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Kunikida really didn't want to look at the time on his computer. The time is going fast, ticking away— out of his control. But this essay is due at midnight sharp, and God forbid he doesn't turn it perfectly on time. His eyes are watering from the glare of the screen and his hands are shaking from the ungodly amount of caffeine in his system. But God forbid he doesn't turn it perfectly on time. Each tap of the keyboard; each scratch of his pen as he tears at the paper with the drying nib; each bounce of his knee hitting the underside of his desk; they all blend into each other, becoming background noise as he's dead silent—
"Mister Kunikida?" Oh, great.
Kunikida rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands, pushing his glasses up to his forehead. He takes a long breath before pushing his glasses back to the bridge of his nose, taking another moment before turning in his spinning chair to face the kid.
Atsushi's standing there, dressed in one of Kunikida's old shirts. Sometimes he regrets picking up this kid— who really can't be older than six— off the streets, especially in times like these where he's piled in work and genuinely considering dropping out and disappearing into the rice paddies of the countryside. Of course, he wouldn't just throw Atsushi back out like the trash, leaving someone so weak and helpless all alone… it goes against all his ideals stand for (and Katai likes the kid, and might just strangle him to death with Yoshiko if he tried.)
"…it's late," Kunikida speaks the obvious, exhaustion etched into his voice as he places his hands on trembling knees.
Atsushi looks down, playing with his fingers and rocking back and forth on his heels, the hardwood of the dorm room creaking with each motion. "Can't sleep."
"Well, why not?" Kunikida leans back in his chair, opening his arms awkwardly. He isn't good with these sorts of things— he knows he, barely an adult, cannot take care of some street kid. But the humanity in him won't let a single person suffer any longer than they must. He'll give whatever of that humanity is left from grueling exams and mind-numbing lectures to this kid, even if it rips him apart over and over.
"Nightmares," Atsushi responds bluntly, staring at Kunikida with wide eyes, not moving an inch from where he stood. Kunikida purses his lips and puts his hands back onto his lap.
"…have you… have you tried sleeping under Yoshiko?" Katai had— begrudgingly— given up his futon to lay on the main room's floor, near the foyer, so that Atsushi would have somewhere to lay in his and Kunikida's one bedroom dormitory. But Atsushi had not touched it once, quite literally laying right next to it but refusing to touch it, even in his sleep. "I've heard she has magical powers that help people sleep..?" Kunikida struggles to make his words sound convincing, coming out dry and weird. And Atsushi can tell.
"It can't do that."
"…I know," Kunikida gets up from his seat, legs cracking from unuse. Since clearly Atsushi won't come to him, he'll go to the kid. He takes one of Atsushi's restless hands, gently guiding Atsushi to sit on Yoshiko. Atsushi fights it at first, hovering uncertainly, before sitting— Kunikida worries far too much for this random kid, but how could not, when Atsushi had clearly been through something rough? "What did you dream of?" He asks as quietly as he can— knowing Katai is in the other room, and the paper-thin walls will wake his light-sleeping, anxious roommate— bent towards Atsushi to seem 'less menacing'.
Atsushi stays silent, staring down at the floor. Kunikida lets out a tired sigh, straightening his back and putting his hands in the pockets of his sleepwear. "I'll go make some tea, it'll soothe you."
Atsushi goes to shake his head, believing that he, a street rat and a throwaway, is undeserving of a calming drink— a drink in general feels as if he's being spoiled. But Kunikida is already gone into the tight kitchenette, and the sound of water filling the kettle spills out the entryway.
Atsushi looks around the dormitory— shabby and bland, but not unkind to him, not in the way that dingy alleyway he was left to starve was. Even though it was more welcoming, he couldn't find a way to shut his eyes without them flying open and making him shake like a leaf, terrified of the dreams that plague him. Atsushi picks at the stitching on Yoshiko, worn out with love. He picks and yanks with his nails (forcefully cut, when the two first found him— Katai held him so he'd stop screaming and Kunikida cut his far too overgrown, painfully so, nails), grabbing and pulling with his fists, skinny fingers swallowed by the soft futon.
Kunikida reappears like a ghost, silent. But not cold the same way the dead would be. He sets a tray of two teacups and some tea rusks— he's been around Atsushi enough to know that the kid has the appetite of a tiger.
Kunikida sits beside Atsushi, close enough to share the platter, but far enough that Atsushi won't scamper away like a rescue cat. And he tries again. "What did you dream of, brat?"
Atsushi takes the rusk hesitantly, breaking it in between his small hands, watching the crumbs fall onto his lap, stark against the pale yellow shirt he's been so graciously given. The awkward silence breaks finally as Kunikida takes his teacup and brings it to his lips. "It's fine if you don't want to tell me. But I do want to help."
Atsushi crumbles the tea rusk before responding quietly, almost inaudible. But Kunikida's gotten used to hearing quiet words, especially when living with Katai out of all people. "Tiger."
"Tiger?"
"A big one. Chasing me."
Kunikida frowns as Atsushi grits his teeths, scrunching up his face. "Following me. Going to eat me. It comes very close and opens its big mouth. Lots of teeth. But then a man comes and puts his hand to the tiger, and the tiger disappears right when it going to eat me. He looks at me and looks sad. And then… back in old house," The orphanage, Kunikida assumes, as it was the address on the paper slip tied to Atsushi's wrist when he had found him in that box— problem child, free to take. "tiger staring at me through bars. Going to eat me again."
Atsushi sounds as if he's about to cry— Kunikida's having a hard time imagining a tiger, especially with Atsushi's vague descriptions, but Atsushi's voice alone sends a pang of sadness through his heart. One that he's been told is too distant to care.
"A big tiger," Kunikida repeats. Atsushi looks at him, the tea rusk dust in his hands now, crumbs all over the floor— a mess Kunikida will have to clean later.
"Looks just like me," Atsushi whispers.
Kunikida bites his inner cheek. "How so?"
"Looks scared. And really angry," Then the tears began to fall, rolling down Atsushi's cheeks in the dim lighting, eyes glistening with feelings left unsaid. Kunikida looks away from Atsushi; that pang grows into a beating, nasty punches bruising his heart over and over. "everyone always looks angry."
"Even me?" Kunikida blurts without really thinking about it.
Atsushi looks over, confused. Jolted out of his fear by surprise— what feels like an even worse emotion.
"You said everyone," Kunikida says under his breath. "everyone would include me, no?"
"…everyone." Atsushi repeats.
"Well, let me make it clear to you, kid." Kunikida's voice is blunt— he doesn't mean it in a rude way, though. But he must get this across, even if he doesn't know how to really say it well enough. "I'm not angry at you. Anybody who is… has no reason to be."
"They didn't want me." Atsushi hiccups as he whispers, eyes welling back with tears.
"We want you." Kunikida shakes his head, resting one hand on Atsushi's shoulder, testing the waters. And Atsushi, for once, doesn't pull away. "Those people don't deserve you if they think it's… it's alright to make an innocent kid feel that way."
Atsushi looks at his hands, covered with crumbles, the remains of his own destruction— the tiger, tearing apart all that it passes by. That tiger is in him somewhere, and nobody would ever want that tiger. He picks up the teacup, a little too big for his hands, but he'll grow into it one day. Maybe he'll grow into whatever role the world decides for him too, even if that role is to be some… some man-eating tiger. He takes a sip of the now cold tea, having been scared he would burn his tongue, or it'd be bitter— but Kunikida had made it just the perfect way.
Kunikida checks his watch, cursing under his breath at the time. But then he looks over at Atsushi's face, sunken in from the lack of, well, everything. Eyebags from exhaustion, gaunt from going hungry for so long— how could he turn away from that to focus back on some digital world? "Not sleepy yet?"
Atsushi shakes his head.
Kunikida purses his lips. "The nightmares won't come back."
"But what if?"
Kunikida can't lie that he knows they won't— because they probably will, if they've been here for so long. "…damn."
Without another word, he takes Atsushi's teacup gingerly, placing it back on the tray. And he moves forward, pulling Atsushi close.
Atsushi's eyes widen, the most emotion Kunikida's seen from the kid. Atsushi's hands are lifted midair like a prayer to some unforgiving god, staring at the wall behind Kunikida. But Kunikida doesn't let go, squeezing Atsushi as if when he lets go, Atsushi will crack and crumble to where Kunikida cannot piece him together.
He hasn't known this kid long.
Or maybe he has. Maybe it's the same kid who lived inside him for so long, the same child who believed he was nothing, who grasped and clawed and kicked and acted out, because somehow he will make people turn their heads towards him. Mabe it's the same kid who gave up rather quick, believing that they really did have no purpose— that they were meant to be left to die, that the world will swallow him whole. That the tiger will open it's mouth, and swallow him whole.
Maybe Atsushi is his chance to nuture that kid he silenced so long ago.
Atsushi lets out a hiccup, and then another. Then his tears wet Kunikida's sleeve as the time ticks by in the background, melting way as Atsushi grabs fistfuls of Kunikida's shirt, sobbing as if he had never cried before— as if he'd never been allowed to.
Kunikida simply rubs Atsushi's back silently, eyes trained on the ground behind Atsushi, half-open with a frown on his lips. A frown that slowly lifts as he feels the way Atsushi finally trusts him enough, the feeling that maybe Atsushi will have a reason to prevail the way Kunikida hadn't until it was far too late to turn around.
It's quiet like that for a long time, until Kunikida whispers, voice cracking. "The tiger cannot hurt you, even if it's deep inside you. I swear I'll protect you. I've got you, brat.
Nobody will hurt you again."
Atsushi trembles, lips quivering. "But what if? The tiger… gonna eat me. It's gonna eat me and it gonna hurt."
"Even if it hurts, I'll be right there. To pick you up and make the hurt go away. The tiger cannot hurt you. It can't eat you. I'll stop the tiger. It's my own magic trick, see? With the flick of my wrist, it'll be gone."
"Promise?" Atsushi pulls back, holding his pinky finger out— the way he's seen in the cartoons Katai would leave on when he and Kunikida are busy with their classes.
Kunikida raises a brow before giving Atsushi an awkward smile. He hooks their pinky and pledges, "I promise. You think you can get some rest now?"
Atsushi looks around the dim room, only the lamp on Kunikida's desk lighting the room. He was still scared— what lurks in the dark? What lurks when he closes his eyes, when he gives in?
Kunikida lays on Yoshiko. His essay can wait.
Atsushi stares before following, curling up onto Yoshiko like a cat, right beside Kunikida. Soaking in his warm, soaking in that small sliver of protection— the sliver that blossoms like blood from a cut, but also like petals from a bud.
And he'd like to imagine it's the flower this time around.
Kunikida ruffles Atsushi's hair before closing his eyes.
"Go to sleep. I've got us."
The next morning, Kunikida woke up to his essay turned in— and a camera right over his face, the grin of the lense matching the smug look on his friend and the sleeping smile on Atsushi's finally contented face.