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The rain lashed down, a cold, relentless curtain.
Garou pushed through the warped door, the groan of protesting wood a familiar sound in Z-City’s decaying embrace. Dust motes danced in the slivers of light piercing the grimy windows, revealing rows of dead arcade machines. He tried the back door handle, which stuck. He put his shoulder into it, the wood groaning again. Solid stairs led up to a small, bare apartment, untouched.
He sat with his back to the wall, knees drawn up, listening to the silence. *Temporary,* he told himself.
A week later, no one had come. No heroes, no ambushes.
The world moved on without him.
It was unsettling.
He started fixing things, a cracked cabinet, a dripping sink. His hands needed something to do.
The sound of footsteps and rubble shifting hit him first, quick and alive. He moved towards the window, but the footsteps stopped outside.
Then, a creak on the stairs. His heart slammed. He grabbed a loose pipe. The door opened, pushed by someone he knew all too well.
“Huh,” a voice rumbled, “So this place ain’t abandoned.”
Metal Bat stood there, bruised, his jacket torn, his bat a natural extension of his arm. His eyes narrowed, not in fear, but in recognition.
“…You,” he said.
Garou straightened slowly. “You here to fight?”
Metal Bat snorted. “Nah. If I were, I wouldn’t announce myself.”
Silence stretched.
“Then why are you here?” Garou asked.
Metal Bat shrugged. “Patrol. Monsters have been driftin’ this way for some reason.” His gaze swept the room. “Didn’t expect company.” He paused. “You livin’ here?”
Garou hesitated. Just long enough.
“Huh,” Metal Bat said again, quieter this time. “As long as you’re not causing trouble I don’t really care where you're living.” he shrugs shoving one hand in his pocket.
Garou offered no answer.
Metal Bat scratched the back of his head. “Look. I ain’t here to drag you in or anything. To be honest I really don't get paid enough to do all of that.”
Garou exhaled slowly. “I’m not.”
“Good.” Metal Bat turned towards the door, then stopped. “Hey—”
Garou looked up.
“You got food?”
Garou blinked. “…What?”
Metal Bat grinned, sharp and tired.
“I Didn’t think so.” He left. Garou stood there, heart pounding, a confusion he hated settling in but he went back to fixing up his temporary house.
Metal Bat came back the next night. And the next.
Sometimes he said nothing. Sometimes he dropped a bag on the counter—bread, instant noodles, canned stuff—acting like it was no big deal.
“You’re not gonna steal from stores, right?” he asked once.
Garou stared at the food. “No.”
“Cool.”
Eventually, Metal Bat started sitting on the couch like it was normal. One afternoon, he showed up with a kid. Zenko. She burst in, eyes wide, immediately clocking Garou as Interesting.
“Who’s that?” she demanded.
Metal Bat stiffened. “Zenko—”
“I’m Garou,” he said before Metal Bat could stop him.
Zenko squinted. “You look like you fight a lot.”
Garou huffed. “You’re not wrong.”
Metal Bat groaned. “Don’t encourage her.”
Zenko gasp like she just realized something. “Your the guy my brother was fighting.” she smiled
Zenko crossed her arms lookingdead at him. “You owe me one if I hadn't stepped in when I did you would have lost.” she gave a cheeky grin
Garou chuckled. “Is that so?, then I guess I owe you one”
Zenko grinned. “I like him He’s cool.”
She started coming with Metal Bat sometimes after that. She sat cross-legged on the floor, doing homework with Garou or all 3 of us playing games, completely unbothered.
One day she offered him a snack without looking up. Garou took it. Metal Bat watched from the kitchen, something unreadable in his eyes.
By the time the seasons changed, Garou realized the lie. He wasn’t passing through. He was living there. And Metal Bat, without asking, had decided to stay too.
The first snow fell all three of them made a snowman. somehow Zenko's came out the best out of all three of them.
And Badd’s was by far the worst snowman ever. zenko and I laughed our ass off before he got mad and stormed back inside. leaving us cackling at the monster looking snowman.
Garou hardly remembered moving alone. The apartment, once a stopover, became his.
The couch bought by him, the fridge stocked, the kettle ready. Even the flickering neon from the dead arcade felt like home. Metal Bat stopped pretending he was “just stopping by.” His jacket hung on the hook, his boots in the corner.
Zenko giggled, leaving snacks for Garou, who pretended not to notice.he had a whole system going.
Mornings: Metal Bat brewed coffee. Garou snuck sips. One morning, Badd caught him sneaking a sip. Metal Bat cleared his throat, said nothing, and drank the coffee anyway. Garou smiled.
Afternoons: Zenko ran around, often on the floor with Badd’s phone, taking pictures with me that Metal Bat grumbled about but secretly loved.
Garou leaned against the counter, fixing the faucet, Sometimes he let Zenko help him, he yelled out for a wrench, and she beamed before passing him the wrench and shining the flashlight. Just yesterday we made her a dollhouse, and we even painted it. I let her do most of the work and just told her what to do. It didn't look half bad to be honest.
Evenings: Metal Bat came back bruised. Garou patched him up, hands careful—but sometimes lingering longer than needed. Zenko sometimes shuffled by, offering a snack or tea. Metal Bat gave her a soft, grin before asking what we had been up to that day.
Nights were quiet. Sometimes they watched city lights from the roof. Sometimes they sat in silence. Garou let Metal Bat lean on him. Metal Bat let Garou steal the blanket. The apartment was warm. Easy, soft, unspoken, completely theirs.
One evening, the power flickered out. The apartment went dark, the city muted by snow. Garou grabbed the flashlight. Metal Bat flopped onto the couch, tired. Zenko curled in his lap, headphones in.
They sat. Garou glanced at Metal Bat, expecting a grumble. Instead, Metal Bat leaned back against him, a small exhale. Garou stiffened, then relaxed his arm snaking to wrap around the two of them.
“No need to move,” Metal Bat muttered.
Garou didn’t.
Outside, snow drifted. Inside, the apartment smelled of warm tea, clean laundry, Metal Bat’s cologne, and Garou’s soap. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t perfect. It was just… them.
Garou closed his eyes, the weight of the world fading. Metal Bat shifted, their shoulders brushing. Garou let a small smile slip.
Zenko yawned, stretching, oblivious. “You two are weird,” she mumbled, then fell asleep.
Metal Bat grunted in agreement—
but he didn’t move.
Garou didn’t either. Because finally, after running, hiding, fighting, surviving, he was exactly where he belonged. And for once, he wasn’t alone.