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Mo and Krill's Hovel is never really quiet, even when its inhabitants are at rest.
Mo snores, Krill snores, and even if they didn't, there was always some kind of last legs appliance rattling and wheezing along to fill up the empty quiet. The old refrigerator hums and groans, the heater rattles like it's about to go out, and due to the hovel being firmly hidden among New York City's disgusting sewers, the pumping and flow of water is a near constant.
And yet, Pocket finds the noise... comforting.
It's not deathly silent, leaving their thoughts to seize their mind, but not so loud that they can't find a way to sleep... usually.
The weather's gotten too cold for privacy - Pocket remains on their side, one of Mo's arms lazily pressed against their midsection, preventing any form of escape for the evening. Their back is against Mo's stomach, and Krill is wedged between Mo's chest and Pocket's upper back. There's barely enough room for all three of them to share the same pillow, but Krill's angled himself to rest his head on Mo so Pocket has room. The thin, ratty quilt barely helps - most of Pocket's heat is coming from being snuggled up against what they call their family.
Usually, this sort of closeness isn't something they mind - their younger siblings would sometimes sneak into their bed to ease nightmares, because mother and father were out or simply too exhausted to care. Pocket found themselves playing parent more than they wanted to, but...
Pocket finds themself staring at the underside of the bunk bed instead of blissful sleep, dreaming of days before this life. They stare at the top bunk, which has been rearranged and reorganized for storing whatever Mo finds appropriate to have extras of. The wood is faded and sturdy, yet covered in dents and scratches from age and mole claws, leaving Pocket to wonder how old this set up is.
Pocket knows Mo and Krill always have a good story to tell, but never have spoken about how they met. Pocket's never actually asked how they met, but they can tell from Krill's expression that the topic is touchy, and who Krill was before is even more so. Mo will freely admit he came from an unknown mole person colony, and that after he found Krill, they've been together since, but never anything more than that. Krill avoids the topic altogether, only ever saying that if he didn't have Maurice, he'd be dead or worse.
Pocket will not admit to snooping to learn what might have happened, but they have overheard rumors, and wonder of Krill ever felt like they did before that birthday. Unable to find a place to belong, unable to feel safe in their own skin...
They let out a sigh, and feel Krill shift behind them.
"Mm... Kid?"
"I'm still here, Krill."
Krill moves a bit, and Mo stays firmly asleep.
"Something the matter?"
Pocket hesitates.
"No. Just... thinking."
"I'd offer a penny for your thoughts, but you know I don't have that kind of money."
Pocket can't help the smile.
"It's... nothing important. I was just thinking about my life. I wonder if you ever had that feeling, as a kid. That the people around you don't want you."
There's a bit of quiet as Krill shifts again, and Pocket feels thin arms settle on their shoulders in an attempt to hug them. It's more comforting than any hug they ever got from their mother.
Krill stays silent for a beat, and Pocket can almost imagine his expression as he tries to decide what to do.
"Pocket, my past before Mo was not a good one. My parents got rid of me once they realized I wasn't growing fast enough. I survived on the streets of New York, alone, barely able to feed myself - hell, you've seen how Mo keeps track of me. I was hurting, all the time, and I used whatever I could to negate it. My body never felt right, and it still doesn't."
Pocket reaches up to Krill's hands near their chest.
"I wasn't even a fraction of myself until Mo found me. I could go into so many tales of cruelty, but... I won't, because I do not need to look back. I have Mo, I have you, and I have the Tunnel Rats. No amount of reflection on the horrors of being uncomfortable in my own body will help me now."
Pocket remains quiet, letting the rattle of the heater fill in the yawning gap of conversation.
"... I see. I... shouldn't have brought it up."
For some reason, this stings. They can't explain why.
"... Pocket. Tadpole."
Krill presses his nose against the back of Pocket's head.
"I know what you were trying to ask for - and yes, I was similar to you. My body didn't match what I wanted to be, and it took a lot of time and a lot more patience from Mo to get to where I am now. I don't know how similar our stories of self discovery are, but..."
Krill sighs.
"We made it, in the end. We survived where so many others like us didn't."
Pocket hesitates.
"The best we can do is keep living, Pocket. If not for ourselves, then those who we lost along the way. The ones we loved that have fallen behind."
Mo snuffles, finally roused from sleep. Krill shifts away from Pocket, who finds themselves wishing Krill held them for a bit longer. Mo raises his head, and Krill reaches for Mo's cheeks, lightly kissing his nose.
"It's okay, Momo. Get some sleep." Krill coos, and Mo squints at him before relenting with a huff. Mo settles back down on the pillow as Krill turns back to Pocket - who has shifted themselves, turning inwards, reaching out to pull Krill into the previous hug.
Krill doesn't hesitate to return the affection.
"It will be okay, Pocket. Okay? If things change, we figure it out. That's what family does."
Pocket's not sure when they stared tearing up, but between Mo's light squeeze and Krill petting their hair, they started to cry. Mo perks up and pulls them both in.
"It's okay, tadpole. It's gonna be okay."
... and for once, Pocket really believes that.