Archive of Our Own

His dreams tasted of bitter smoke.

Rudo knows what smoke was supposed to smell like; it hung over the slums like a blanket, the familiar tang of oaks and the heavy scent of ash. But this wasn’t smoke; this was unnatural. It was heavy and damp, metallic, even.

And then he was standing in his doorframe, the scene in front lit in almost a stage light way.

His eyes wandered to the body on the ground, bloodied with the weapon still sticking out like a morbid display. Though he couldn’t see the face of the body, it was distorted, it stretched, and pulled, going through many features but never landing on one. But the sight sent a bolt of panic down his spine.

“This… shitty world…you have to change it…”

Rudo could hear the body say the words, but he felt strangely disconnected. His knees buckled beside the corpse that had now surely taken its last breath.

Pain lanced through him. It centred beneath his fingertips, trying to uselessly grasp at the body’s shirt, trying to find a way to end this moment, a way to make his pain stop.

He looked at his hands, clawing around crimson cloth. No gloves. No bandages. Just bare tissue. His hands look odd. He brought them to cover the distorted face of his father, and the light poured between the finger bones.

He was dead.

He was nothing but bone.

And then he realised that he was the one dying too.

Rudo came to. He was sweating hard, his sphereite vest soaked through. It was all too hot and close. He tried to draw in a steady breath. It had been a month since his fall, and the moment it all changed still stuck.

He’s so tired of it all. He did not ask for this. He did not want this. He hated everything about it.

He remembers asking how the world could continue spinning after such a tragedy. Rudo wanted to scream at the people pulling him back, wanted to yell at the birds in the trees casting shadows on the bloodspilled home of his, wanted the grass to stop growing and the clouds to stop floating and the trash to quit falling.

As the hours turned to days, and the days to weeks and eventually a month, Rudo has been constantly on the move. His grief stretched every plane of his being. Dimming his rage until it accumulated on this particular night, where the strings holding him up split into two. His grief stretched every plane of his being.

His hands twitched towards his face, itching to claw at it. As if they might push the dream away. But a prominent bolt of pain broke through the thin web of his neveres and raced all the way up his shoulder, freezing them in their motion.

He gasped, eyes darting towards them. His hands were still encased in his gloves that he’s grown so dependent on. A pitiful sound encased the room as Rudo curled around his hands, sticking them between his knees.

His hands stayed there, shaking like crude ceramic figures baked until the verge of cracking. He sniffed, burrowing into his mattress.

His dream’s muse always played with him like this, but never did the pain in his hands. Breathing hurt, and a global pain emanated from the tips of his fingers to the cavities of his heart.

If he has his gloves on, why do they hurt so much?

Normally, he’s not just pain–tolerant nor pain-resistant but pain-defiant, but in the thick soup of his brain, this scorched his nerves.

Is it because of that dream? Are death and pain close companions? Do they hurt more with each other?

The markings gnaw at his nerves in a reply. It feels like it's fanning further up his skin. His fingers twitch involuntarily as Rudo let out another grunt he couldn’t hold. The sharp pain drained the last mirth from him. It felt like a physical dying.

He wanted help. He wanted Regto. But Regto is not here. He’ll never be. The thought hurt more than the pain, Rudo thinks. There's no one to help him.

Or rather, there's no one he’s willing to have help him. Team Akuta is there, a grounding hand within the misery. But a funny feeling rose in his chest. He doesn’t want them to see his hands, to have them repeat history. The kids on the sphere tore Rudo apart for his markings decaying into his skin, as if something was wrapped tightly around him, like a curse, as if he’s been skinned. So the idea of them finding out is terrifying.

Pain bled in his joints, failing to catch a cry between his teeth to ground it to silence. Agony cleaved his skull into two, as he lay paralysed.

...

The sound of Rudo’s pain roused the room above. It cradled the sound like an old acoustic locator. Riyo perked up from her craft, a doll with a striped body fitted with a skull head. A signature of hers when she couldn't sleep herself.

She’s far too acquainted with these grunts than she’d like. She usually leaves the teen to his devices during these nights of torment. Riyo was no good at comfort, and she doubts Rudo wants it either, but this night it pains her heart especially—the normal seething sounded desperate like a caged animal begging for release.

She picked up the toy with a sigh, prodding the chest before stuffing it into the back pocket of her shorts. Standing up, she made her way to her window.

The frame creaked and protested under her weight as she dropped onto the one below. Luckily, the window was partly open like an invitation to help. She inhaled deeply, seeing the trembling figure below.

He was curled into a ball on his left side, blankets half haphazardly wrapped around him as he shook. Grunts left his throat to resonate in the silence of the room.

“Oh, Rudo...” She called, slanting from her position on the windowsill to step down beside the bed, avoiding any trash.

The sight in front shouldn’t have sent a pang through her, but it did. She’s gotten soft, but Enjin told her that's a good thing.

She closed her eyes, then reopened them. There was little to be gained by wallowing. She brushed his hair out of his face, making sure that he was seeing her.

“Do you hear me?” She asked.

Wide red eyes stayed empty, his gaze sweeping past her. Before a mantra of coughing erupted from his lips. Riyo bit her own, holding a hand out to sweep the blanket off the trembling body of his to pat his back.

“It’s okay, shhh,” She hummed softly, although she knew he couldn't hear her.

The coughing soon turned into gagging. Rudo’s throat burned like a fire had been lit in his chest cavity, tears daring to climb out of their ducts.

Riyo stammered, her hand inching back towards her. She sat on her ankles, looking at the younger, curled up on his side, fighting for his life.

Anger rose within Riyo; it was the kind of anger that came from helplessness, that made wild animals snarl and bite. And helplessness was something she hated.

Her eyes glanced at his hidden hands, and she wanted to kill his parents. Rudo never spoke of them; she didn’t know if they were dead or alive, but no matter which, she would kill them again. She shook her head, thinking the impossible wouldn't help Rudo.

Her hand rested upon his head, as his gagging died to heavy huffs.

“Rudo, can you hear me?”

She called out again. But the teen didn’t respond.

Rather, he curled further onto himself, his hands intertwined with each other in a weak embrace against his chest. A spear of hungry pain bolted up his forearm to the elbow as he did so.

Riyo continued to comb through white curls, placing her head onto the mattress. She stayed like that for a moment or two before a loud, prominent “Fuck!” Rang hopelessly in front of her.

Her head shot back up, her eyes lying inseparably fused to red.

“So…fu-cking….sick of t-this…”

“I know you are.” The girl cooed.

The teen froze, his eyes moving towards her. “Ri..yo”?

“Finally with me, huh?” She smiled softly.

“Was I–” A grunt interrupted, “Was I n-not?”

“No, you were kinda…out of it."

 “G-great.” A noise escaped him. It was a thin sound, an animal noise of pain. Riyo’s blood iced over again. “S-sorry to worry you, ‘m fine.”

“Yeah, and Enjin doesn't smoke a pack a day.” She patted his head but stopped when a rattling hiss came from the younger. “...It’s your hands, isn't it?”

His eyes closed, then opened again. Right, she knows…and yet didn’t mock him for his hands…

“Yes…” He panted, and pain flared in his hands. There was a terrible yank as if someone was snapping his wrist.

“I thought they only got bad when your gloves are off?” The teen struggled to sit up, so she helped him, mindful of his hands.

“Mm,” He said, “I–I don’t know why they’re bad tonight…”

Riyo grunted as her knees popped, moving to sit beside him on his bed, offering him a support to lean against. “...Where’d you get them, 3R I mean?”

He looked at her with the most dead eyes she had ever seen on him.

“My dad. Not biological. ” Rudo said into his collarbone. For a moment, a vein of bitterness slid into his voice, “Before, sometimes m–moving is more than I could stand…and other days it—it throbbed, but still too much to do anything….Couldn’t even fuckin’ feed myself; I-it was that bad. Mm, I was basically bedridden, it wasn’t fair…” He shook his head, holding up his two trembling hands. “And if y-you think of pitying me, do not. These gloves still work to make it into an ache, usually anyway….Sometimes I wonder if this is the reason my parents abandoned me,” He said in a low voice, dropping them into his lap and leaning on her in exhaustion.

Riyo paused. She knew, by how he said the words, that this was a secret he was willing to take to the grave had she not appeared tonight. This was the most raw, most painful thing he could have entrusted her with.

'It wasn’t fair'. It made her heart ache for him.

“Would painkillers help?”

He blinked, then shook his head, “No. We–We tried on the sphere e-even the strong ones, but they were a-all, ah, useless…mm’ fuckin’ expensive as well…”

“Then, can I help?”

“uh?”

Riyo gestured to his gloves. “You said ages ago it hurts to wash them. And your bandages are a bit loose, they could be the reason you’re hurting, ‘cause they aren't adding that pressure onto your hands. Unless you want dirty gloves and manky bandages. Can I help?” She asked again, softly.

Silence fell between them, and Riyo was sure she had overstepped. Enjin would have known not to push, to leave the teen be and not approach him in the first place. She felt the beginnings of an apology on her lips, but then Rudo spoke up.

“I—If it’s not too much trouble…Please.”

Her brows furrowed as she shifted to reach for his gloved hands. She touched them gingerly, fingers sliding along the fabric. As if testing it.

Getting them off took a few minutes; she knew pain would burst louder once these were off, so she tried her best to make the pressure bearable.

This was the problem with pain, she thought. It refused to be quieted. It devoured, the way flame consumed wood. It took, and it took, and all Rudo could do while she slipped them off was quiver in pain.

Fear that this time the injury would not let up; that this time, the pain would finally conquer him.

In the end, she lay him back onto his pillow, facing upwards, while she stood back on the floor. Riyo rested the gloves securely on top of his bedside table before sliding the wrappings around his arms.

As the bloody bandages unravelled like a tangled knot, yielding to patient fingers, she had the opportunity to thoroughly look at his hands.

True enough, just like the night she chanced to see them, his arms to his palms were discoloured in a charred black with that distinct raging red hue. Blood and blisters coated the wounds that wrapped around Rudo’s arms– a clear juxtaposition between pale skin. Pus leaked out from the wounds, and Riyo’s turmoil over his parents grew ever so much.

“Shit…should’ve asked you this before, but um, where do you keep your medkit?” Rudo’s head lolled to the side on the pillow. There was no crease or wrinkles, nor pain, just nothing.

“Ba…” He struggled, “Bath’woom…”.

“Bathroom, okay.” She breathed out, slowly standing up, “I’ll find it, don’t push yourself.”

Rudo nodded, or at least tried to. He hummed, and Riyo’s heart ached more; she didn’t like how empty it sounded. A sound meant to fill the silence, and nothing more.

His focus was so locked onto his arms resting across his chest that words seemed like a stretch out of the possible. Couldn’t respond because of the weight of his scars, the way lines etched into his hideous skin were weaving between destroyed tissue. It all bore the heavy history he’s forgotten.

Riyo softly clicked her tongue beside him. He blinked owlishly. Didn’t she leave just a moment ago?

“Found it.” She smiled, seemingly knowing his question, holding up a rough, navy green sachet with a white cross knitted into the front.

He closed his eyes. Riyo was looking at him with an expression he couldn’t quite place, but disliked. Sorrowful? Pity? Hate? All three? Why? He’s seen hate the most; it was a familiar face to see on the sphere. Hate was a distasteful hug that he learned to accept with numbness.

But now, seeing it etched on Riyo’s face, although not much, sends unwanted thoughts crowding his mind, leaving him feeling even worse.

The most soothing hum made him open his eyes. Riyo looked down at him. Her face was drawn, and it took Rudo a moment to see wipes clutched in her fist.

“When you're ready.”

He blinked, pulling his legs up and attempted to shift himself away. Though no words were spoken by him, his dismissal was clear. He looked and felt pathetic, kicking his feet like a child working themselves up.

“Hey…What’s wrong?” Riyo was confused. He was okay a second ago–did the pain get worse now that the gloves were off?

“‘Mm…you ha–te me.” He slurred, in the way he spoke, it wasn't a question but a statement. Her face wrinkled, then softened into one of shock, then sorrow.

“No-no, I don’t hate you, Rudo, why’d you say that?”

“Your f–face…m’ seen before–bad.” He panted; breathing took a lot out of him, not to mention talking.

“Oh…” Riyo lifted her free hand and rested it on the crown of his head.

Rudo wheezed. It's almost as if he could feel the heat of her hand entering his skin. The hair around his forehead was so damp with sweat that it was getting frizzy. Still, Riyo brushed them through her knuckles.

“I’m not mad at you. Just…mad at the asshole that did this to you…You said it was your…biological parents, right? Mine were bad too…Not as bad as this, but…” She paused, but her hand never stopped. “Well, the only person I have ever genuinely been afraid of was my father, and the thought of anyone going through something worse is…Well, I don’t know…Sickening, I suppose.”

Rudo blinked through his daze, finally relaxing under Riyo’s hold; his fight leaving him. His mouth turned to open, but he failed to make a sound, lying there like a fish out of water.

She continued, a shallow look in her eye, “...My father and I are more alike than I’d care to admit, whenever I feel pure rage, I know I am my father’s daughter…And just then proved it.”

She had felt her anger burn hot, a flush running through her bones, watching as her friend denied help in response from something she knew very well, and there she knew she would gladly kill again for his safety.

“...S–same. they said…like fa–ther, like son when I…f–fell.”

Rudo wanted to say more; wanted to show that his unfiltered rage–the rage he showed with Amo wasn’t nothing. It was a rage lingering from his dammed parents. It’s a heavy burden to have this much rage; yet he couldn't vocalise it.

“Guess we’re the same, eh, with all this anger?” She laughed, combing through his hair one last time. “I suppose it’s what makes us cleaners.”

Rudo strained himself. The talk was almost a comfort, familiarity in a situation that felt like no other. A strange wave of homesickness flushed through him like a haunt. Memory taps a gun to his inner skull, but he cannot find an answer within himself.

The pain in his bones begins to smoulder, and white-hot pain beams from his fingers more excruciating; he’s been without gloves for far too long or has it been the mental circus he went through?

Riyo clapped, bringing him out of his daze. “Enough of this sap talk, let's clean these hands of yours, shall we?”

Rudo swallowed again and again, measuring out his breath so that perhaps he might regain some control of himself. Eventually, he lifts his arm out towards the girl, who takes it with a soothing smile.

A warm hand cups his and begins to wipe down each arm. Each second seized his body, wanting nothing but to release blood-curdling screams to be carried through the war-torn body of the teen.

The antibacterial wipes stung like a sharp-toothed creature eating him from the inside. His scars oozed pus and blood into the wipes, dying them in all sorts of murky colours, as Riyo discarded the old to the side to grab the new ones.

His head hurt too much. His body hurt too much. It seemed that everything hurt too much. Every drag of the wipes sent ripples of pain through his hands, causing low growls and pained pants.

Twenty seconds passed, then forty and sixty, and finally the pain started to pull back like the tide going out. It did not die down by much, but slowly, his senses started to send reports back to his brain.

Delicate hands were wrapping his in a soft material that made his heart yearn; they were careful in their movement as if not to wake up a sleeping child.

He kept his eyes closed (when did he close them?), not because he didn't want to see what was happening, but because he thought it would hurt too much to open them.

However, eventually the stillness got too much, so he pulled open his eyes despite their protest.

Rudo was met with an old face, the same one he’s been struggling to recall, and suddenly, he understands everything that weighs on him. Looking at the hands gingerly, wrapping his, that moment makes him think, if he were here, his voice would line his soul with peace, like the girl in front.

He sniffs, rolling his head away. His heart, cold and bitter, seethed as he kept replaying those old memories.

“I’m sorry…just one more wrap to do, and it’ll be over, ‘kay?” Riyo spoke, never pausing in her movements. “I still need to clean your gloves though….”

A grumble wafts from his lips, and instinctively, green eyes shot to red.

“‘S no–t that….’ust miss m’ dad…” He closes his eyes as darkness digs everywhere thinkable. “‘Tupid.” He opens them again, to be met with a blurry face of Riyo.

“It’s not stupid. It’s been exhausting for you, hasn’t it?” She asked, moving to clip the bandages, “It’s been set from the get-go. I mean, Trashbeasts, Raiders, Amo, Raiders again…never once had a moment to yourself, huh?”

He didn’t reply, allowing for the tears sliding down his cheeks to answer for him.

Riyo places Rudo’s hands at his side, offering a hand to those tears, wiping them off his skin. The effort was fertile, but the touch was there. His face was still emotionless, but she knew the teen felt differently.

“Quit trying to bottle it up, Rudo. Just cry, everyone needs a good cry now and again.”

Hiccups eventually occupied the two as Riyo held his now completely bandaged hands.

A broken cry bounded by death. The sobs took him and carried him just as they would; he had no power to stop or stay them. He could not moderate his grief, but he found no urge to do so.

“I-I’ll never ha–ve him back again.” He rubbed his eyes after his hands curled away from hers in a loose fist, refusing any other position.

“You won’t, you’re right.” She offered, “But I’m here, Team Akuta is here. Not as a replacement, but a distraction. This feeling won't ever just disappear, but it’ll get smaller and so will that feeling in your chest.”

Rudo hiccupped, lowering his hand just so that he could see her. She wore an expression so welcoming it was foreign.

“I do–n’t want to f-forget him though…”

“You won’t. I promise, your dad gave you 3R, that alone is a permanent reminder of him.”

He nods faintly, choosing to attempt to grab the gloves on the table. He held them in a loose grip, shuffling them into his chest so that he could hug them. His arms shook around them, but he didn’t want to let go of the last thing he had of his dad.

“I still need to clean them…”

Rudo huffed before settling his twitching arms off 3R, a silent offer. She took them with a smile.

“How about when I clean these, you tell me about him?” Rudo blinked up at her. “Or maybe after because it might be too rough for you—”

“No!” Rudo interrupted, falling into a coughing fit right after. “Mm, will, don’t care.”

Riyo chuckled something under her breath about him being stubborn before clearing her throat and looking around the room for a moment. Her face painted an expression that seemed to be equally rushing but patient at once.

Eventually, she let out a small ‘ah-hah!’ when her eyes landed on something circular. She reached backwards with 3R safely sitting on her lap to grab at something.

“Does this work or…?” She trailed off as she brought it around, where Rudo could see that it was a black bucket.

He remembered how shattered the bottom was when he found it. It was pitiful, like him. It wasn't even that hard to fix…

“Yeah.”

She beamed, “Great! In that case, I'll put some water in this with some soap and wash them here, then you can talk, and I’ll be able to hear you. Sounds good?”

“Mm…I-It’s clean, right?”

“Uh,” She peered into the bucket, sticking her nose up. “It will be.”

“...It better.”

Rudo tries to smile, to put an eye roll in his voice, but he fails miserably. He hates the crack in his tone, the whining whisper, the too-teethy grin that probably looked like a grimace after watching a trashbeast raid. If he were Riyo, he’d crush his own face.

But she just returns the action, more naturally, warmly, like all was fine.

Cleaning and refilling the bucket didn’t take long in reality, but for Rudo, the pain kept coming back when she left the room.

The fires on his arms raged quietly on. A thin slice of pain behind his finger tips, like a red flash—like a hiss. It cried out in Riyo’s absence. 'Come back' , it roared under a veil of pain.

The hurt existed sullenly, like a thick bed of coals in an errant gust of wind. The pain was both hot and cold, set deep in his flesh like complex networks of poisoned wires.

He tried to sit up but found himself completely unable to pick himself up. He tried harder, using his strength in his torso to pivot, but the pain pinned him down. He was rewarded with slight movement and a great burst of agony. That was all. He made a little muttering sound of pain and frustration.

That's when Riyo came back and helped him up, after (and giving up at) suggesting that he keep lying down. After all, Rudo is still damn stubborn even in so much distress, and she wasn't going to keep fighting that fact.

After making sure he was comfortable sitting alone, situated between cushions, she pushed the gloves into the bucket, seeing the level rise from the leather.

The water, once clean, dyed black from the inside of the bucket, now held hues of red and brown.

She rubbed soap across the metal rings, making them shine before scooping water with one hand and dumping it onto 3R. The progress was slow and dawning, but under the watch of wary red eyes, she forced herself to move with the utmost care. She wanted to show Rudo that she can do this, that he can trust her.

After a second of watching her, Rudo fell into tales of his father. Some stories came pouring out of him under a slow stream of hot tears; others were told with a crease in his lip and a steady voice.

Riyo listened all the same, only adding her comments when needed. She was glad there was someone in Rudo’s life when he needed it the most. Although the world was cruel to the boy, he had someone to come home to with warm arms.

She could not imagine the type of grief he was living through today.

Rudo missed his dad like the polluted zones would miss trash if that were taken away. But still, she will stay by his side to heal this circular staircase of grief, even if it will leave a scar.

Eventually, the cleaning was done, and Riyo tapped the gloves dry with a towel she had grabbed prior in the bathroom. She helped him unclench his hands before slipping the leather back on, letting them rest comfortably on top of bandages.

Then she moved back onto his bed, replacing the pillows Rudo was leaning against with herself. Feeling her back crack, she sighed heavily, feeling more weight on her shoulder as Rudo slumped over completely.

“...Thank you.” He murmured.

“No need to apologise, dude, it’s no problem really, if you need any help just call me.”

He nodded with a slight hum. Rudo has never liked the way his voice sounds when asking for help, how his voice quivers; he didn't want to invite her into his own problems.

Though he supposes his problems are the reason he even joined the cleaners. But that’s different. It’s personal, but it belonged to the raging side of him, not the side where his arms shook with a voiceless shame.

On that side, he only showed Regto, but it feels like the girl next to him could also witness that hurt. It’s a simple ache, this side, it sits behind his ribs, breathing when his wrists throbbed.

“Hey, I can hear the gears turning up in there, watcha thinking about?” She poked his cheek, sending him out of his thoughts.

“Nothing,” He pinched his arm. “...It’s just…I can do shit by myself.”

“Mm, never said you couldn't.”

He shook his head, “I’m not hopeless...”

“You're not, you're right. You're a strong kid.”

Rudo let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. His spiral was short-lived; he was glad for Riyo even though she didn’t say much. Sometimes, simple responses are better than long ones, he supposes.

“...You sound like Dad.”

“And I will take that as a compliment.”

He huffed. “Wasn’t supposed to be.”

Riyo replied with a wordless smile, and they just sat there side by side for a moment. simply existing next to each other, doing absolutely nothing. But, somehow, everything in his world felt quieter.

Normally, he would've been a flushing mess, but he’s beyond that now. Especially after this, no longer does he see her as someone like Chiwa, but someone like Regto, family, someone to rely on: a sister.

After a while, she questioned. “Does it hurt still?”

He shifted his arms out, testing by unclenching his fists and dragging a finger over each palm.

“No...The pain’s kinda…gone.” He sniffed. More or less, anyway. That dull static ache had settled into his palms—familiar and welcoming.

“Mm, thought so. I looked up a bunch of stuff on my phone and in books when I saw your hands that night to see what I can help you with. Obviously, couldn't find Jack, but I cross-referenced those bandages you have to compression sleeves and put the two and two together. So it was the bandages.” 

“You did that…for me?”

“Hell, yeah, I did, that's what I’m here for as a friend.” She smiled, softly nudging him with the shoulder he rested on.

“A friend…” He found himself reciting.

“Mm, and so is the rest of the team. We all care about you, Ruds.”

“Ruds?” He cringed with a gentle huff, shaking his head before dropping into a scowl, “...I—I don’t know if I should tell them or not…What if they don’t like my hands—me…what should I do?”

“That’s up to you.” She replied, glancing at his fidgety hands, “A future is not given to you. It is something you must take for yourself." She dug through her back pocket with a sigh, “It’s your choice whether to tell them or not. Either way, I’ll be by your side no matter what decision you make, and they’ll never hate you over your hands; that thought wouldn't even go over their minds.”

“Are you sure?” He asked with uncertainty.

“So sure.” She replied with certainty.

Rudo looked down to his knees, tapping a gloved knuckle against his trousers with a slow rhythm.

“Okay…” He breathed out. “I will just…not yet.” ...Because he cannot simply sit and stare at his wounds forever.

“I wasn’t expecting you to. Take your time.” She held something out to him, “Here.”

He stopped his fidgeting to look at the toy in Riyo’s hand. “What's this?"

“A gift.”

He took it in his gloves, flipping it over and staring into its beady eyes, watching his own reflection through them, “But why?”

“‘Cause you keep making shit for us, so I decided to pay you back. Oh, and I made it so you can put it in the microwave, heat it, and put it on your hands. Hopefully it’ll soothe the cramps.”

“Maybe...You made this?”

The pain surged through his palms again.

“Yeah, it’s a little hobby of mine, not many people have this chance of having one of my dolls, you're special.”

“Thank you…I’ll keep him safe.”

“I know you will.” She hummed, “Got a name for him?”

Rudo thought for a second, then nodded fondly, “Regto.” A little foreign smile touched the corners of his mouth.

“That’s a good name.”

She wrapped a hand across his shoulder and combed into his hair. It was disarrayed to hell and back, and she would've cringed had she not witnessed tonight.

Tomorrow, hopefully, he will let her comb it as he fixed his trash. That’d be nice, she thought, catching sight of Rudo fighting his closing eyelids, all while moving to hug Regto.

She kept stroking through his hair, catching stray knots and gently tugging at them until they budged before continuing the movement. It was as soothing to her as to Rudo, who fell victim to his exhaustion.

His soft snores acted as white noise to her ears, and she, too, felt herself relax under his weight. Her eyes fluttered shut, and her hand stilled in its movement.

Before her last blink of the night, Riyo caught herself mumbling old words someone blonde had said to her.

“Goodnight.”