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Rudo has been moody ever since the team returned from the Doll Festival. Of course, Rudo is always ‘moody’, in a way, but this is different.
He's colder. He's distancing himself. It's a stark contrast to all of the progress he'd made in the six weeks he’s spent on the Ground, and Gris really does not like it at all. It's making his skin crawl, like a piece of the universe has slipped out of place and nothing can seem to find its center of gravity.
Okay, sue him, he's being dramatic.
It's hard not to, though, when this cloud of tension around Rudo seems to only swell and darken every day, pulling all of the air out of any room he enters. He's like a double sided magnet, dragging his concerned teammates toward him while also repelling anyone from making contact. It's contradictory. It's ripping Gris apart.
He's been respectful, waiting and letting Akuta take care of their youngest, but none of them seem to be making any progress; Rudo has effectively iced them all out, and none of them have the emotional vulnerability skills to get past his lines of defense.
Gris is done waiting now. Someone has to step in before the situation explodes in everyone’s faces.
That afternoon, after maybe twenty minutes of searching, Gris finds Rudo…sitting on the roof of HQ. He's fiddling with a long string of paperclips hooked together and watching a flock of crows perched on the other side of the building.
Jumping to conclusions and panicking won't solve anything, Gris repeats to himself, as he locks every muscle in his body before he can leap at the boy and drag him further from the edge; he's not even at the edge, actually, just sitting a couple feet from it and facing inwards. It still makes Gris's heart race and sweat grow at the back of his neck.
“Hey, kiddo,” he starts, forcing his voice level.
Rudo doesn't respond, so Gris decides to walk forward, letting the roof access door fall shut behind him.
“D'you come out here often? It's nice and quiet.”
He continues to ignore Gris until one footstep seems to snap him back to reality; he blinks rapidly and his hands jerk in surprise. Gris stops moving. He's only a few feet away now.
Rudo turns. “Oh, hi.” His expression is just as unreadable as always. It's a point of comfort for Gris, because it's familiar.
Gris sits next to Rudo, leaving a foot between them because he knows Rudo likes having his space. “How long have you been up here?”
“Uh.” Rudo looks up at the sky, and then back to Gris. “What time is it?”
“About fifteen hundred.”
Rudo's gaze shifts to the paper clips. “Not…that long.”
He sucks at lying, badly, but Gris doesn't push. “Wanna go get some late lunch? The dining hall is probably empty by now.”
“I'm alright, thanks.”
Okay. Take things slower. “D'you come up here a lot?”
“No. Yes.” Rudo shakes his head. “Uh, I didn't until recently.”
“It's nice up here.”
“Yeah.”
Fuck, this is hard. “Though, could you please let someone know you're coming up here before disappearing? We get scared when you go missing for hours at a time without any heads up.”
Rudo returns to eerie silence. His hands halt all movement. “Okay,” he murmurs.
Gris feels like he's trying to deactivate a bomb blindfolded. Everything is off; this is still Rudo, but his entire demeanor has been shifted a foot to the left. Alarm bells keep ringing in the back of Gris's head with every lie, every uncanny behavior.
“Anything new with you? New projects?”
Light returns to Rudo's eyes and Gris relaxes minutely. “Yeah, actually, a while ago Enjin took me trash picking and I found this big TV. I was gonna use it on a job but Enjin said it's too heavy to lug around, which is bullshit, but whatever, so I decided I'd try to fix it up instead…”
Gris lets Rudo blabber about his newest works, nodding and asking guiding questions here and there. His shoulders drop and the grip around his heart loosens in relief.
He sighs, smiling, and goes to ruffle the boy's hair-
A hand flies up and smacks Gris's away.
The calm gets swallowed by the cloud rolling back in, glazing over Rudo's eyes and casting a shadow over his face. Damn it.
He looks like he didn't even mean to, like it was a knee jerk reaction, but Rudo's next words contradict that.
“Please don't touch me,” he rushes out.
Gris blinks. “I’m sorry. Force of habit.”
There's something in Rudo's gaze that he hadn't caught before, something wild and volatile like an alien entity staring back at Gris from deep within each pupil. He swallows and is forced to look back to the other side of the roof; the crows are gone now.
“I wish I could fix whatever is going on, but I can't do anything if you keep pushing everyone away.”
Rudo curls in on himself.
“Everyone knows something is off, but you won't clue anyone in-”
“Why d'you do that?” Rudo says just a bit too loud.
“Uh- what?” Gris's train of thought slams on the breaks. He turns toward Rudo again.
“Pat my head,” Rudo elaborates, “and- and give me candy.”
Gris is thoroughly confused, but he's too excited by the hint of progress that he blows right past any hesitation or uncertainty. “It's affectionate? You like candy and we like to see you happy. I thought you were warming up to the hair ruffles, though I know Enjin started it without any permission, probably because of what Riyo said about the texture-”
“Why?” Rudo demands.
“...Because, we love you?” To Gris, it's the most obvious thing in the world. Dirt is brown, trash beasts stink, and the Cleaners love Rudo like family. He is family now, really; he fits in like the puzzle piece that got lost under the couch for months and immediately slides into place once found. “You belong here. We like hanging out with you, and seeing what you're fixing up next, and watching you bicker with Zanka or Dear or Follo about dumb stuff. You're part of the team. So, we don't really like seeing you like…” he gestures vaguely to Rudo's hunched form, “this.”
Throughout Gris's response, Rudo seems to melt slowly, but once he's done talking, the boy tenses up and steels himself again. “Am I-” he struggles to find the right words, “it's not just to make me…act, human?” Rudo makes a face like he's trying to pull his own teeth out, all wide-eyed and unsure. “To ‘placate’ me?”
Gris knows that there are at least a hundred more words Rudo wanted to jam into that question. He can barely even process the ones actually spoken on their own. “What does that mean?” He asks in full honesty.
“Are you scared of me?” Rudo spits. “Deep down, do you think I'm like a wild animal that can't be domesticated? And the only way to stop me from ripping you to bits is that you make sure I know you're the one with the food in your pocket?”
Gris's eyes widen. “Huh?”
Rudo growls and buries his gloves into his hair to squeeze and tug at it. “Answer me,” he pleads, baring his teeth.
“I…” Gris is stuck.
He had had a good number of half-baked theories floating around his head on what's eating at Rudo. Mymo, or the Hell Guard, or Zanka's and Enjin's injuries, or maybe something from the boy's past that he's remembered and bothered by (and the list of things that could possibly be doesn't seem to have an end, partly because Gris doesn't even know where it would start).
Give Gris a million guesses and he never would've gotten it right, apparently. Leave it to Rudo to be unpredictable.
“You should go,” Rudo rasps when Gris doesn't answer. He's shifted his position, now hiding behind bandaged arms folded over his propped up knees.
Gris doesn't let the dismissal get to him. “No, no, what are you talking about?” The words finally click in his head, getting him worked up. “You aren't an animal, that's obvious to anyone with working eyes and a brain. Why would you think that?” Confusion and anger melts into sadness. “Did someone tell you that? Who?”
Rudo doesn't say anything.
Gris takes a risk: he reaches forward and gently rests a hand over one of Rudo's. The kid flinches, but doesn't pull away, to Gris's immediate relief.
“Please, kid. I just wanna help you,” Gris comforts. “You don't have to tell me if you really don't want to, but I'll still be here, whether you like it or not.”
Slowly, cautiously, Rudo raises his head to look at Gris with bloodshot, watery eyes, and a quivering lip.
Gris's heart aches. “Oh, kiddo.” He can't stop himself from scooting forward and pulling the boy against his chest, embracing him tightly.
Rudo doesn't move at first, but he sniffs, and then drops his head against Gris's shoulder, like the puppeteer strings holding him up were cut loose. The tension falls away; the air between them is finally clear.
After a minute, Gris turns his head down to murmur into Rudo's hair. “Are you sure you don't wanna come down and get some lunch? I know you haven't eaten yet today.”
Rudo sighs shakily. “Will you…come with me?”
“Of course,” Gris says.
The two get up slowly and make their way off of the roof.
Nothing has been resolved, not yet, but Gris has his foot in the door now. Whatever it is, it'll be okay, he's sure of it.