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Regto is dead, but he lives at every stop and turn of Rudo’s thoughts. The sound of his blood squelching clogs his ears suffocatingly, and it replaces every word of affirmation spoken to him. Sometimes, all he can hear is his father’s last words urgently telling him to run. (And sometimes, all Rudo wants to do is run.)
Sometimes, all Rudo wants to do is rot in bed throughout the whole day. If he’s lucky, nightmares of the Sphere will not come to haunt him, whether he’s conscious or unconscious.
In Rudo’s sleep, blurry visuals of Regto come to provide false hope in the illusion that his father’s comfort can be real the next time he opens his eyes, too. Even though his dreams twist and pull at Regto’s face, distort his features until it looks as if he’s frowning down at Rudo, it’s the only time he can have just a few, desperately needed moments with the dead.
It feels as if every cherished memory has been shredded apart, slashed at by the same sword that spilled too much of Regto’s blood, and all that Rudo managed to salvage is what little warmth Regto’s body had left as he was lying on the floor, bleeding out.
But now, Rudo’s a world away from his home. His home, where his father gently wiped the mud off his face after being pushed into it by the other children and held him with protective arms after waking up from a nightmare.
And all Rudo can think is: it’s so, so cold. Everywhere feels so terribly cold without Regto’s love. Regto was the first person to look at him and see a human instead of filth, and clearly the Sphere couldn’t even allow him that much charity.
Yet, no, it’s not just the Sphere. Everyone, no matter how soft or sharp their stares are, how little or grown they are, how aggressive or kind they are, they all feel the same towards Rudo.
They hate him for what he’s already been punished for ever since he was born. It’s as if he was just born wrong, and the only people who see how much he grows are always hurt just by caring for him.
Is Rudo the cursed one, or is he the curse itself?
As much as Rudo is driven by hatred and vengeance, there is another thing you wouldn’t see, not unless you’d care to know him, that pushes him to action: love. Love, for everything that’s been deemed worthless and easily discardable. Love, for those who can bear to witness all of his flaws and still choose to speak to him without disgust.
But Rudo’s love, clouded by grief and spite… Is it really worth giving, if his hands, mangled to deep crimson and an ugly black, aren’t even stable enough to present that love without trembling from pain, rage, and fear?
It hurts. It hurts, and even if he wants to, he can’t even get up nor sob for help because everything is weighing him down, his limbs are too heavy, everything just hurts. He can’t give anything to anyone anymore, he’s far too weak and fragile to even stand upright on his own.
The echoes of his dad weakly calling out his name pound within his eardrums, and Rudo starts to think, Regto doesn’t—didn’t deserve that. I do. I deserve so much worse. I deserve to feel ten times more of the amount of pain he went through. How is it that I can survive falling from the Sphere to the Ground, but I couldn’t even get my own dad proper help?
I deserve this.
Rudo’s forehead thumps against the unfaltering surface of his wall, the pain throughout his whole body only intensifying, and he’s thinking, I deserve this.
The morning sunlight illuminates a sliver of Rudo’s room, and faintly, it occurs to him that he should be getting ready to train with Zanka. But he really doesn’t want to. Even just getting out of bed feels too exhausting. Changing his bandages is always so time-consuming and difficult.
A familiar, helpless rage threatens to burst inside of Rudo’s core, and it takes everything to not start screaming with all the pent up resentment he can’t ever remember not feeling, because it’s the same anger that he’s carried ever since his real father decided the only goodbye gift he could afford for him was chronic pain within every fucking inch of his arms.
It’s the same kind of anger that isn’t merciful enough to be able to be expressed adequately with words nor violence.
Right now though, all he can do is bash in his skull further as the blood on his forehead spills, dark enough to match the same shade of red staining underneath his bandages.
The fury conceals every bit of logical judgment, and the bitterness overrides any visible trace of despair that people may look for as to place reasons for his anger.
Rudo can’t hurt anyone. At least, not right now. No one here deserves to be caught up in his shit more than they already are. It’s always where he comes from that never lets anyone have any time to breathe, and sometimes it’s easier to believe he doesn’t belong anywhere because of that.
After all this time of taking every disdainful stare and bruising strike, Rudo isn’t anything but hateful. The only thing is, he’s alone. He only has himself to hate throughout everything. Hatred has always been with him, and he doesn’t know how to be without it anymore.
It was only a matter of time before Rudo fell back into his old, disappointing ways, and gave in to the voice in his mind saying that hurting himself is the only outlet to his rage.
-
Zanka Nijiku has always been the youngest. At least, that’s how it was back at Kamuatari.
He’s used to being told what to do and being the one punished, not the other way around. But now that he’s joined the Cleaners, there are people just as young as he was once, and they look up to him.
Not just Riyo, but the younger members too, such as Dear, Eishia, and even Guita who’s a true force to be reckoned with. So maybe it shouldn’t be much of a surprise, but something newer that’s been occurring to Zanka, is the fact that Rudo (not so) secretly looks up to him as well.
That being said, why the hell is Zanka still waiting outside HQ’s courtyard after what feels like an hour?
Just what in the world is this shithead doing right now?
Zanka huffs in annoyance, swiftly walking into the building to search for his trainee. He walks with purpose, making his steps intentionally audible.
The additional time it takes to get to Rudo’s room gives him time to think, and he finds himself truly wondering what’s holding up Rudo. The kid doesn’t just disappear for no reason, after all.
He expects to maybe hear him tinkering with the scraps he’s picked up, or maybe even talking with Riyo, since the girl had a habit of sneaking into people’s rooms. But no amount of time could prepare Zanka for the sound of dull, continuous rapping from Rudo’s room, which didn’t stop even when he set his footsteps louder as he approached the door of the room.
The thwacks seem like a pattern, but not entirely consistent. It almost sounds like they’re getting weaker, like whoever was causing the noise had to drain their energy to doing so. A small wave of discomfort overcomes Zanka, but the dread only makes him walk faster.
The door handle easily complies under pressure, and it’s scarily easy to think Rudo simply wants people to barge into his room uninvited.
The sight before Zanka doesn’t speak, but it says the complete opposite.
What the hell?
Before his brain could even form a proper thought, he ends up by Rudo’s side immediately.
“Rudo! What are you doing!?” Zanka yells, eyes scanning over the boy’s whole body then lingering on the spot where most of the blood appears to be. Rudo jolts, having been unaware of his mentor’s presence up until now. Zanka mentally notes the lethargic state and tremors that take up the kid’s scarce movements, unsure of how to help.
Zanka wipes the blood off Rudo’s forehead, searching for the source of the injury, and sure enough, there’s a spot on the boy’s skin that seem like it doesn’t plan to stop bleeding. He swears under his breath, moving away from the crime-like scene to find any gauze around, but a strangled noise emerges from Rudo’s throat and he stops in his tracks.
“What—Rudo, what’s wrong?” Zanka asks hurriedly, looking down at the other in hopes of answers. Rudo’s movements, however, weren’t quickly telling enough for his liking. He repeats the younger boy’s name in stressed frustration, and he’s finally rewarded with eye contact.
Red, dull but wide eyes meet Zanka’s. Rudo doesn’t look away, instead, he stares directly at him as if waiting for him to do something. While Zanka takes in and absorbs every emotion he finds in the younger boy’s eyes, he hears Rudo eventually speak.
“Where- where are you going?” Rudo croaks out, franticness seeping into the tone of his voice.
“Huh? What—Oh, I was goin’ to get some gauze. Are ya hurt anywhere else, Rudo?” Zanka speaks at a rushed pace, feeling an unfamiliar sense of urgency seeing Rudo in such a state.
“… Don’t leave.” Rudo’s voice sounds small now, like it’s unheard of to ask for company after whatever situation this is. Zanka exhales, steeling himself for whatever the other’s next unpredictable response will be.
“I won’t. Just stay here n’ don’t do anything stupid, ‘kay?” He reassures, matching the pitch of Rudo’s voice. Zanka feels conflicted when a low whine escapes out of the kid’s throat, but he wants to fix this issue sooner rather than later. “’M not going anywhere. I’ll be back in a bit, ya jus’ gotta have some trust in me. Do ya have any bandages?”
Rudo’s tense posture falls in defeat. “‘s in the bathroom. Could you… also rewrap my arms as well?” He trails off.
Zanka nods, seeing as Rudo probably isn’t planning on moving anytime soon, he rushes to the bathroom and scans every surface in sight. Fortunately, it doesn’t take long for him to find the roll of bandages, but the only problem is, there was noticeably not enough.
“Fuck,” He mutters, practically racing to the infirmary. Zanka thinks he might’ve gotten a glimpse of Riyo and Enjin heading the way he came from, but they could wait. He twists the handle with much less patience than before.
All his time spent in this room has paid off, as he knows exactly where to find the bandages and rush back to Rudo’s room. Upon looking around the room, Zanka sees the person causing many current problems in the exact same spot he was left at. Convenient, but concerning.
In a heartbeat, Zanka’s back by Rudo’s side again. “Can ya turn in my direction?”
A full body tremble tells him no. Zanka sighs and decides to adjust himself, leaning closer and unrolling the bandages. Rudo’s head was hot to the slightest touch, it almost felt like it would sear his hands if he wasn’t careful.
Zanka pulls his hand away and precisely wraps Rudo’s head all the way around, ensuring it wasn’t too tight but also not loose. “Does your head feel better?”
“‘S better…” Rudo mumbles, resting his head against Zanka’s shoulder.
“Good. I’ll rewrap your arms, then.”
“Just don’t be weird about it.” Rudo mutters quietly. It couldn’t be a pretty sight, that’s for sure, but Zanka wasn’t going to be ‘weird about it’ anyway. He doesn’t have any room to judge.
Carefully removing Rudo’s gloves to the side before unwrapping the bandages, charred flesh was the last thing Zanka expected to deal with. He swallows hard and forces his expression to remain stoic, even as Rudo hisses in pain and tears involuntarily form in his eyes. Zanka makes sure to work as quickly but efficiently as possible, he couldn’t imagine the pain Rudo felt in that moment.
‘How did this happen to you?’ Zanka wants to ask so badly, but he wasn’t sure it was a how, more so a who did this to you. He shouldn’t ask just because he’s curious, there’s nothing he could do with that information anyway. Better not to ask and make Rudo feel uncomfortable.
“Tell me if it’s too tight or too loose.” Zanka says, trying to keep up the pace with Rudo’s trembling arms. The other boy nodded weakly, desperately focusing on the grounding sensation of the firm gauze wrapping around his scars. Thankfully, Zanka’s done this many times before, it just feels more stressful due to the circumstances. A little more, and he’s finally done.
Zanka helps Rudo put his gloves back on, delicately touching the jinki as if it’ll come undone if handled with the slightest negligence. “Better now?”
Rudo manages a small ‘mhm’ of confirmation.
“Good. Now do you wanna explain why I found you bashing your head open?” Zanka speaks, his tone firm, but not pushy nor demanding. He doesn’t expect Rudo to feel comfortable telling him of all people, nor does he prepare for an answer, but Rudo always finds a way to surprise him.
“… Hurts. Everything hurts.”
“What do you mean? Your head?”
“My arms. My head. Heart hurts… Had a nightmare, ‘n I can’t even sleep anymore.” Rudo murmurs, and it’s just now occurring to Zanka that he has no idea how to proceed. Zanka has never comforted nor reassured anyone. He wasn’t made to be soft when everything that he grew up with had treated him roughly. But he can’t just leave Rudo and he doesn’t deserve his awkward silence either. Zanka’s the one asking so many (necessary) questions, after all.
… God, why couldn’t any other Cleaner find Rudo earlier instead of him? (He chooses to ignore the fact that very few people are awake, even now.)
“… Do you want to tell me about it?” Zanka’s voice sounds more unsure than considerate, but he’s trying at least. He should get an A+ for effort.
“You don’t have to coddle me. I’m dumb and I know shouldn’t have done that. You don’t have to say it or anything for me to know it. But… could I at least rest until everything hurts less before we train?” Rudo responds, timbre even weaker and smaller than Zanka’s, as if he’s been defeated in some way.
Zanka doesn’t know what to say. Rudo never talked about himself negatively to him before. All of their past interactions were usually each other defending themselves against one another, whether it was physically or mentally. Zanka’s never seen Rudo lose his fight, his resolve to prove everyone that he’s strong.
Zanka doesn’t know how to help. How would he, if he doesn’t even know how to help himself? He’s seen this exact situation before, somewhere before his time with the Cleaners. He’s seen it happen to himself, just at a different place and a different time. For a moment, Zanka can’t help but see himself in Rudo, despite how different they are.
Zanka thought he deserved the pain, and still does. But to see someone else have the same thought process… it makes him doubt himself. It feels hypocritical to offer any comfort or advice, because that would mean he knows how to fix it, but he still hasn’t fixed himself yet.
It feels like taking Hyo’s eyes and seeing a younger version of himself slowly giving up, quietly getting worse.
Zanka sighs quietly. “‘M not coddling you. I’m not going to lie to you now or ever, you’re an annoying student and all that, but you aren’t stupid for hurting yourself, nor in general. If you were, you wouldn’t even be here in HQ still.”
“Dead with traffickers dragging your corpse, possibly. But you aren’t, and maybe you think that you needed to punish yourself for whatever reason. You don’t need to be hurt to deserve a break, rest is just as important as training.” …
“I know shit’s been rough ever since you came down here, so next time, let someone know that you don’t feel well enough to be up and about. Preferably before I’m outside waiting for over half an hour.”
Rudo nods sluggishly, and somehow, the simplicity of him resting against Zanka is the most awkward part of all of this.
“Sorry for being weak and being so much trouble…” He apologizes quietly. Rudo doesn’t sound unsure nor embarrassed. He sounds exhausted and certain, like he’s repeated this line too many times, to the point it’s lost its original meaning. It’s just that he’s finally speaking it out loud, to the person who’s gotten hurt most because of him. Zanka.
It’s always been Zanka getting the worst of everything every single time they have to fight to live. He wouldn’t have had to if Rudo just hadn’t met Enjin that day. If he’d just died falling from the Sphere. If he’d died instead of…
Rudo’s eyes are glassy, but he doesn’t let himself cry. He hasn’t in so long, the son of a murderer isn’t the one who has a reason to grieve. Even just accepting this help from Zanka isn’t something he deserves, because ever since Rudo joined the Cleaners, all Zanka’s gone through is pain.
It isn’t fair to anyone at all, someone like Zanka shouldn’t look at him and still think of him as someone to be protected instead of thrown away. He should’ve been thrown away by now—
“Rudo. When I said—” Zanka hesitates. “… When I said I won’t leave, I meant it. You’ve always been difficult, but you’re always improving too. So if you’re sorry, prove it. Don’t let the Cleaner’s training go to waste. Get through this, and prove to yourself that being ‘weak’ shouldn’t be enough to stop you from getting better.”
Rudo blinks, processing all the words from his mentor. If anything, he expected to hear the complete opposite about how troublesome he is, and how he should get out of the Cleaners HQ and stop being such a burden. Does Zanka really not think Rudo is a curse on everyone?
“… You mean all that?” Rudo asks, a bit bewildered. There’s no way someone as careful and as smart as Zanka would ever be willing to keep training him.
“Are you really so far gone as to believe—” Zanka starts, “No, I’m just surprised is all.” Rudo interrupted bluntly before he could get a lecture.
“Don’t talk over people, you little shit!” Zanka scolds him anyway. Rudo groans, but the bickering brings him a sense of normalcy that’s been missing at that day. “You know damn well I’d be on your ass if I didn’t think you were improving.”
“I know,” Rudo huffs.
“You’d better, because I’m not going to do all this sappy talk ever again.” Zanka states, knowing very well that he would, if Rudo needed to be reminded of it.
“Whatever... Thanks for bandaging me, even though you didn’t have to.” Rudo retorts, an attempt awful enough at sounding rude that even Zanka knew it meant he was trying to be nicer this once instead of arguing further. Zanka’s eyes soften, and he slowly lifts one hand to pet his student’s hair gently.
“I chose to—I wanted to. The next time you’re in pain again, you don’t have to be alone. So you can call me any time, I don’t need you getting hurt any time soon.”
“Any time?” Rudo asks.
“Anytime.”