Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The courtroom air was thick with the smell of ink and old wood polish, the restless shifting of the gallery pressing in like a tide. Klint van Zieks paid it no mind. His focus was on the man standing in the dock — pale, sweating, trembling as the weight of the evidence bore down on him.

“Motive. Opportunity. And now, testimony to seal the matter.”

Klint’s voice carried across the chamber, firm but not theatrical. He never needed to raise it. The facts themselves demanded attention. He laid them out with precision: the knife, the witness’s account of the struggle, the stained sleeve that betrayed the defendant’s attempt to hide the deed. Piece by piece, he constructed the inevitable conclusion.

But when his gaze swept the courtroom, his eyes lingered — not on the jury, nor on the defense counsel fumbling for objections, but on a boy.

A boy no older than seven, sitting stiffly in the gallery. His dark hair looked to be styled in spikes, his jacket too big for a child his size, his small fists clenched white against his knees. The resemblance to the victim was unmistakable.

Her son.

Klint did not allow his expression to shift, though the sight struck deeper than he expected. It was not uncommon for family to appear at such trials, but rarely so young — and rarely so utterly alone.

The proceedings continued, unrelenting. The verdict was inevitable, and when the gavel fell at last, the guilty man sagged as though his bones had given way. The gallery stirred with murmurs of approval and disgust alike. Justice had been served.

But Klint’s eyes strayed once more to the boy.

He did not cry. He did not move. Only the rigid line of his back betrayed the effort it took to remain composed.

Later, as the courtroom emptied, Klint remained by the bench to collect his notes. The boy had not left. He sat on the same bench, small legs dangling above the floor, staring at nothing.

Klint approached before he had consciously decided to.

“You are Ryunosuke Naruhodo,” he said quietly.

The child looked up, startled, as though roused from a dream. His eyes were dark, wide, searching — and far too much grief for his age. He nodded.

Klint felt the answer strike a chord within him. He knew already what the officials’ reports had noted: the boy and his mother had only recently come to London. There was no family here to receive him. No one waiting in Japan, either, save distant relatives who had refused to take him in. A foreigner. An orphan.

Alone.

Klint drew a measured breath. “You should not remain here by yourself. Come.”

The boy hesitated. Then, slowly, he placed his small hand into Klint’s gloved one. His grip was trembling, but steady.

Klint closed his fingers around it with quiet resolve.

Justice had been served today. Yet justice alone could not mend what had been broken. And for the first time in years, Klint found himself moved to act beyond the courtroom.

The boy’s hand was small in his, almost fragile. Klint guided him gently from the courtroom, down the echoing marble corridor where the last murmurs of the public faded into silence.

Inspector Tobias Gregson was waiting near the entrance, his usual harried expression sharpened by fatigue. He straightened when he saw the prosecutor approach, snapping to an awkward salute.

“Lord van Zieks. Fine work in there today. Open and shut case, thanks to your argument.”

Klint inclined his head, but his focus remained on the boy at his side. Ryunosuke stood close, watching the inspector with wary, unblinking eyes.

“Inspector,” Klint said evenly. “This child is Ryunosuke Naruhodo. The victim’s son.”

Gregson shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. “Aye. Poor lad. He’ll be taken into custody for the time being until arrangements can be made.”

“Arrangements?” Klint’s tone sharpened, though he kept his voice low so as not to startle the boy.

Gregson glanced aside. “There’s no family here in London willing to take him, sir. None back in Japan either, from what we’ve gathered. The Foreign Affairs Office has been sniffing about, but…” He trailed off, lowering his voice. “Truth be told, it’ll be difficult. Most institutions won’t take in a boy like him. Not here.”

Klint’s eyes narrowed. He understood without needing the inspector to elaborate: the boy’s eastern heritage marked him. In the eyes of society, he was neither English nor truly welcome.

“And if no one claims him?”

Gregson exhaled through his mustache, frowning. “Then he’ll be placed under government care. State guardianship, perhaps. A ward of the Crown.” His expression softened, almost apologetic. “Not the best life, I’ll admit. Especially for a foreign lad. But it’s all that can be done.”

Beside them, Ryunosuke’s small hand tightened around Klint’s gloved fingers, as though he understood more than his silence suggested. His eyes remained fixed on the polished floor, but his jaw set in a determined line.

Klint felt something stir within him — something he had long schooled himself to suppress. Pity was useless in a courtroom. Compassion did not alter verdicts. And yet…

This child had no one.

No one, save the man who had stood to ensure his mother’s murderer faced justice.

He turned his gaze back to the inspector. “Thank you, Gregson. That will be all.”

Gregson shifted, hesitant. “And the boy, sir? Shall I arrange—?”

“That will not be necessary.” Klint’s tone brooked no argument. “By tomorrow morning, you will have the proper paperwork on your desk. Guardianship. Adoption. Whatever form it must take.”

The inspector blinked, his eyes widening. “Adoption? You mean to—?”

Klint inclined his head, cutting him off with a sharp, final look. “See to it that the process moves without delay.”

Gregson’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before he gave a stiff nod. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

Satisfied, Klint straightened and adjusted his coat. His decision had been made; lingering on it would only invite hesitation. He looked down once more at the boy. Ryunosuke’s dark eyes flicked up to meet his, uncertain but filled with a quiet, desperate hope.

Klint tightened his grip. “Come, Ryunosuke. It is time you were properly seen to.”

Together, they stepped out of the courthouse and into the gray London afternoon.

They stepped out into the damp London air, the courthouse doors closing with a heavy thud behind them. The fog curled low across the street, muffling the sound of carriage wheels. Klint slowed his stride, guiding the boy to a quiet alcove beneath the courthouse steps.

For a long moment, he studied the child. So small. So fragile. Yet those eyes — dark, steady, unflinching — held a strength that most grown men lacked.

“Ryunosuke,” Klint said at last, his voice softer than it had been all day. “You have suffered much in so short a time. To lose your mother, in a land that is not your own… it is more than any child should bear.”

Ryunosuke lowered his gaze, his shoulders tightening as if bracing for another blow.

Klint knelt so their eyes were level. The crimson of his cloak pooled on the damp stone around them, a solemn mantle of authority set aside for a rare moment of tenderness.

“I have spoken with the inspector,” Klint continued. “If you wish, arrangements can be made for the Crown to take responsibility for you. You would live in an institution, under the state’s care. It is… a life of sorts.” His jaw tightened. “But not one I would wish upon you.”

Ryunosuke looked up, confusion flickering in his gaze.

“There is another path,” Klint said, gentling his tone. “I would see you brought into my household. Not as a ward, nor as charity. As my son. My family.”

The boy’s mouth fell slightly open. He blinked rapidly, as if unsure he had understood.

“I will not force this upon you,” Klint added firmly. “The choice must be yours. If you refuse me, I will respect it. But if you would accept… then know that you will never be left without care or protection again.”

For a heartbeat, silence hung between them. The fog shifted, a chill wind stirring the edges of Klint’s coat.

Then, with a trembling hand, Ryunosuke reached out and clutched the front of Klint’s sleeve. His lips quivered as he whispered, in halting English, “Please… I want to stay.”

Klint’s stern expression softened, just enough to betray the weight lifting from his chest. He placed a steady hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Then so it shall be,” he said quietly. “From this day forward, you are my son.”

The words hung in the air, solemn as any oath. And for the first time since the gavel’s fall, the boy’s eyes brightened — not with tears, but with the faintest glimmer of hope.

Chapter Text

The carriage wheels clattered over the wet cobblestones as dusk settled across London, the sky a heavy slate-grey above gaslit streets. Mist curled low along the drive, hugging the earth like breath on glass, and the faint glow of lanterns shimmered through the fog like fireflies lost in a dream.

Inside the carriage, Ryunosuke Naruhodo sat stiffly, hands clasped tightly in his lap. His small shoulders were hunched, his thin coat buttoned all the way to the throat. Each jolt of the carriage made him flinch ever so slightly, though he tried not to show it. He watched the shifting shadows outside with wide, wary eyes, as if they might reach through the glass and pull him away.

He hadn’t spoken in over an hour.

Beside him, Klint van Zieks sat with the calm of someone accustomed to silence. His gloved hand rested gently but firmly on the boy’s shoulder — not gripping, merely present. Reassuring. He could feel the tension in the small frame beside him, like a bird too long caged, too weary to fly.

The boy was cautious, timid, almost furtive — he reminded Klint, in a quiet way, of a small creature navigating a strange world. A mouse, perhaps. One that had learned too early how to move unseen.

As the carriage turned through the wrought-iron gates of the Van Zieks estate, Ryunosuke stiffened. The wheels slowed, creaking slightly on the damp stone, and the horses let out low snorts in the mist. The moment the carriage stopped, the boy pressed just a little closer to Klint’s side, his breath quick and shallow.

“Come,” Klint said gently, his voice low but certain. “There is nothing here that need frighten you.”

Ryunosuke hesitated, then nodded once. He slipped down from the seat with deliberate care, shoes tapping softly on the carriage step. The air outside was cooler than he expected — not cold, exactly, but heavy with damp and filled with the scent of turned earth and chimney smoke.

The estate loomed before him: a grand old house of pale stone, ivy trailing up its flanks, windows glowing with amber light against the growing dark. Warmth beckoned from within, but Ryunosuke’s feet faltered. He paused at the threshold of the open doorway, shrinking into the collar of his coat.

Klint touched his back lightly, guiding him forward.

Inside, the house opened up like an embrace. Firelight danced in the hearth of the front hall. The soft scent of woodsmoke mingled with something gentler — lavender, perhaps, or rosewater. The warmth hit Ryunosuke’s skin like a quiet sigh, and for a moment, he didn’t move at all, afraid it might vanish if he stepped further in.

From the far side of the hall, a woman appeared — tall and poised, her rose-colored hair pinned neatly, dressed in a soft navy gown. Her heels clicked lightly on the floor as she approached, but her expression was anything but stern.

“Klint,” she said, voice brightening with affection as she embraced him briefly. “I didn’t expect you back so early.”

Then her gaze moved — past her husband’s shoulder to the small, quiet figure beside him.

“And who is this young one?” she asked, voice softening, the curiosity in her tone tempered with care.

Klint rested his hand once more on Ryunosuke’s shoulder, grounding him.

“Rosalind,” he said, voice solemn but warm, “this is Ryunosuke Naruhodo. From this day forward, he is our son.”

The silence that followed was brief — only the heartbeat between one breath and the next. Rosalind’s eyes widened just slightly, and then her entire expression shifted, softened. Whatever surprise she felt dissolved under the certainty in Klint’s voice.

She bent slightly, knees flexing as she lowered herself to Ryunosuke’s level, careful not to crowd him.

“Welcome, dear,” she said. “You’ve had a long day, haven’t you? But here…” She smiled, eyes kind. “Here, you will be safe.”

Ryunosuke stared up at her, eyes darting between Klint and Rosalind, uncertain. His lips trembled. “Th-thank you, ma’am,” he whispered, the words nearly lost in the crackling of the hearth behind them. He kept his body small, shoulders drawn in, arms tight to his sides — as if invisibility might still protect him.

Rosalind offered her hand.

Ryunosuke hesitated. His fingers hovered for a long moment before they touched hers — feather-light, like a child brushing the edge of a dream. She didn’t grip or pull, only held the space open for him.

She felt how cold his fingers were, how carefully he moved — every gesture precise and guarded, like a little mouse scurrying across a kitchen floor, unsure if the hand reaching down meant danger or kindness.

Her smile didn’t waver.

“You must be freezing,” she said gently. “Come — let’s get you warm. There’s supper waiting.”

Ryunosuke blinked, uncertain, but he nodded.

And slowly, tentatively, he stepped inside.

A sound on the stairs broke the stillness — measured steps, deliberate and slow, descending the main staircase with purpose. All heads turned.

A boy emerged, no more than seventeen, his hair color a shade darker than Klint's and sharp-eyed. His posture was composed but guarded, the kind of stillness that came from being raised among silences that carried meaning. He paused halfway down, one hand resting on the carved banister, his gaze already fixed on the unfamiliar figure standing beside Klint.

“Barok,” Klint called, voice calm but expectant. “Come here. There is someone I want you to meet.”

Barok didn’t move at first. His eyes narrowed slightly, scanning Ryunosuke with quiet scrutiny. “Someone new?” His voice was low, even, but not without an edge of wariness.

Ryunosuke shrank under the gaze, his fingers curling into the fabric of his coat. He shifted slightly closer to Klint’s side, as if trying to disappear into the man’s shadow. In this grand, echoing room, with its vaulted ceiling and ancestral portraits, he looked smaller than ever — a quiet shape in oversized shoes, still half-lost in the trauma of before. A mouse, surrounded by large, unfamiliar creatures.

Klint’s hand rested on his shoulder. Not as reassurance this time, but as declaration.

“This is Ryunosuke,” he said. “He will be living with us now.”

Barok’s brows drew together, a slight crease forming in his forehead. “Living… here?” His tone wasn’t angry, but puzzled. His eyes darted back to the boy, and something in his expression softened — not much, but enough to mark the shift from suspicion to something more curious.

“Why?”

Klint didn’t blink. “Because he is family. From this day forward, he is my son.”

A pause, then: “And if you would like, he could be your brother.”

The word brother dropped into the silence like a stone into still water. It rippled across the room, tugging at something behind Barok’s composed expression.

Rosalind, standing quietly beside Ryunosuke, gave his hand a gentle squeeze. He gripped hers tightly for a moment, his breathing shallow, his eyes low. Shoulders still hunched, he seemed more shadow than child — pale and quiet, a soft presence waiting to vanish if startled.

Barok’s eyes flicked to Rosalind, then back to the boy.

He took a few steps closer. His expression remained unreadable, but his voice lowered a fraction.

“Then… welcome,” he said. “I suppose.”

Ryunosuke’s head tilted slightly. His hand lifted — trembling, unsure — and extended toward Barok. He hesitated mid-air, unsure whether the gesture would be accepted or ignored.

Barok took it. Firmly, but not unkindly.

Their hands met — small and cold against warm and callused — and a fragile silence settled between them. In that moment, Ryunosuke’s quiet, mouselike presence met Barok’s hesitant curiosity, and something flickered to life: not quite trust, not yet friendship, but the barest beginning of understanding. A question left unanswered, but no longer unasked.

Klint watched from where he stood, arms folded, approval in his silence. “Good,” he said quietly. “From this day forward, look after one another.”

Neither boy spoke, but Barok didn’t let go immediately, and Ryunosuke didn’t pull away.

His eyes flicked upward — first to Klint, then to Rosalind, and finally to the boy before him. His heartbeat thudded in his ears, loud in a way no one else could hear. He was still small, still cautious, still unsure… but no longer entirely alone.

And the feeling lingered. The way he moved, the way he watched — careful, soft, and quiet — left an impression. Like a mouse finding its way out of the dark, beginning to believe that the world might, just might, be safe enough to stay in.

The dining room was long and elegant, the polished oak table set with gleaming silverware and fine china. Candles flickered in tall holders, casting soft shadows against the paneled walls. The air smelled faintly of roast meat, warm bread, and something sweet waiting just out of reach.

Ryunosuke sat quietly, hands folded in his lap. His eyes stayed low, movements small and deliberate, as if afraid to draw too much attention — like a mouse in unfamiliar territory.

Rosalind moved around the table with practiced grace, serving each plate with care. She paused by Ryunosuke and set a steaming bowl of stew before him.

“Eat slowly, dear,” she said gently. “It’s your first meal here. Take your time.”

Ryunosuke’s stomach gave a soft growl of protest. The food smelled foreign but comforting. He hesitated a moment, fingers hovering over the spoon before he picked it up carefully. He took a small bite and chewed quietly, shoulders slightly hunched.

Across the table, Barok watched him over the rim of his glass, arms folded. His gaze lingered—not cold, just curious.

“You eat like a scared animal,” he said, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Quiet, careful… always this timid?”

Ryunosuke flinched but didn’t look up. “I… I try not to bother anyone.”

Barok raised an eyebrow, then shrugged in a way that was more reassuring than dismissive. “Hmph. You won’t bother me.” His tone was neutral, but there was a flicker of something warmer beneath it — the instinct to protect, even if it came out sideways.

When Ryunosuke’s spoon wobbled and a drop of broth splashed onto the tablecloth, Barok reached over and slid a napkin toward him.

“You’ll spill less if you use this,” he said dryly.

Ryunosuke blinked at the gesture, surprised. “Th-thank you.”

Barok leaned back, returning to his meal without further comment, but not before giving a small nod — subtle, but seen. Ryunosuke tucked the napkin into his lap with trembling fingers and took another bite.

Klint sat at the head of the table, silent but not inattentive. His sharp gaze moved between Rosalind, Barok, and the boy beside him. He said nothing, but something in the set of his jaw and the faint curve of his mouth suggested approval. The household was beginning to shift — adjusting, accommodating.

Rosalind refilled Ryunosuke’s teacup, her smile as warm as the drink itself. “Do you like it?” she asked softly.

Ryunosuke sipped carefully. The taste was delicate, the warmth seeping through his chest like a balm. He nodded, a small smile flickering at the corners of his mouth. “Yes… thank you.”

Barok looked up again, more thoughtful this time. “You’re from Japan, right?” he asked. “How’d you end up in London?”

Ryunosuke hesitated. He glanced at Klint, who gave a barely perceptible nod of permission.

“My mother and I… we moved here recently,” he said quietly. “She… she’s gone now.”

A pause. Barok’s expression shifted, the edge of his teasing softening into something else. “I see.” He looked down at his plate, then added, “Well. London manners might be strange at first. But you’ll catch on.”

He gave Ryunosuke a lopsided smirk. “You might even learn to stop scurrying.”

That drew a faint, startled laugh from Ryunosuke — barely a breath — but it was genuine.

Rosalind reached across the table and rested her hand near his. “You’re safe here,” she said gently. “Just try. That’s all we ask.”

Ryunosuke nodded slowly, his voice almost too quiet to hear. “I will.”

Klint’s gaze met his at last — calm, steady, almost paternal. Not the stern eye of a judge, but the quiet assurance of someone willing to stand between him and the world.

The night continued, lit by soft conversation and the sound of cutlery on china. Barok offered occasional corrections on manners, usually paired with teasing commentary that made Ryunosuke both blush and smile. Rosalind smoothed over the awkward silences with warmth, and Klint remained the steady center, silent but present.

By the time dessert arrived — a modest tart with hints of cinnamon and apple — Ryunosuke’s shoulders had relaxed. He still moved with caution, but not fear. He sat straighter. He met Barok’s gaze once without flinching. And though he still felt like a mouse, perhaps now he was a mouse with a home.

Klint allowed himself a small, unseen sigh of relief. Barok might not admit it, but the older boy’s subtle protectiveness toward Ryunosuke was already forming. And in that quiet dining room, among warmth, light, and cautious laughter, Ryunosuke Naruhodo took the first steps toward feeling like he belonged.

After the dinner and a brief tour of the main hall, Klint gestured toward a side corridor. “Ryunosuke, for tonight, you will sleep in one of the guest bedrooms. It is comfortable, and you will have privacy, but tomorrow, we will show you your proper room in the estate.”

Ryunosuke’s small hands gripped the edge of the sleeve of his coat. “A… guest room?” he whispered, voice tentative.

Klint nodded, offering a reassuring smile. “Yes. It is temporary. You’ll have your own room tomorrow, but for now, it will serve.”

Barok followed silently, observing the boy’s careful, almost mouselike movements as he stepped into the quiet corridor. The guest room door was polished and heavy, opening to a space that smelled faintly of lavender and cedar. The bed was large, sheets crisp, the curtains drawn against the night. It was far from small, far from modest — but Ryunosuke’s first reaction was hesitation.

He stepped inside slowly, lowering his gaze, body curling slightly inward. Even surrounded by comfort, he felt like a tiny creature in a strange, enormous world. The chair by the desk was too tall; the bed too wide; the ceiling stretched high above him. He lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, small hands resting carefully on the covers as if afraid to disturb anything.

Rosalind’s voice drifted softly from the doorway. “You’ll sleep here tonight, dear. Everything you need is here. If you want, we can bring a lamp closer to the bed so it isn’t too dark.”

Ryunosuke’s eyes flicked up briefly. “Th-thank you.”

Barok’s tone was gruff but steady. “I’ll be nearby if you need anything. Don’t wander off.”

Ryunosuke nodded silently, ears straining at the faint sounds of the estate settling for the night — the wind brushing against the high windows, the distant creak of floorboards, the soft hiss of the hearth downstairs. Everything was unfamiliar, everything felt large and imposing. Even so, he sensed the presence of Barok and Klint in the house, protective and watchful, and a tiny thread of relief eased his tension.

The day had been overwhelming — the trial, the carriage ride, meeting Klint, Rosalind, and Barok, and walking through this enormous estate that seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction. Everything was new, everything was imposing, and yet… he was safe. For the first time in what felt like forever, no one was accusing him, threatening him, or expecting him to fend for himself.

Still, he couldn’t shake the memory of his mother, or the quiet ache of loneliness that had followed her death. Even here, in comfort and warmth, he felt small, fragile, cautious. He shifted slightly on the bed, ears alert to every sound, eyes scanning the room as though danger could be hiding in the shadows.

A sigh escaped him. “I… I hope I can…” he whispered to himself. The words trailed off, too fragile to complete. Could he belong here? Could he trust these people? Could he truly call this place home?

He pressed his face into the pillow, curling further into himself, letting the soft fabric offer the faintest sense of protection. The estate was vast, and he was small. But he was alive. He had people who cared — Klint, Rosalind, Barok — and for now, that was enough.

Tomorrow, he would see his proper room. Tomorrow, perhaps, he could take another careful step toward belonging. Tonight, he would rest — small, cautious, and in a world that felt far too large.

And somewhere in the quiet darkness, the faintest glimmer of hope flickered, fragile but steady, like a tiny mouse finding a safe corner in a vast, unfamiliar home.