Chapter Text
Megumi was two when he was first hit with the harsh brutality of the world. Not that he could remember it to a satisfactory level, but he could grasp at certain parts, even in the blurry haze of childhood memories. He could remember the sterile, cold smell of a hospital. He could remember a frail, warm hand in his hair. But the most haunting memory of it all was the silent, anticlimactic sound of death.
He could still remember the peaceful look on his mother’s face as he was dragged out of the hospital, too young to fully realise the gravity of what had just occurred. But he was old enough to realise that the soft hums that he had once heard before came to an abrupt end.
As time passed, so did the memories. He could no longer remember his father’s face without permanent purple shadows engraved underneath his eyes. He could, however, remember the first time he’d had to find his own food and make his own meal, courtesy of his father being passed out in the bathroom.
He remembered the first time he found a beer bottle. Unbeknownst to him, it would be the first of a seemingly infinite number of bottles he would have the honour of stumbling upon.
He was four when a scowl had been fixed upon his face. Still, using what little childlike knowledge he had at the time, he decided that a scowl, a punch, a kick were far better than a frown, a wail, or fat, ugly childish tears that seemed to make his father consume even more cans than usual.
Although at five, his small, secluded life full of misery and loss began to shift. On the first day of school, he had made his way out of the battered door without so much as a good luck. Only the sound of someone violently throwing up was his departing gift. He walked out onto the street, clutching his too-big and too-beat-up backpack as he trudged over broken glass and the occasional needle, kicking past them with his tattered, clunky shoes like it was second nature.
After the cans and glass slowly started to disappear, he began to see what looked to be a bright bundle of colours all mushed into one building. It immediately hurt his dull, monochromatic eyes. As he approached the strange, noisy building, he took note of all the many kids there, but to his confusion, none of them had clunky shoes. Or bags that were too big. Or shabby, unruly hair. Some part of his childlike mind whispered that none of them had probably left with the sound of vomit being their goodbye and good luck.
The closer his sharp eyes began to scan, the more unusual the scene became. Adults dressed in polished, shiny clothes, and their kids alike, hugging. Actually hugging. Not only that, but an onslaught of laughter and smiles from one to another assaulted Megumi’s vision. It didn’t make sense. His caged mind refused to process it as he went as fast as his scraped knees would carry him into the giant coloured block that was the school.
Even when he had finally found refuge from the suffocating joy that stuffed the air outside, his mind and body still refused to cooperate properly. His leg ignored his demands to stop shaking, and his teeth greedily gnawed on his tiny fingernails. His eyes shut before he even instructed them to, in an attempt to block out the overwhelming boom of colour. It still didn’t work. Angry reds and vicious yellows still stabbed through his brain. When he finally worked up enough courage to leave the soft black and look up, all that his vision was consumed with was a tranquil white.
He looked up hesitantly towards the peaceful shade and noticed that a young-looking man was standing before him. He had white, angelic hair and wore an oversized, baggy graphic band shirt that was made up of all kinds of calming greys. His eyes were a pale blue, which also seemed to settle Megumi, and his jeans sat just below his waistline, with a black and dark blue wash on them, pulled up by a studded belt.
He looked down at Megumi, and for the first time in his entire life, Megumi didn’t feel examined or scrutinised. He felt seen.
The strange man crouched down and smirked at Megumi while still keeping enough distance that it wasn’t overwhelming, before speaking. “Hey kid, first day on the job?”
Megumi frantically tried to pull it together but only managed a weak little nod. The man didn’t seem to mind, though, only letting out a grounding chuckle. “Yeah, me too.”
He hesitantly offered Megumi a larger, warm hand, one free of cuts or bruises or drops of alcohol, Megumi noted.
“C’mon kiddo, I’ll keep an eye on ’ya.” He spoke, convincing Megumi to take the hand, and for the first time in his life, Megumi accepted someone’s help as he wrapped his delicate, little fingers around rougher, larger ones.