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Fshhhhh..
White noise hummed like static in Rudo's head, silencing his thoughts as he lie in a stiff, curled up position. His feet hung off the arm of the couch, arms tucked to his chest while large, warm hands ran through his hair in a soothing gesture. The faint but familiar scent of ink and old paper permeated the air around him.
His head was resting in Regto's lap, eyes closed, chest rising and falling with soft breaths that hitched every so often. His fingers twitched inside the thick fabric of his gloves. The blackened skin beneath his bandages stung—it always did, like burns and pin pricks—but especially today.
Today had hurt.
He'd spent the majority of it sat in his empty room, staring at bare walls that reflected just what he'd felt in the moment—what he almost always felt. Emptiness. Apathy. He'd barely even registered dragging himself across the floor to his wall, not until he felt blood dripping sluggishly down his face, warm and wet. But he hadn't stopped. His head hit hard concrete over and over in a desperate attempt to feel something, anything. Anything other than rage, or that self-hatred that made his stomach curl and his throat burn.
He'd felt lightheaded by the time Regto found him. His father had shouted at him, but only for a moment. Rudo didn't care. It was when Regto had cried for him—sniffling and raising a hand to wipe tears from weary eyes—that Rudo had felt it. A deep, stinging ache in his chest. By hurting himself, he had somehow hurt the only man who cared for him.
He hadn't understood. Not at first.
"Why are you crying?"
"Because I love you, Rudo."
Rudo said nothing else. Love. He'd never felt it before, not that he knew of. But if it hurt, enough to make a person shout and weep, he wasn't sure he ever wanted to.
As Regto wiped his head with a damp towel, Rudo's mind was elsewhere. He thought often about what it would be like to disappear. To cease existing, as if he'd never been born from the start. He wouldn't have to be so angry anymore. That was good. He would be happy, then. Regto would be happy too.
"Would you be happier if I didn't exist?"
The question had come unexpectedly. Regto hadn't answered, but Rudo saw the way his throat bobbed with a painful swallow.
Now, as he lay with his head in his father's lap, a hand running through his hair, Rudo spoke in a quiet voice.
"I don't want you to love me."
Regto's hand paused, fingers twitching.
"Why is that?" He spoke with an audible frown.
"Because I don't want to hurt you. I don't like when you cry."
"..Sorry, kid. I won't cry anymore."
"Will you still love me?"
"Of course."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Don't ever apologize for that. You're my kid. I couldn't stop loving you if I tried."
"...I don't want to hurt you." He repeated.
"You don't hurt me." Regto shifted Rudo to sit up, wrapping strong arms around him in a tight embrace. "I hurt me. By not being good enough to help you. I'm sorry."
"You are good.." Rudo's voice tapered off, fingers clutching weakly at Regto's shawl.
"I'm glad you think that."
Rudo closed his eyes, resting his head against Regto's chest, hearing the calm rhythm of his heart. He stayed like that, counting the beats until sleep took him.
When his eyes opened again, he was met with a dim, gray ceiling, moonlight shining in through the window beside his bed. He lifted his head, glancing around and realizing he was in his room at the cleaner's HQ. With a broken sigh, he lowered his head back to his pillow, suddenly feeling uncomfortably cold. His eyes began to sting, throat itching, and he swallowed dryly, pursing his lips as his shoulders trembled. Soft cries broke through anyway, tears wetting his neck and staining his pillow.