Chapter Text
Hitomi lasted until the orphanage was out of sight, one hand linked with Atsushi’s own as they walked away, and walked their way to their freedom.
A dark duffle bag rested on Hitomi's shoulder, unbalancing the toddler as he moved forward. They were around the same size, Atsushi noticed. An observation he hadn’t been able to make until now, the two of them standing side by side, no chains keeping Atsushi glued to the ground.
They had passed through the halls of the orphanage first. Atsushi had almost felt like he was in a dream, vision hazy as he passed through empty halls, peripherally taking in the cracked wood and jaded stone as he followed Hitomi to his freedom.
Eyes had stared at them as they passed, small and curious, tall and accusing. Atsushi could feel them following him, following them, throughout their entire journey, trailing the back of their heads and following the path of their feet.
Hitomi had paid them no mind, though, so no matter how uncomfortable Atsushi felt with the looks directed his way, he ignored them. It almost made him feel powerful, the way people avoided them.
Oh, they stared, but other than that, they stayed to the shadows. No one pushed Atsushi, hit him, yelled at him. They didn’t do any of that. In fact, they avoided him. Shied away, into the shadows, the moment he got too close.
It was such a contrasting reaction to what he was used to. He more easily expected a kick to the back of his knee, or hand wrapped around his throat compared to this. This hesitation.
It scared him, almost. Their eyes should make him feel like a pinned bug. Like a corned, wounded animal cowering in front of its betters. (In front of its tormentors. Abusers.) And it did. It used to, at least.
But now, with Hitomi by his side, Atsushi couldn’t help but almost relish in the attention. Basking in the idea that, instead of having to be afraid, he could be feared. They couldn’t hurt him, like this. It felt good.
This feeling was quickly forgotten, though, in favor for the wonder and the joy and the disbelief that he felt when passing through the orphanage gates, pushing past rusted metal and sour copper, hearing the loud, long creak of un-oiled doors.
He gets to watch as his previously small, cramped world expands before his eyes. Endless possibilities becoming crystal clear in front of him. His formerly miserable fate turned hopeful.
Atsushi had thought he would live and die here. That he would spend the rest of his life wasting and rotting away in his moldy, mildewy cell. That he would be beaten black and blue for the rest of his days, however short they may be, and that blood and grime would be the only constant in his life other than pain and torment.
For all of his life, he had imagined that, for whatever may remain of his life, that the Headmaster would be the only company that he would have. Soulless brown eyes and a sturdy black whip haunting his every waking moment. He expected torment, and he expected that he would deserve it.
He was a monster after all. A horrid, bleeding being that spread corruption through his very presence. How wrong they were. How cruel they were.
Atsushi was better than them. Hitomi had said so himself. He deserved better than what they gave him. All the ridicule and hate that was thrown his way was undeserved, and in the end, Atsushi had managed to get free.
Of course he did. Hitomi had promised him he would, after all, but Atsushi had been doubtful. It was reasonable. Understandable. Atsushi had been so hurt, so scared. He was afraid of letting anyone too close, afraid of getting burned again. Getting burned worse. What was the saying? Out of the pan, into the fire?
At the time, he hadn’t known of the care that Hitomi gave him. Of the light and the hope he represented. When the brunette stretched his hand towards Atsushi, dirty and bloody and determined, Atsushi thought that he’d never seen anything more beautiful.
Not the stained windows of the church they sometimes visited, not the sparkling covers of hand-me-down books, and not the shining silver of the Headmaster's pocket watch. Nothing. Nothing, could compare.
He hadn’t known then, but he knew now. It was all okay. He knew now. He wouldn’t let go. Ever. He would protect this, his freedom. He hadn’t known anything could be so precious until he experienced it, wind on his skin, unhindered by chains, and the sun on his hair, warm and pressing.
Getting away from the orphanage left Atsushi feeling free. Powerful. He couldn't believe he had lived without this, but he supposed, when lacking the knowledge he had now, he wouldn’t have known what he was missing.
No matter. He was never going back to that now. If he could, Atsushi would rather just focus on the sky above him, murky and cloudy and beautiful. So caught up as he was in the world around him, he barely even registered as he moved forward, continuing to take one step in front of the other.
The farther they walked, the farther Atsushi’s mind drifted. While at first he had been grounded, contained and comforted by Hiromi’s cool skin, the feeling of sunlight and wind had steadily drawn him away, falling farther and farther into nature's soothing grasp.
That absent-mindedness, however, did not benefit him in the end. It had blinded him, kept him oblivious to his companions –to his saviors– struggles.
Hitomi had started slowing down over time, staggering over his own feet and drooping in on himself, wilting like a dying flower. He was limping, putting more pressure on his good leg than the one covered in now bloody cloth.
It was a slow, gradual process, and while Hitomi clearly did his best to hide it, straightening his spine and panting quietly through his mouth. He tried, but in the end, the boy was only three years old. He was a child. His very best could not even begin to reach an adult's worst. (As far as Atsushi knew.)
The brunette had gone pale. Deadly pale. Pale like death, pale like moonlight. Pale like Hitomi should never be. There was a slight sheen on his face, on his arms, and his eyes started going glassy, not that Atsushi would have been able to notice that part.
But his eyes weren’t the only thing Atsushi hadn’t noticed, because he hadn’t noticed any of that, at least not at first. He had been going slow naturally, taking in the sights, and it was only when Hitomi’s unnaturally hot body slumped over onto his own that he noticed something was wrong.
Hitomi was shaking, and he probably had been for some time. They were small, dying trembles. Something Atsushi would expect more from a fearful, injured animal rather than Hitomi, who had always seemed so sure and confident.
The boy's breaths were coming out in weak, hoarse gasps, whatever shallow breathing he had managed before having clearly not benefited him, his nose flaring his his chest shaking.
It unnerved Atsushi, the way his companion looked, but nothing unnerved him more than how weak Hitomi now seemed. Sickly and vulnerable, a distorted, disgusting fun house mirror of how Atsushi himself had looked only earlier that day.
“Hitomi-san?” Atsushi called shakily, stopping in his tracks as he stared down at Hitomi in concern, his unoccupied hand coming up to lightly support the younger boy's shoulder, cringing at the heat that wormed under his skin with the contact.
‘Mmmnnggg…” Hitomi groaned, mumbling something so slurred that Atsushi couldn’t even make it out, swaying slightly on his feet as his hair stuck to his skin, damp and uncomfortable looking.
“Hitomi-san, are you okay?” Atsushi asked worriedly, watching wide-eyed as the brunette stumbled to the side, one small hand darting up to catch itself on Atsushi’s shoulder, sweltering with a blistering, burning, boiling heat.
Atsushi sucked in a ragged gasp at the feeling, the raging warmth such a large contrast from Hitomi’s normally cool, almost chilly skin. That was concerning. That was extremely concerning.
Atsushi can’t remember getting sick. He’s sure it had happened to him before, but he just can’t remember. What he can remember, though, is when other kids got sick. When they became pale and weak, just like how Hitomi is now.
He can remember the worry, the whispers. He can remember how kids went missing, after being sick. How, after weeks of ragged breaths and declining complaints, children would disappear, never to be seen or heard from again.
“Hitomi-san, what’s happening?” Atsushi questions nervously, listening as Hitomi sucks in weak, ragged breaths beside him, fingers shaking on Atsushi’s shoulder. It’s… Hitomi doesn’t look good.
He really, really doesn’t look good, and Atsushi needs Hitomi to tell him what to do about that. The brunette’s smart, and he’ll know how to fix whatever's happening now. All he has to do is tell Atsushi, and he’ll help him.
Sadly, that doesn’t seem to be a possibility anymore, not with how much time has passed, and not with how Hitomi’s condition seems to have steadily worsened over time. He’s leaning forward now, more and more of his weight being transferred over to Atsushi.
He can take it. Despite his malnutrition, Atsushi has found that he’s not as weak as he probably should be. Not as weak as Hitomi is now.
His hands lift up slowly, and seemingly without any of his own input. They find themselves settled on Hitomi’s curved shoulders, nails digging in to the dirty blue fabric blanketing the boy's skin.
Sweat and heat radiates through, the smell of salt soaking through cloth and finding itself at home in the lines of Atsushi's palms. It’s uncomfortable, but Atsushi doesn’t let go, watching in mute horror as slowly but surely, his arms become the only thing holding Hitomi up against the weight of gravity.
A thump snaps his eyes to the side, away from the withering brunette and instead onto the black bag that previously rested on the child's shoulders, strap having fallen loose and limp in Hitomi’s grasp, slipping down and down and down while its holder was too preoccupied to notice.
The duffel bag now sits in the dirt, misshapen and deflated. Still, it’s the least of Atsushi’s concerns at the moment, so he quickly returns his attention to his companion, eyes scanning over the boy's worsening complexion, and watching as normally tanned skin becomes ashen grey and ghost white.
Just as he’s about to repeat his question, urge Hitomi to respond to him, to respond at all, when Hitomi falls fully forward, hand going slack and arm crumbling beneath him like wet paper. His body seems to have given up on him, despite how Atsushi’s sure the brunette has been fighting it the entire time.
Hitomi finally tips forward, and a soft, almost whiny exhale is all the warning Atsushi gets before Hitomi stumbles forward, head sagging lower as his whole body seems to fold in on itself.
Atsushi moves immediately to catch the other, feeling as the brunette's body collides with his own, and letting out a soft exhale when he feels the younger's weight fully settle on his chest, burning and weak.
He envelopes his savior in his arms, brows furrowing at how the other's sweat-soaked clothes cling to his skin, a sensation that is surely uncomfortable and chafing for Atsushi’s companion.
He makes a high, concerned sound, instantly shifting to properly accommodate the other's weight, hoping to make him comfortable. Worried questions spill past his lips at a mile a minute, desperate for a response despite how sure he is that, even if awake, Hitomi would not be able to answer them.
He doesn’t- Atsushi doesn’t know what to do. What does he- he doesn't want anything to-
Help. Atsushi needs help.
With determined eyes, Atsushi hauls the black bag up onto his shoulder, attempting to ignore the weight as he pulls Hitomi up to his chest, too weak to truly carry him, but strong enough to keep him standing.
They’d get away from this. They both would. Atsushi would guarantee that.