Work Text:
Eugene hated mosquitoes.
As in, hate-hate. He refused to believe those pests had any useful impact on the world.
In his eyes, they were heralds of torture. He despised them with every inch of his mind, body, and soul—but, of course, of fucking course, mosquitoes loved him.
The second he stepped outside during the late afternoons of summer, he'd be sure to return with a minimum of ten new bites every time.
If the irony wasn't enough, Eugene was pretty sure he was allergic to the cunts; every bite he'd get would swell, leak pus—and the itch! Lord, don't get him started on how much it itched. Every time he got a bite he had to bandage it in a futile attempt at ensuring he didn't scratch it bloody.
Underline the word futile. It never worked. He always scratched through the bandage—which made the everything worse because now it both itched, stung, bled and swelled more.
On this, sticky summer's day—the kind where air was thick and no matter what you did you'd always be sweating—Eugene laid atop his bed, hands in kitchen mittens, staring up at the roof of his bedroom, trying not to move a millimetre and desperately trying to block out the maddening itch of the bright red, swollen mosquito bites which littered his pale legs.
It was pure torture. He could feel every subtle, normally ignored, sensation of his sheets against the throbbing sores, he could feel the throbbing, he could feel the itch in stark, skin-crawling clarity.
Yet, he dealt with it. Trying his best to adamantly cling to the old, fuzzy memory of his father telling him that leaving it alone would make it go away quicker than any cream could. However, when you're sitting there, staring up at your beige roof, with mosquito bites that are metaphorically and literally itching to be cured, it's no surprise that Eugene began to conjure up other remedies if his current one fell short.
So far, from previous days, he'd tried putting a spoon in boiling water, then pressing it to the bite, he'd tried making an X with his nails over it and he'd tried freezing it, Unsurprisingly, these all didn't work. Only serving to make it worse.
irregardless, however, as if it was routine to do so, Eugene still filtered through these ideas. Weighing which would be the best at soothing the unbearable prickling on his legs…
Eugene groaned as his mind came up with nothing. Whining and squirming as the itching served as an incessant, unyielding distraction.
He couldn't handle it. He needed to itch—but he knew the consequences.
Eugene was going crazy.
He could feel the itch in his bones.
Eugene reached down and rubbed the grippy plastic mittens against his bites, feeling disappointment flood him as the mittens just…didn't cut it. They weren't like his nails, or the sharp tip of a pen, or whatever other pokey-tipped item he'd used to scratch his bites.
He couldn't handle this hell anymore.
Eugene stood up, threw the mittens off, and marched down to his kitchen before he could think twice. Turning the water up as hot as it could go, and filling a small cup. Plunking an equally small teaspoon in before marching right back to his room. Sitting on the floor and pulling the spoon out, hardly thinking twice before pressing it harshly against a bright, angry, pus-leaking, swollen mound on his calf.
Eugene hissed, sucking in a breath involuntarily. The pain overshadowed the itchiness, and slowly faded into numb tingling.
Eugene didn't care anymore. He'd done this loads of times before—sure, the itchiness would come back, but for maybe 20 minutes he'd be free of it. Free of it long enough to think of a better at-home remedy.
He repeated the process again and again, burning himself again and again without a second thought.
The clock was nearing 18 and the sun already half-set—not taking the heat with it, unfortunately.
Eugene knew he'd have to be quick. Boss usually came at around 18:30, watching over Eugene until he went to sleep, and, depending on whether or not Eugene was going into the office or not, keeping him protected from the nightmares that plagued his mind.
Eugene had discovered Boss'…watching by accident. One night, he had been told to take a break from all the spooky ghost business—which, he was planning on doing, just…not in the mortal world. Well, imagine his surprise when he opened his eyes, sat up, and Boss was staring down at him, arms-crossed and with possibly the most unamused look on the planet.
By the 3rd time this happened, Eugene had realised that Boss wasn't a mind-reader, he just had always been there. During the summer months, his presence became much more noticeable—if the sudden drop in 30 degree temperature to a chilled 20 was anything to go off of.
As if on cue with his thoughts, just as Eugene pressed the iron-hot spoon to another tender sting, the temperature dropped. His heart dropping with it.
Oh, he was screwed.
Without warning, the spoon was flung out of Eugene's hands, and the small cup of now lukewarm water was slid gracefully across the room. Picked up by invisible hands and placed on Eugene's shelf.
Eugene was frozen, and felt his stomach twist and churn as unseen hands planted themselves on his shoulders. Unimpressed and dissapointed energy filling the room as they did so.
A ghostly, equally as unimpressed voice spoke into his ear with startling clarity, sounding as if it came from just beside him—which, it…technically had.
"Eugene. What are you doing?"
Eugene's head snapped towards the voice, but nothing was there.
Eugene swallowed dryly, looking back at his legs—the bites all still numbly tingling, but significantly more red and puffy. He opened his mouth, the words getting caught in his throat as he tried to speak.
"I-I uh…I was just—they itch, so um…I-I…"
Eugene shut his mouth and slumped forward, internally groaning yet taking a second to compose himself enough to speak.
"I-I have bug bites, um…heat…b-burns down proteins in the bite which make it itch, so…"
Eugene murmured, keeping his eyes trained anywhere but the general area where Boss likely was.
Absentmindedly, his hand came up to scratch at a bite which had begun to itch once more—only to immediately retract once the same Phantom hand slapped it away.
"Eugene!"
Boss scolded, his voice tinted with exasperation. Eugene bristled and pouted, leaning against his bed and crossing his arms.
"They're itchy! What else am I meant to do?"
"You live in the age of technology and innovation, where creams and safe remedies exist in abundance. Are you seriously implying you have no other options available but to burn yourself?"
At this, Eugene shut his mouth, slumping further and trying his best not to squirm in his spot. He had nothing to say in rebuttal—Boss was right…Money wasn't the issue either, since anti-itch cream cost maybe 5 to 15 dollars, and the natural remedies were even cheaper.
Eugene's pout deepened, and he climbed up onto his bed, hissing in a mix of pain and uncomfortableness when a bite brushed against his blanket. Eugene yanked his lamp off, plunging the room into almost darkness—his fairy lights were still lit, meaning he could still see the room around him—and allowing for the faint silhouette of Boss to become visible. Tall, dark, and almost menacing, his bright white eyes cutting through the darkness like blades.
Boss seemed to be watching Eugene curiously, clearly awaiting an answer or rebuttal…
Eugene's eyes somehow made their way to Boss' hands, which gripped his signature keepsake.
Boss had long hands, with long, sharp nails almost perfectly manicured into 10 spear-like claws…
"Even Aloe-Vera or tea would be a better alternative if you truly can't afford some sort of—"
"…Can you scratch my mozzie bites?"
…In Eugene's defence, the question came tumbling out before he was able to stop it.
Boss blinked at him, clearly bemused by the words that just came out of the scrawny kid he begrudgingly called his son's mouth. Boss seemed just about ready to deny, but Eugene quickly intervened before he could, blabbering the words out before he could think twice.
"Please! I-It's…just that they itch so much a-and I know scratching doesn't fix it b-but…it feels nice"
Boss raised his eyebrow, and hummed. Crossing his arms and seeming to think for a moment, eyes landing on the band-aids which sat on Eugene's bedside table, before returning back to the boy infront of him…considering and evaluating for a few moments.
"I'm not scratching an open wound, Eugene."
Disappointment flooded Eugene, but before he even had a second to speak back or plead more, Boss continued.
"But… I suppose it wouldn't hurt to scratch around it if it'll please you."
Boss seemed almost dissapointed in himself for giving in…but he was fundamentally weak to Eugene's pleading. If the boy asked for something and used that pitiful face which made Boss feel like he was kicking a kitten, nine times out of ten, he would fold.
A silk tendril shot out and grabbed the aforementioned bandages, yanking them to himself as he sat next to Eugene's extended legs. Without further prompting, he began to carefully press the cheap, children's bandages over each individual bite, using two for the particularly worrisome ones.
Despite being 300-odd something years old, Boss couldn't help but find himself impressed and slightly disturbed at how—for lack of a better word— grotesque the bites were. He was almost positive that Eugene had some sort of allergy towards the offending insects…
The silence which blanketed the two was…surprisingly serene. Eugene clearly itched to scratch, but was doing a good job of holding back while Boss worked.
It was almost comical seeing how Eugene had to bite his tongue to keep himself distracted long enough.
It was cute.
As soon as that thought came, it was shoved away.
Boss sighed and carefully adjusted himself to sit against the windowsill and pull Eugene's legs into his lap. Disregarding his precious fan for the moment in order to favour Eugene.
As if testing the waters, Boss extended one finger, and carefully traced circles against the red, irritated skin which peeked out from the bandage. Being cautious as not to hut Eugene.
The shiver that spread through Eugene's body at the simple action was jarring. Did Eugene like scratches that much, or was the bite that itchy?
carefully, Boss used both hands to trace feather-light patterns against Eugene's legs. Alternating between that and gently scraping up and down the length of his leg—both of which were positively recieved.
Eugene felt goosebumps appear along his arms and legs at the sensation of Boss' chilly, sharp nails tenderly scratching his itching legs. It was pure bliss—the itching still remained, but it was blanketed by the pleasant-tingly feeling of being scratched.
Eugene loved it.
His eyes slowly shut, and the outside world faded away to background noise as he focused on the feeling of being scratched so softly, it would've been easy to pass it off as a feather—well, if a feather had sharp points on it.
Eugene wasn't sure how much time passed, he didn't really care either. He was lost in the sensations.
At least, until they stopped.
A pouty whine escaped Eugene before he could stop it, and his eyes weakly fluttered open. brow creasing in confusion as to why the nice feeling stopped.
"W-Why'd…you stop?"
Boss looked at the boy, and smiled. Gently pushing Eugene's legs off his lap and floating upwards in order to get off of the bed.
"It's nearing 19:30, you should start winding down for sleep. Should you not?"
Boss hummed, floating over to Eugene's drawer and beginning to rummage around—pulling out a clean shirt, shorts, socks and underwear before neatly folding it and setting it on the end of Eugene's bed.
Eugene blinked at him as if he was insane, and spluttered indignantly.
"B-But…I-…T-That's not fair! Boss…!"
Eugene whined, pushing himself up into a sitting position, pouting and looking at Boss with the face of pure betrayal.
From across the room, a tsk sounded out, and Boss sighed in exasperation.
"I gave you my undivided, full attention for over an hour. What more do you wish for? More of it?"
Boss didn't look at Eugene as he said this, focusing instead on checking over the boy's backpack to ensure he had everything for school already packed. When he didn't get a reply, he glanced behind him to see a guilty, sheepish Eugene staring down at his knees.
Oh, he actually did want more attention.
The revelation made Boss hesitate and turn to face the sodden Eugene.
"Of course…Eugene, I can't scratch your legs the entire night. It'll irritate your skin and make it even more itchier."
"T-Then you don't have to! I just…"
Eugene's voice trailed off, and he seemed to resort to his default, factory settings whenever he wanted something. To do a complete 180.
"…n-nevermind…it doesn't—"
Boss cut him off—probably a bit too harshly, but he refused to let Eugene sink into a pit of self-doubt and discontent.
"Tell me. What do you want? More scratches? A hug? Do you wish for me to simply sit there and listen?"
Eugene hesitated, but made a move to shake his head.
In the next second, the hem's of Boss' attire were cradling his face. Squishing his cheeks against their oddly firm grip.
"Eugene."
Boss' voice was quieter—gentler. Weirdly fond.
"What would you like?"
The simple question somehow carried the weight of 14 packed busses, and Eugene was left speechless. Blinking up at the white eyes of his mentor. His mouth slightly open, as if he was about to speak, but nothing came out.
After some tense, lengthy moments, Eugene spoke.
"…Stay the night?"
His voice was small, hardly audible, but Boss heard it.
Boss nodded, letting go of Eugene's full cheeks in favour of carefully pulling back Eugene's blanket; waiting for the younger mortal to crawl in before tucking it around Eugene.
With a click of Boss' fingers, all of the remaining fairy lights shut off instantly, leaving the only illumination to come from the moon as it peaked in through Eugene's translucent curtains.
Eugene squeaked in slight surprise, but quickly got comfortable. Trying his hardest to not reach down and scratch over the bandaged stings….
Boss slowly sat on the edge of Eugene's bed, reaching out to card his sharp talons through Eugene's hair. Separating any knots and smoothing out the wayward tuffs of disobedient hair. Gazing down at the rosy-cheeked boy with a level of fondness he had thought himself incapable of feeling a long, long time ago.
Boss had never been the most sentimental person, even when he was human. He had took no wife, sired no children—legitimate or illegitimate, his 'friends' were scarce and closer to simple acquaintances, and he had often neglected his family.
Yet, now, 3 centuries later, this child had somehow, someway, wormed his way into Boss' heart, and had burrowed so deep that there was little to no chance he'd ever get out.
Boss originally didn't know why he had saved the scrawny little tween that fateful day. He had watched as many others were consumed and tore apart without even the slightest inclination to help, yet…this little fawn, stumbling around on lanky legs, had caused him to leap into action.
A tug broke him out of his nostalgic trance, and he was greeted by the sight of Eugene hesitantly tugging on his sleeve, gesturing to the empty spot beside him.
"Y-You don't have to, but…uh…I'd…feel safer if you were here—I-I mean, um…if not that's okay!"
Boss stared in between the boy and the empty spot, slowly nodding and lowering himself to the bed. Using his stored energy to make his form tangible…a little surprise.
The moment Boss' sleeve brushed against Eugene's shoulder, and the boy realised he was "tangible", bony arms and thin legs were both clumsily wrapped around Boss' torso—akin to how a baby koala hangs onto it's mother.
The action caught him off guard, but it wasn't too far off as to what he had expected Eugene to do.
After two years with the boy, he had come to learn things—to notice the small signs, like how Eugene seemed to lean into every touch, how his gaze lingered when couples, friends, or family hugged each other, or on the more obvious instances when Boss had came in to find Eugene rocking back and forth absentmindedly, hugging his shoulders with shut eyes.
Boss knew the younger boy ached for physical affirmation, yet was afraid to seek it out.
It made a place, deep in his chest, buried beneath years of guilt, ache at the thought.
Cautiously, he wrapped his arms around Eugene, waiting a few moments for the boy's tense shoulders to slacken, before silently commanding the hems of his attire to join his arms and wrap around the boy. Cocooning him in a firm, cold embrace.
With an additional hem, boss switched the nearby, albeit worthless, fan off, before wrapping that too around Eugene.
Whether it was to keep him in place and prevent any attempts at itching the offending bites or some unique way at holding his child, Boss would leave that up to interpretation.
Adjusting his attention to the boy in his arms, he saw that Eugene's eyes were already shut. Face pressed against the smooth, cold fabric of Boss' blue-purple Jeogori and, for the first time since summer started, no longer sweating puddles into his sheets.
Eugene felt as though he was surrounded by a non-breathing, undead air-con, and despite how cold he knew he eventually would get, it was a blissful respite from the boiling temperature which lay just beyond the arms which held him.
Eugene sighed and allowed all his stress to drain out of his bones, leaving a soft comfort which Eugene was already dreading the absence of.
He knew, that with Boss all but smothering him like this, Eugene was possibly the most safe a mortal could be. Like this, he was safe from the temperature, from the nightmares and terrors, from other spirits and ghouls, possibly other humans, and, most importantly, he was safe from himself.
As Eugene let the cold comfort rock him to sleep, what felt like ice-cold lips pressed tenderly against his head, and the arms around him tightened by a fraction—almost unnoticeable.
As much as he wanted to stay awake and simmer in the soft moment, the gentle hand of sleep was already sliding his eyes shut, and guiding his consciousness off.