are way stronger than any of us would have expected. Did the Raiders seriously leave you behind just because you’re like this?”

Like this is said with a vague gesture of the nail file as he moves to the next finger. Fu tries not to shrink in on himself.

“I, um. I guess,” Fu mutters. “He…Zodyl, he never…liked that I need a, a host. It didn’t help that he met Hii first, so…”

So. It was one thing when Zodyl thought he was getting the one he’d found in the old boss’s room, hands soaked in blood, expression furious—Hii had been so, so mad that day—and another to end up with something like Fu.

Fu doesn’t think he wants for much, but everyone else always seems to act like he does. He just wants to be somewhere safe, to have the burden of choice taken from him, to be taken care of—and in return, he’d do almost anything.

“For a guy who yapped so much about hating waste,” Enjin grumbles as he reaches Fu’s ringfinger, more to himself than Fu, “He sure is wasteful. Jeez.”

“Um.” That implies Fu is a resource that Zodyl had wasted; that he’s valuable enough for his abandonment to be wasteful. That’s…

He’s right, Hii sounds smug. Zodyl wasted the opportunity. This one is smarter than him.

“Do you disagree?” Enjin looks up at him, finishing filing down his pinky. “We all saw what you and Hii did. Giving that up because he couldn’t handle the responsibility of taking care of you? That’s a fucking waste.”

“I-I’m not…” Fu’s voice comes out choked, his throat closing up as Enjin reaches for the same bottle he’d used a few minutes ago.

Enjin looks at him for a moment; Fu looks down, face hot, his chest aching under that piercing stare.

“…We’ll work on it,” Enjin says after a moment. He does to Fu’s right hand what he’d done to the left, massaging that cream into his fingers and cuticles. “One thing at a time, I suppose.”

Fu says nothing, because if he tries to speak he might start crying. Instead he watches as Enjin quietly wipes his own hands dry again, then replaces the nail file with a vaguely pen-shaped glass device.

“This is a manicure stick,” Enjin tells him as takes Fu’s left hand once more, not pressing the previous topic. “For cleaning under the nails, exfoliating dead cuticle tissue, and pushing the cuticles back.”

“I’ve never seen one before,” Fu admits. His voice wavers a little, still recovering from his attempt to not burst into tears, and Enjin begins to work; like with the nail file, he starts from the pinky and goes inward.

It feels a little weird, but it isn’t painful, except on his left ring finger—the lingering wound from the hangnail he’d pulled away stings a bit, but it isn’t unbearable. And, to Fu’s surprise, his hand really does look nicer already.

The skin looks cleaner, healthier, the cream from earlier already moisturizing the skin a little, and Fu can’t help but stare as Enjin prepares to move on to his right hand.

“Not bad, right?” Enjin sounds pleased with his own work too as he takes Fu’s right hand. “The real trick is keeping it up. How do you feel about nail polish?”

The question seems sudden, but it must be related to everything else if Enjin is asking it now.

“It’s nice?” Fu winces when his words sound more like a question. “I mean, um. I like it well enough. Jabber would paint mine, sometimes.” It was always nice when he did, because the taste and texture of the polish always stopped Fu from biting into his nails once he brought them to his mouth, and…it just feels nice, having someone do that.

Enjin’s movements pause for the briefest of moments.

“I’ll do yours tomorrow,” he says after a beat. “If you’re alright with it. The stuff is in my room and you’re probably tired, yeah? Just try not to go biting until then. Or picking.”

“You’ve already done all this—” Fu’s protest dies in his throat at the expression Enjin levels him with.

“No more of that, Fu. I’ll say it again, more clearly: if you don’t like something, or you don’t want it, or it actually makes you uncomfortable, then you be honest and tell me. It’s an order, so tell me.” Enjin’s voice dips lower and his grip on Fu’s hand tightens briefly. It feels like he’s got his arm in Fu’s chest instead, squeezing away at his heart, or maybe his lungs. He can barely breathe.

“Otherwise,” Enjin continues, “Let yourself be taken care of. Instead of acting like you aren’t worth the effort, or apologizing, say thank you instead. Do you understand?”

Fu doesn’t answer right away. He physically can’t, his throat closed off, his voice failing to manifest, but Enjin waits. He doesn’t let go of Fu’s hand.

When Enjin said something similar earlier, he’d thought…it was just for this, whatever this is. This task Enjin had taken upon himself for the evening, to make Fu more presentable, more comfortable. But he’s saying it again, in a way that implies he’s going to keep doing this.

Hii is quiet but Fu can feel his satisfaction, his desire. Enjin was the right choice. Fu can belong to Enjin, and Enjin can belong to—

That’s a thought Fu doesn’t complete. A desire he cuts off, even as Hii’s presence inside him sharpens with displeasure over it, but Fu has to remind him that other people aren’t like them. This doesn’t mean Enjin is going to keep him forever, it just means for now, and that’s enough.

“I understand,” Fu finally tries to say, his voice cracking. Then he repeats, quietly, shakily: “I understand, sir. Th…Thank you.”

It feels nice, somehow, to say thank you instead of I’m sorry. To show gratitude instead of apologizing for existing, for wanting something, for needing something, and Enjin’s smile is as much of a reward as his words are.

“Like that,” Enjin tells him, almost gently. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Slowly, Fu shakes his head.

“Now. We’ll worry about that tomorrow, but there’s one more thing I was going to do for you before putting you to bed. Is that alright?”

Fu nods, then once again remembers himself.

“Yes, sir. It’s alright,” his voice is still weak, the words taking effort to get out around the lump in his throat, but Enjin seems pleased.

“Great. The last thing for tonight—” he reaches towards the other of the two bottles he had pulled out earlier, thumbing open the cap, “—is moisturizing lotion for your face.”

Fu freezes, staring at him with wide eyes.

“My…? Is, is that important?”

“Yes,” Enjin’s answer is immediate, just as it had been when Fu questioned him about the nails. “Dry skin is more likely to crack and the face is almost always exposed to the air, except with some of the full-face masks August designs. You don’t want any exposed open wounds when working in the polluted zones.”

As he speaks, he spreads the lotion on the fingers of both his hands, and Fu is barely breathing when Enjin touches both sides of his jaw. It’s damp with the lotion, slightly cool to the touch, and Enjin massages it into his skin gently. Fu is vividly aware of the calluses on his fingers, the heat of his touch. Fu feels dizzy with the heat rising to his face, coaxed further with each firm movement of Enjin’s fingers.

Enjin doesn’t just do his jaw. He moves on to Fu’s cheeks, pressing into the soft give of skin and making Fu resist the urge to bite the insides. This is new. This isn’t like the brief, feather-light touches from when Enjin was trimming his hair.

He adds a bit more lotion to his fingers, rubbing over Fu’s nose, at the thin skin beneath both his eyes, pushing his hair back to get at Fu’s forehead…

“There we go,” Enjin murmurs, thumbing one last smear of lotion near Fu’s left temple before he draws his hands away. “All done.”

Fu tries to let out a sound of agreement. It comes out far too choked and he can only imagine the look on his face as he stares up at Enjin, who once more looks strangely pleased.

“Look at you,” Enjin chuckles a little, patting Fu’s blazing hot cheek with his palm. “You’re cute, you know that?”

Fu doesn’t know that. He wants to speak but if he does—if he does, he really will start crying, and Enjin seems to realize this.

“It’s been a lot, huh,” Enjin says. Fu nods, shaking, and Enjin’s hand is still on his cheek. “Come on. Can you brush your teeth?”

Fu can do that. If Enjin were to do that for him, too, he might actually die on the spot.

“Alright. I’ll give you a minute, then,” Enjin finally pulls his hand back. He rinses his hands in the sink for a moment, wiping them dry, and while he doesn’t pick Fu up this time, he does put his hands on his waist as he guides him off the counter…which is probably for the best, because Fu’s legs feel like jelly and he can barely hold his own weight up when Enjin lets him go.

He ruffles Fu’s hair when he leaves the bathroom, pocketing Riyo’s scissors as he goes. The door closes with a click, and Fu stares at the expanse of white paint for a long, long minute.

Your teeth, idiot, Hii says from somewhere far away. Fu swallows around the heart that’s risen to his throat, as if it’s trying to crawl out of his body, and he puts Hii down on the counter while brushing his teeth on autopilot.

He tries not to look at his reflection as he does. His watery eyes and feverish blush are too embarrassing, even if Enjin had for some reason called him cute—Hii agrees, he is cute, which is why it’s so fun to bully him—shut up, Hii—

Fu manages not to cry while brushing his teeth, in the end. He wipes the back of his mouth after rinsing, forcing himself to glance at himself briefly, and he looks so pathetic that it makes him want to cringe, but…

He swallows and leaves the bathroom behind, lights flicked off and Hii once more in his arms. Enjin is still there, looking out Fu’s window at the dark night sky. It’s a cloudy, starless night, but the lights of nearby buildings illuminate the horizon.

“There you are,” Enjin turns, smiling when Fu enters the room. “C’mere.”

Fu goes. Of course he goes. When he’s within arms length of Enjin, the man himself shifts closer, cupping his jaw with his left hand and leaning down—looking over him, his face, his thumb pressing at Fu’s upper lip to urge his mouth open, and Fu’s entire brain once again shuts down.

“Hm. Your teeth are in better condition than your nails. Very nice,” Enjin mutters, turning Fu’s face left and right, his thumb touching one of Fu’s canines. He’s going to die. He can’t speak, not just because his voice is still just gone but because Enjin’s thumb is in his mouth.

Also, he would rather never have to talk about his neurotic dental hygiene, stemming from the traumatizing moment when he was thirteen and Hii had to rip out a rotting molar from the back of their mouth because the nearest dentist was over a week away and they had been out of money anyway.

Fu can’t be quiet, though. Not entirely. The noise that escapes him is a garbled attempt at a whine, and through the wetness clinging to his lashes, he thinks Enjin’s expression changes.

Disgust, maybe, but Hii laughs at the thought and keeps laughing.

“Sorry, sorry,” Enjin draws his hand away, leaving Fu shaking in place, a line of spit clinging to his chin, his mouth still open. A reedy noise escapes him as Enjin pets his hair with his right hand. “That was a little mean, huh? Ah, you’re really…”

Enjin doesn’t finish the thought. He wipes at Fu’s damp lashes with the fingers of his left hand instead, his right still buried in Fu’s hair, dull nails massaging into his scalp. Fu’s heart is yet again making a valiant attempt to crawl up his throat and out of his mouth.

Fu swallows it back as Enjin wipes his damp chin, eyes strangely bright.

“What are you doing, sir?” Fu finally manages to ask. His voice creaks like a rusty hinge, every word trembling, and Enjin sighs.

“I wonder,” he says vaguely, not an answer at all. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed, yeah? You need your sleep.”

Fu is, in fact, very tired. His arm is starting to hurt from the injections earlier, and the past few hours have just been…so much.

“Alright,” Fu’s voice is a somewhat watery whisper. Enjin looks faintly guilty as he presses Fu into his bed, urging him under the covers after Fu puts Hii by the pillow, and Fu lets it happen. If he thinks about five seconds ago, he might pass away.

“I’ll see you in the morning. Breakfast, then I’ll do your nails. Okay?”

“Okay. Goodnight, sir,” Fu pauses, then adds. “And…um…th-thank you. For all this.”

Enjin smooths his fingers through Fu’s hair again.

“You’re welcome, Fu.”

He turns the light off when he leaves. The lock rattles in his wake; Hii’s doing, because Fu is not leaving the bed. He blinks slowly up at the ceiling, breathing shallowly. He needs to sleep. The weight of Enjin’s thumb against his lip lingers along with the smokey scent of him.

Finally, Hii is murmuring as Fu closes his eyes. Finally, a good host.